Take Me All the Way

by Toni Blake

  Yet Jeremy still needed to say more. “You’ve really . . . kept me on my feet here. I won’t forget it.”

  Reece took the gratitude as easily as he did everything else. He just nodded comfortably and said, “So the work’s going good then? You and Tamra aren’t gonna kill each other?”

  Jeremy let out a quick, unplanned laugh. Clearly word had made it around that the two of them had butted heads a little. Even though, technically, it had been more like butting bodies. Which was a lot more fun, and a memory that still made him feel . . . alive, in a man/woman kind of way, more than he had in ages.

  “I won’t kill her as long as she doesn’t kill me. She’s keeping her distance, though, so guess we’re both safe for now.” He tossed a sideways glance in Reece’s direction to add, “Don’t think she likes me much.”

  When Reece didn’t reply to that, only keeping an amused expression in place, Jeremy added, “What’s her deal, anyway? Seems uptight.”

  Reece shifted his weight from one flip-flop to the other. “She is, a little. But . . . she had a rough time earlier in life.”

  Jeremy let that statement hang in the evening air for a minute. It was easy to forget that most everyone had demons of some kind, especially when you were battling your own. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me in what way?” It was none of his business, especially since he barely knew Tamra, but he couldn’t help being curious.

  “Nope,” his landlord said. “That’d have to come from her.”

  Now it was Jeremy who nodded, letting it drop, but still wondering what made Tamra . . . Tamra.

  “She’s one of my closest friends,” Reece said then. “Just so you know.” A gentle warning came through in his tone.

  And Jeremy replied, “Understood and respected.” He got the point.

  After which Reece’s gaze took on a speculative look as he tilted his head and observed, “You seem . . . cooler than you have up to now.”

  Jeremy couldn’t argue with that. “Guess getting out, working, is good. A step in the right direction.”

  “That’s good to hear. Keep it up.” And with that, Reece pointed over his shoulder in the general direction of the shore to say, “Well, I’ve got a date with a hot blonde for a late walk on the beach, so I’m gonna take off.”

  “Okay, man. Enjoy,” Jeremy said, watching him go.

  That was when a meow drew his attention back to the big gray tomcat at his feet. He’d continued dropping bite-size bits of pizza down to him, but had run out as he and Reece had talked. “Sorry, pal,” he said now, peering down at the cat, “but you cleaned me out.”

  Though he instinctually reached down to scratch the cat behind the ear anyway, watching his one pensive green eye fall contentedly shut. There was something satisfying in bringing the cat a little peace that way. Maybe it brought him a little peace, too.

  But that kind of peace, he knew, was only temporary—you could only pet a cat so long.

  So after a while he stopped, sat back upright on the picnic table’s bench.

  When the cat opened his good eye again, their gazes locked. Until, after a few seconds, the cat suddenly turned and trotted away, over toward the Hungry Fisherman’s back door, clearly in search of a bigger dinner.

  “Don’t get yourself in any trouble, bud,” he murmured as the cat disappeared into the darkness.

  Yeah, that kind of peace was only temporary.

  . . . it was curious how much nicer a person looked when he smiled.

  Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

  Chapter 5

  THE NEXT day Jeremy sat at the Hungry Fisherman in an old orange booth with cracked vinyl seats which he suspected had seen decades of use. He’d spent the morning working in the hot sun on the golf course hut—again without Tamra’s company or supervision—and was getting a fish sandwich for lunch. The place was completely empty at noon on a Wednesday, so he was glad he could actually pay for his meal this time around.

  After he gave Polly his order and tucked the plastic menu back behind the napkin holder on his table, his cell phone notified him of a text message. He looked down to see it was from Marco, an old Marine Corp buddy. WHAT’S UP, MAN?

  He typed in an answer. NOT MUCH, BUD. YOU?

  He and Marco had been close in Afghanistan and it was good to hear from him. If he hadn’t fallen into such a funk, he’d have probably done more to keep in touch. As it was, Marco reached out to him every few months and they texted a little until it died down and they went quiet again for a while.

  SAME HERE. JUST SORRY TO SEE SUMMER GO—HAD A GOOD ONE WITH THE KIDS. Marco lived with his wife and two little girls in St. Louis.

