by Marina Adair
“It’s beautiful here.”
“It’s one of my favorite places,” he said, and she had to agree. The farther they explored, the lighter she felt. The serene landscape brought her a sense of peace her life rarely afforded.
“Could you imagine living here?” she asked, taking in the sound of the waves and the crisp sea air. Imagining all her worries drifting out with the tide.
“Actually, I used to spend my summers here,” he said, stepping up onto one of the rocks that lined the bluff leading up to the lighthouse. He lifted her hand, steadying her as they went.
“Vacationing?”
He chuckled. “No, more like doing manual labor. Ford would do his football thing and I’d come here.”
“So, you weren’t at some military camp for delinquents?”
“I thought the rumors were that I was prison?” he joked, but his tone sounded as if he struggled to find the humor.
Mila looked up to study the man who, little by little, was chiseling away every misconception she’d clung to. He was making cracks in the walls she so skillfully hid behind. If she wasn’t careful, he’d slide right past them and into her heart.
“I think you just let people say what they wanted because it added to your bad-boy image,” she said.
“Had I had known you were into bad boys, I would have started the rumors myself.”
“Who said I was into bad boys?”
“Besides that cute blush warming your cheeks?” He waited for her to look at him, and when she did he winked.
He was on to her. No sense in hiding it anymore. “I’ve decided to expand my horizons.”
He sent her a sidelong glance that was hard to read. He was quiet for a long moment; then he gently squeezed her hand. “Is that what L.A. is? A way to start fresh, try on new hats?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” They reached the top of the hill and stopped to take in the ocean view. “Have you ever wanted something so badly you pushed and pushed to make it happen, only to have things out of your control push back?”
“More times than I’d like to admit.”
“I treasure the time I’ve spent with my parents. Most people never get the opportunity to know their parents as friends and peers. Some of those memories are my favorites.”
“Most people wouldn’t do what you’ve done for their parents.”
She smiled up at him. “Most people don’t have my parents.”
“No, they don’t,” he said, a quiet reverence in his voice.
She knew how much time Hudson had spent with her dad, following him around with tool belt hanging from his bony hips, swinging a too-big hammer. Looking back, she realized he’d been so deprived of positive male attention, he would take whatever he could get. Mila’s dad understood that—so did her mom—which was why, whenever Hudson came around, there was always work to be done and an extra serving or two of leftovers in the fridge.
“Which makes me a jerk for saying this.” She closed her eyes. “But sometimes it feels like life gave me three strikes before I even stepped into the batter’s box.”
“You deserve to live your own life, Mila. And sometimes when it’s placed on hold for so long, it feels selfish to want something that you completely deserve.”
“Yes. That’s exactly it. No one else understands that.”
“I do.” He gave her hand another gentle squeeze. This time she squeezed back and they both laughed.
“Was that why you joined the Marines the day after graduation? To find your own path?”
Below them, the waves crashed against the jagged cliffs and mixed with the other sounds of nature.
“No,” he finally said. “I joined the Marines to make sure Ford cashed in that free ride to University of Michigan. I knew if I stayed here, he’d blow an amazing opportunity to become something more than our father over some stupid loyalty pact we made when we were kids. So, I signed up and shipped out, and Ford went on to become a first-rate lawyer.”
Chest aching, Mila released his hand to slide hers around his waist, then rested her cheek over his heart, trying to show him he didn’t always have to go it alone. And somewhere between his arms coming around her and feeling his lips press against the top of her head, Mila wondered how she’d ever misjudged him.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, on the cliff with the waves crashing below, holding on to each other and acknowledging the other’s loss. But when they finally stepped back, she felt as though something fundamental had shifted between them.
“It’s going to be dark soon and I want to show you the view from the top,” he said.
Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked all the way up to the flashing beacon. “How many steps are we talking?”
“About two hundred, but it’s worth it. I promise.”
“Okay.” She took his hand again and started toward the lighthouse. “On the way, you can tell me how you landed a job working here.”
He laughed. “You make it sound like one of those fancy summer camps. My great-uncle was a fisherman and bought this property back in the sixties. Forty acres, a dilapidated cottage, and no dock to moor a boat. But to him it was paradise. He’d anchor his fishing boat about a quarter mile out, and we’d have to row in on a dinghy.”
Ford pointed to a second smaller dock in the distance with a wooden dinghy moored to the side.
“I’m surprised it still floats.”
He grinned down at her. “You should have seen my great-uncle’s.”
As they approached the lighthouse, a cottage came into view. No bigger than the size of her apartment in Manhattan, it was cedar shingled, with white trim, a bright blue door, and a small chef’s garden enclosed by a picket fence. And windows galore. The place had more windows than walls, most likely because the wow factor came in the form of stunning, panoramic views of the Atlantic and other private islands.
“Did you stay there?”