  Before Jeremy could fashion a response, another text from Marco arrived. YOU GETTING OUT AND ABOUT ANY, BUDDY?

  He’d sensed Marco’s concern over the hermit tendencies he’d developed, so he was glad to tell him he’d made a change. YOU COULD SAY THAT. I HEADED SOUTH. LITTLE PLACE IN FLORIDA CALLED CORAL COVE. DOING SOME LIGHT CONSTRUCTION.

  YOU SHITTIN’ ME, SHERIDAN?

  The reply made Jeremy chuckle. NO. WHY?

  I KNOW THAT PLACE, MAN. PLANNING TO BRING BRITTANY AND THE KIDS TO A BEACH NOT FAR FROM THERE ON THEIR FALL BREAK FROM SCHOOL. WE SHOULD CONNECT.

  Damn. That sounded good. To see an old friend. A friend who really understood.

  Well, at least he understood part of the stuff that haunted Jeremy—not all of it, because there were some things he’d told only Lucky.

  But still, close enough. He typed back: THAT’D BE AWESOME, DUDE.

  SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GETTING BACK ON YOUR FEET. THAT’S DAMN GOOD TO HEAR.

  He probably wasn’t quite as on his feet as his friend thought—yet things were sure as hell looking up. YEAH, THINGS ARE A LITTLE BETTER.

  GOOD DEAL.

  Then it occurred to Jeremy to ask: YOU DOING OKAY, MAN? He wasn’t the only one who’d been through heavy shit, after all.

  OKAY ENOUGH.

  Hmm. Usually Marco was the one who sounded like he had his life together, like he’d left the past in the past. But now Jeremy wondered if he’d missed stuff—hints—in their brief bits of correspondence because he’d been too mired in his own issues.

  He wasn’t sure what to say, though, because he wasn’t used to being on the other side of this equation. Finally, he settled on: IT’LL BE GOOD FOR BOTH OF US TO CATCH UP.

  I’LL BE IN TOUCH, JER.

  SOUNDS GOOD, MAN.

  When Polly brought his lunch a few minutes later, movement near her feet drew Jeremy’s eyes downward—to see a lanky gray cat trotting along with her. He let out a surprised laugh. “Well, if it’s not the captain.”

  After which Polly followed his eyes to the floor, let out a screech, and nearly threw his fish sandwich up in the air.

  Jeremy just chuckled and said, “It’s okay, Polly—it’s a cat. Not a bat. Or a rat.”

  “I know good and well what it is—and these cats are gonna be the death of me, I tell ya.” She lowered his plate to the table, sandwich intact, though a few fries had hit the floor in the upheaval.

  Jeremy let his eyes widen as he looked up at her and her very tall, hair-sprayed hair. “Cats? There are more than one?”

  The older waitress released a tired-sounding sigh. “Well, I’ve only had to deal with one at a time so far. But seems like one gets a home and another stray shows up to take its place.” Then she darted her glance around the room. “And thank God you’re the only person in here right now and you’re not raisin’ Cain about it, because believe you me, the health department don’t cotton to cats in restaurants.” Then it was her eyes that grew wide as she focused her gaze tight on Jeremy. “Would you like a cat?’

  The answer was easy. “I don’t have a home to give a cat, Polly—remember?”

  At this, Polly took on a sneaky look and cast a sideways glance in the general direction of the motel. “Wouldn’t be the first time somebody secretly kept a cat at the Happy Crab.”

  Jeremy raised h
is eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  She gave a succinct nod. “Cami had pretty much adopted her kitty, Tiger Lily, when she was staying there. And it all turned out fine. Reece was real understandin’ when he found out.” She finished with a triumphant nod.

  “Well, I don’t care to impose on his kindness any more than I already have. And I think Reece has a soft spot for Cami that he might not quite have for me.” Jeremy added a wink. “And besides, you just said yourself, when one cat gets a home, a new one comes along—so since you seem destined to have a cat issue here, I’ll just let you keep the one you’ve already got.”

  Polly put her hands on her hips. “Just so you know, Reece told me defendin’ this fella’s furry little honor is how you got yourself in trouble with the law. So I know you like him.”