He chuckled. “Nope, the cottage was for adults only. I slept in the boathouse.” He pointed to an architectural masterpiece at the end of a long lawn that looked like it would list with Sotheby’s. It was three times the size of the cottage, and its ceilings were two stories high, with floor-to-roof windows and a deck that made her parents’ yard look shabby. “I recognize that look, and before you go saying something you’ll regret, know that I helped renovate the boathouse into the main living quarters the summer between freshman and sophomore year. Before that, it was me, a sleeping bag, and a stolen Playboy to keep me warm at night.”
“Ford didn’t come?”
He shook his head. “My time here always conflicted with football. There was camp, practice, preseason, playing season, off-season training. It never ended. When it came to football, my dad was worse than my first drill sergeant. We could be puking our guts out and he’d have us running bleachers in the middle of July.”
“That’s awful,” she said, realizing that this was the first time he’d ever mentioned his father. “I didn’t know you played football.”
They reached the lighthouse and stopped at the door. “Until I was eleven. Then I got tired of playing my dad’s game. I quit and he lost his shit.” Hudson pulled a key from his pocket and opened the padlock. “I was never really into it like Ford, but after I handed in my jersey, my old man acted as if he only had one son. It didn’t take long before I moved in with Huey, and Ford followed. My dad and I pretty much lost touch after that.”
“I’m sorry you’re not close.” She was so close to her own dad, it made her heart ache for Hudson.
“I used to be sorry too, but then my grandpa took us in, and life with him was so much better.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, even though it was a huge, gut-wrenching deal.
Mila didn’t know what to say. Her heart was breaking for everything Hudson had endured. She’d been abandoned by her birth parents, so she understood the issues that came with being unwanted. But she’d had Ronald and Joyce Cramer, two of the most loving and caring parents in the world, w
ho had endured three flights, sleeping at the Tokyo airport, and traveled over seven thousand miles to find Mila. Her mom said she heard her child cry out from across the world and had to find her and bring her home.
Hudson had been abandoned by his parents too, just in a different way. She knew he didn’t want pity or empty platitudes. He was too honest for that and he deserved more from her. So when he pushed the lighthouse door open, she stepped in front of him.
He raised a questioning brow. “Chickening out?”
“I hate that he made you feel like you didn’t matter. Nobody should ever be treated that way. Especially someone as sweet and wonderful as you.”
He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “ ‘Sweet’ and ‘wonderful. ’ Two adjectives that would definitely have Ford revoking my man card.”
He was making light of things, something she was coming to realize he did when faced with kindness. “You’re a good man, Hudson. Your dad’s a jerk and a bully for not acknowledging that.”
His face softened and he reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw. “I don’t know about all that, but when I’m with you, I feel like I can be a good man.”
His admission was as surprising as it was endearing. She wondered how she’d never noticed this tender, vulnerable side of Hudson before. Then again, she guessed she had, only she’d given credit to the wrong brother.
“Thank you.” She went up on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Everything about today has been incredibly special. You made today incredibly special.”
To her surprise, he blushed. The tough-as-steel army of one was thrown by a compliment. They’d work on that, she decided.
“Are we going up?” he asked, pointing to the endless spiraling steps that hugged the wall like the red on a barbershop pole.
“Damn straight.”
Laughing, he took her hand and led her to the top, where the view was worth every one of those two hundred steps. Fishing boats dotted the waters and pelicans flew overhead, diving down to catch their dinner.
Silently, he and Mila stood side by side, gazing out at the ocean, as the sun slowly sank into the horizon. Much prettier than focusing on the road ahead, she decided.
“Did you learn your love of flying from your grandpa?” she asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“I learned everything from him. When I think of the man who raised me, it’s Huey.” He turned to look at her. “How old were you when you were adopted?”
“Six.”
He looked a little staggered at that. “Was it hard being dropped into a foreign country at that age, not even knowing the language?”
“Not any harder than you being dropped into enemy territory, not knowing what was waiting for you.”
“At least I had my training and my unit.”
“And I had mine. From day one, my parents went out of their way to make me a part of their family. Which is why I don’t mind caring for them now. My dad was nearly fifty when they adopted me, so I always knew there would come a time that they’d need me.”
He went back to staring at the waves crashing against the shoreline. “How do they feel about the possibility of your moving to Los Angeles?”
“That’s actually why I needed the job with Huey’s AirTaxi. The money will help pay for an in-home caretaker when I leave for L.A. They won’t need full-time care, just someone to come by and check on them a few times a week.” She looked over at him. “Isn’t it pathetic—I’m a foreign national who’s never left the Northeast.”
“I’d go with ‘honorable’”—he moved behind her—“‘selfless’”—his hands rested on the railing, caging her in—“ ‘incredible.’ ” He whispered the last part in her ear.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Funny, those were the same three things I was thinking when Ford told me what really happened at Abigail’s party. How you came to my rescue.”
“I hate that you were left alone in the dark, but it did check off one of my teenage dreams.”
“What was that?” she whispered.
“Kissing the girl who starred in every single one of my teenage fantasies.”
“Every single one, huh?”
“Well, Kate Beckinsale may have had a few walk-on roles.”
She turned in his arms. “I have a confession.”
“Tell me in minute detail. Can you use that sexy voice you used in the closet?”
She cupped his cheek. “I’m glad it was you.”
He leaned down, his mouth hovering over hers, so close she could practically hear, Houston, we have contact, in the background. Her lips parted in anticipation, and—
“Wait,” she heard herself say. “Before we take this to the next level, I need to tell you something.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
“I made it through the second round of interviews.” She cringed, waiting for his response.
Instead of sadness or even a hint of disappointment over the possibility that she could be moving three thousand miles away, he said, “Congratulations, that’s amazing,” then pulled her into his arms.
It wasn’t a sexy embrace either, more like one step shy of getting a “way to go” tap on the shoulder for winning a free slice of cake in the annual Harvest Cake Walk.
Mila wasn’t sure what she expected, but his wholehearted support stung a little. Which was ridiculous. She wanted a guy with enough emotional intelligence to understand what a great opportunity this was for her, to encourage and support her unconditionally. He was giving her all of that and more, yet her stomach was a big, complicated knot of emotions.
As if sensing her uncertainty, he tipped his head down to meet her gaze. “This is a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, it is,” she said. “It’s an amazing opportunity with lots of potential for growth. New York would be closer and more convenient, but you go where the job takes you. This job is taking me . . .” She almost said away, because that’s what it was starting to feel like. “It’s taking me to sunny L.A. How could I pass that up?”
“You can’t, unless you’re having second thoughts,” he said gently.
“I’m not.”
“It’s okay if you do.”
“Well, I don’t,” she lied, her eyes stinging with emotion. “It’s just, how am I going to leave my family, my friends?” How am I going to leave you? “The thought of never being able to come back to my house or hang my Christmas stocking over the fireplace makes me sick. I’d still come home for the holidays, but I won’t be coming to my home. Christmas will be celebrated in a condo or town house at the new retirement community across town.”
“Change is hard, sometimes it’s scary, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to live with than regret. Don’t let fear come between you and a great opportunity.”
“So then I didn’t need to let you know about L.A. before anything happened? In case you wanted to . . .”
“Change my mind?”
“Yeah.”
“Buttercup,” he said, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s already happening and there’s no going back. At least not from where I stand, so I think we should take advantage of the time we have left.”
Staring into those deep blue eyes, Mila felt seen, understood, safe, as if he’d catch her when she fell. If she wasn’t careful, that was exactly what she was going to do. It would be a fast, hard landing that would break her, which was why transparency was so important.
If everyone knew where they stood, no one would get hurt. He might not be her Mr. Right, but he was a front-runner for Mr. Right Now. At least, that’s what she was told herself as she pulled the list from her back pocket and plucked a pen from his fly-boy getup.
“I need to do one more thing,” she said, and made a big deal of finding “Must be an amazing kisser.” Only before she could put a check in the box, something at the bottom of the list caught her attention. The new item was certainly important in a partner, but the
penmanship was too scribbly to be hers. She glanced up at him. “Did you write this?”
“Your list was a bit shortsighted, so I may have added a thing or two.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “Think of it as me, helping you find your Mr. Right.”
“How thoughtful of you.” She read from the list aloud. “‘A guy who knows how to get things done.’ ” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Did you mean like change my tires or . . . ?”
“We can do that too.” He laughed. “A topic to discuss further anytime you want. Just not right now.”
“Actually, right now I want to check something off.”
“Name it.”
“I’m working on becoming more of a show than tell person.” With that, she brought his mouth to hers. One touch was all it took for fireworks to explode. His arms tightened around her, pulling her against him as her hands slid into his hair.
When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily.
Mila picked the pen up off the ground, where it had fallen in the midst of lips locking and hands grabbing, and finally put a check in the “Must be an amazing kisser” box. Instead of handing him back his pen, she decided to add one more thing.
She handed him the list, which he read, then gave a low, sexy chuckle.
“ ‘Is interested in joining the mile-high club.’ I’ve got just the chopper for that,” he said as he kissed her again.
Hudson had sunk to a new low.
What had started out innocently enough with a quick glance out the bathroom window had turned him into a peeping tom when he spotted Mila, in a pair of ass-hugging leggings, bending over—all the way over—to grab a hammer from the toolbox.
How had he never noticed that his childhood bathroom window had a direct view of the Cramer house? And would you look at that—if he craned his neck a little, he could see over the fence to their front porch, where Mila was hanging holiday decorations.
He should have closed the blinds five minutes ago, but when it came to Mila there were a lot of should’ves and would’ves he chose to ignore. Which was why, after a long day of cleaning the helo from top to bottom, he chose to stand barefoot and dripping water on the tile floor, instead of heading downstairs for ice-cold beer and his already-made dinner.