  He smiled up at her. She was something else. “The fact is, Miss Coral Cove Sleuth, just because I got pissed off when somebody was mistreating him doesn’t mean I’m—like—a cat guy. If I was gonna have a pet, it’d be a dog. Man’s best friend and all that. And like I said, I live in a motel room. I’m not in the market for a pet. I’m more in the market for . . . a life.” A short laugh left him. “First things first, ya know?”

  Now she smiled back, but remained undaunted in her quest. “Sometimes a pet is part of havin’ a life. A good ingredient, anyway. So you just think on that, why don’t ya?” Then she motioned to his plate. “And eat your fish before it gets cold, while I put this guy out the back door before anybody else sees him trespassin’ around here.” She rolled her eyes toward Abner, who sat on a booth on the far side of the restaurant, going over paperwork and wearing a straw hat reminiscent of one you might find on a scarecrow in the fields surrounding Jeremy’s hometown of Destiny. “If there’s cat hair in the buffet, somebody’ll have a cow.”

  “I’d think anybody would have a cow if there’s cat hair in the buffet,” Jeremy pointed out with a grin. Then picked up his sandwich as Polly hefted the cat into her arms and headed to the kitchen.

  After Jeremy finished his sandwich and fries, he paid his bill, pleased to leave Polly a healthy tip as she made him a to-go cup to take back to the jobsite. But as he turned to leave, his eyes landed again on Abner.

  Since his arrival in town, he’d seen Abner wear many hats—literally, not figuratively. A fire chief’s hat, a motorcycle helmet, an airline pilot’s hat, a felt fedora, and more. Reece had explained that the man was just a little eccentric, that no one knew why he wore the hats, no one asked, and no one cared.

  Even so, it made him sort of hard to approach—made him seem like a guy who was probably a little weird.

  And still . . . Jeremy thought he himself probably seemed pretty weird to a lot of people here, so he followed his gut, and instead of heading out the door, he instead crossed the restaurant, past the buffet counter, to the darkish corner where Abner sat wearing his straw hat with an otherwise entirely normal outfit of a golf shirt and khaki shorts.

  When Abner raised his eyes to Jeremy, his expression stayed stern, which Jeremy had noticed was the usual. But he didn’t let that deter him, either—since he hadn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs himself the last couple of years.

  “Help ya?” Abner asked.

  “Just wanted to thank you,” Jeremy said. “For your generosity since I got here.” The two men had never actually spoken before, but he knew from Polly and Reece that Abner had been fine with Polly giving him meals on the house. “I’m making some money now, so I intend to pay my debts.”

  Abner’s face never changed or softened the tiniest bit as he said, “Everybody needs a little help sometimes.” And then he looked back down.

  The briskness of the conversation, the way the harsh planes of Abner’s face conflicted with his kinder words, was a little jarring. “Well . . . you have a good day, Abner. And thanks again,” Jeremy said. Then he started toward the door.

  “Wait.”

  The command drew Jeremy up short, made him turn back around. He met Abner’s eyes beneath the brim of the straw hat.

  “Most people steer pretty clear of me. I don’t blame ’em. I understand why that is. So I respect you for comin’ over. Most people wouldn’t. They’d just pass it through Polly. And that woulda been fine. But I appreciate the gesture. You’re a good man.”

  Jeremy barely knew how to respond. He was taken aback. By the whole thing. Abner’s acknowledgment that, basically, he was kind of a weird dude. And the last part. It’d been a damn long time since Jeremy had felt like a good man.

  Finally he said, “You are, too.” Since that much seemed clear. Might be weird. Might be gruff. But again, Jeremy could relate. We all have our secrets, our reasons.

  He finished with a nod, then headed back out into the hot Coral Cove sun to get back to work.

  TAMRA held a cool glass of iced tea in her hand as she sat on Fletcher’s porch with him on a sunny afternoon. It was one of her favorite places to be, and Fletcher was one of her favorite people to be with. Their friendship was a nice, easy one—comfortable enough that they could discuss almost anything, or nothing at all. Well, except maybe sex. Just because she wasn’t particularly comfortable discussing that with anyone.

  “If Kim ever comes back, I hope she’ll understand about our friendship,” she mused out loud.

  With her eyes still on the shore in the distance, she felt Fletcher’s piercing gaze. “First of all, it’s when, not if.” Then a warm smile unfurled beneath his dark mustache. “And second, of course she will. She’ll love you the same way I do.”

  And Tamra knew this wouldn’t make him happy, but she spoke her mind anyway. “Well, I won’t love her.”

  Nothing more needed to be said on that topic—Fletcher knew Tamra held a grudge against his wife. She’d met Kim only in passing during the brief time she’d been in Coral Cove before Kim’d disappeared. She had no idea what she would think of Kim’s personality—their meetings had been too brief—but she knew what she thought of a woman who would leave her loving husband so mysteriously and hurtfully. No rationale Kim could invent would ever be enough.

  “When she comes back,” he said calmly, evenly, “everything will change. You’ll see. Things will suddenly all make sense. And even if you never find it in your heart to forgive her, I know you’ll be nice to her, for my sake.” He added a wink, driving his point home. “And over time, all this will be forgotten—it’ll blend into the past because we’ll all be focused on the present.” He was peering out over the sea then, an idyllic, faraway look in his eyes, and Tamra thought, as she had so many times before, what a remarkable person he was. To forgive even before Kim returned. To forgive a crime he didn’t know the true extent of—why she’d left, what she’d done since she’d been gone, when she would come back. If she would come back. Like it or not, Fletcher, none of us still has any actual reason to believe she will.

  Not sure how to respond—because Fletcher had a way of making you not want to dash his hopes, even if you thought they were farfetched—Tamra opted to say nothing and took a sip of her tea instead.

  “How’s work on the golf course coming?” he asked. They both watched a large white sail cross the horizon in the distance.

  “Early days yet, but fine,” she said. In fact, she was enthusiastic about the project—besides being pleased with the creative aspects, she liked adding something lasting to Coral Cove’s future.

  “I heard you were lying around in the dirt with that guy.” Only the tiniest hint of smugness colored his voice—he clearly enjoyed knowing something she didn’t know he knew.

  “Um, you heard wrong then,” she corrected him. “He fell on top of me, that’s all. A far cry from lying around. Trust me.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” He slanted a sly grin in her direction. “Because I thought it was an interesting development. Like maybe you’d decided he wasn’t so bad after all.”

  “No, he is,” she assured him. And even if she had seen signs of the guy being a little more human—and maybe ev
en a little more interesting—than she’d initially thought, Fletcher didn’t need to know that. It would only encourage his pushiness. She even added, “I’ve been working with him as little as possible, in fact,” just to drive the point home. Sheesh, why was everyone so desperate to make something happen between her and Mr. Scruffy Beard?

  “You know,” Fletcher observed, “you practically bristle when I even suggest anything between the two of you.”

  “Maybe it irritates me that everyone keeps suggesting it—when I’ve expressed no interest in the man whatsoever.”

  “You have a habit of doing the same thing to me,” he pointed out.

  “True,” she admitted. “Because I think it’s for your own good.”

  “Likewise,” he countered simply.

  “But then you also know how annoying it can be,” she pointed out reasonably.

  “True,” he replied. “But . . .”

  She turned toward him, her look filled with warning. “But?”

  He met her gaze. “But if there’s anything there at all, any slight hint of attraction, what would be wrong with exploring that? What would be wrong with having some fun with him? It wouldn’t have to be some big, serious thing if you don’t want it to. It could just be a little fun. A fling.”

  Tamra thought back to earlier times in her life, times when she’d surrendered to a man, trusted a man, and how horrible the results had been. Years had passed since then—she was older and wiser. And she tried not to be a slave to her past—she lived for now and was happy to leave bad things behind her, where they belonged. She was open to the idea of love, or any other kind of relationship. But . . . only with someone who had all the right ingredients. She had no intention of giving in to any sort of pursuit from a man who seemed all wrong for her.

  “Why are you all so eager to fix me up with someone who, frankly, seems like trouble?” she asked Fletcher, truly wanting to know.

  He didn’t answer for a minute, clearly weighing his reply. Until he said, “Honestly?”