His chin dipped. ‘Skål, but we don’t chink glasses.’
‘What do you do?’
A corner of his mouth lifted and his cute dimple appeared. ‘There’s a whole routine...’
‘Go on...’
‘Well, first you must make eye contact and maintain it...’
She fastened her eyes on his, felt a giggle bubbling up in her belly.
His fingers tapped the middle of his chest. ‘And then you lift your glass to here...’
‘Okay.’
‘And then you say...’ His eyebrows were sliding up.
She tried to copy his accent. ‘Skål!’
He laughed roundly. ‘Very good, so, then—’
‘You drink?’
‘No!’ His brow furrowed. ‘First you must nod at the person you’re toasting with.’
She nodded deeply.
‘Perfect!’ His eyes were twinkling. ‘And then you drink.’
‘Hallelujah!’ She took a sip and held it, letting the flavours unwind on her tongue. It was soft, sweet, tangy. Intensely alcoholic. She swallowed. ‘You might have to make more of these—’
‘And, finally...’ He was twinkling at her, holding up a finger.
‘What! There’s more?’
He grinned. ‘You have to nod again.’
‘With the eye contact?’
‘You got it!’ He was laughing, eyes full of soft light. ‘See. Super easy!’
Super easy! That was how it felt, sipping cocktails with Joel. Smiles and easy laughter, his eyes twinkling, but when he’d been talking about his father, his eyes had looked hollow, wounded. His father was a like cloud hanging over him and she wanted to dig deeper, to help him, soothe him, but those impulses were impulses of the heart and this wasn’t meant to be about hearts. This was a fling.
She looked down into her glass, veins skittering, a knot twisting in her belly. She’d opened the door to a throwaway romance, but was she strong enough to keep her heart locked up? She swallowed hard. She thought Tom had ruined her heart, but she could feel Joel, wandering among the debris, looking for a foothold and that wasn’t meant to be happening—
‘Emilie?’ She looked up. He was dangling his glass, elbows parked on his knees, low sun filling his eyes, sharpening his irises into a bright clear blue. So handsome. ‘When am I going to be able to visit your café?’
She felt her heart bump, her thoughts tangling. Even if he was actually being serious, there’d be no café to come to unless Tom paid her out and that was unlikely to happen any time soon. She drew an uncomfortable breath. ‘I don’t know. I only got the idea a couple of days ago...’ She forced out a smile. ‘It’s percolating.’
He jiggled the ice in his glass. ‘But it’s a good idea. You must do it.’
‘It’s not that easy.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t have the money—’ She bit down hard on her tongue. Joel was wealthy. Telling him she was hard up was tantamount to holding out a begging bowl and nothing had been further from her mind. The truth had popped out spontaneously because of the interest in his eyes—his warmth, his friendship, that was all—and now she was mired. She snatched a breath. ‘I mean, not at the moment...’
He frowned. ‘But if Tom is keeping the bistro and you were equal partners, then he owes you money, right?’
‘Yes.’ Tears were thickening in her throat.
He was leaning in. ‘So—he needs to fork out.’
She swallowed hard. ‘It’s complicated.’
He took her glass, setting it down with his own, and then he was taking her hands in his, chafing her fingers gently. ‘What’s so complicated?’
She blinked. ‘Tom can’t pay right now because he’s moving to a bigger place...’ The kindness in his eyes was making her wilt. She felt a tear sliding hotly down her cheek, a wave she couldn’t hold back. ‘Rachel’s pregnant. He’s going to be a father.’ She raked her teeth over her lower lip. ‘It was why he had to come clean about his affair.’
‘Kristus!’ Joel’s fingers tightened around hers.
‘When he told me, I knew I was losing everything—everything I’d worked for and more than ten years of my life—but what hurts the most is that Tom’s going to have a family, just like that, and I’m back to square one.’ Her throat closed and suddenly there was no point trying to hold Joel’s gaze, no point trying to stop her tears.
‘Hjärtat!’ He breathed the word and then she was being folded into his arms, warm and tight and close and it felt so nice, as though she was being protected. Cherished. She didn’t want to move, so she stayed there, talking into his damp tee shirt, feeling steadier with every breath.
‘I don’t know when Tom and I stopped talking about anything other than the restaurant. Towards the end we didn’t even talk about that because it always ended in an argument. We never talked about marriage, or children. It was all work—probably my fault because, for some reason, I’m driven in that way—but it was in the back of my mind, you know. A baby...’ She felt tears clawing at her throat again, sucked in a lungful of Joel’s deep, comforting, smell. ‘It was something for the future. And now that future’s gone.’
He shifted back, easing her away from his chest, his eyes gentle. ‘You’re right, that one has, but the future’s still there. It’s different, that’s all.’ A smile touched his lips. ‘You never know, maybe it will be a better one.’ His eyes held hers for a long second, then he was picking up their glasses. ‘I think we need more Painkiller!’
She took a big breath and wiped her face. She hadn’t wanted to talk about Tom and Rachel and the baby, but Joel had led her to it so gently, and he’d comforted her. In his arms, nothing had felt so bad. She took another breath, feeling opened out. It was a nice feeling, like being out in a summer rain.
‘The future’s still there...’
She got to her feet and stepped on to the veranda, leaning forward over the rail. Joel was right. The future was still there and it was hers for the taking. It was time to start fighting for it, time to pursue Tom for the money because otherwise she’d be dangling, waiting around for ever, and she was tired of waiting. She checked herself, felt a sudden ripple of lightness. She wasn’t harbouring any spite for Tom. She just wanted her money and then she’d be free.
Joel’s footstep scuffed behind her. ‘Here! Another dose should do the trick.’
She smiled. ‘Shall we do the whole skål routine again?’
He leaned over the rail beside her. ‘God, no! Just drink it!’
She sipped, breathing in the soft, fragrant air. The sea was a low gush. A bird chivvied its way through the nearby hibiscus bush and another bird broke cover, taking flight with a stuttering, indignant cry. Everything felt mellow, or maybe it was the second cocktail loosening her joints, smoothing out her creases. Joel was staring into the distance, a faraway look in his eyes. The breeze took his hair, blowing it across his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. She sighed. She’d feel easier about the whole fling idea if just looking at him didn’t fill her up to the brim.
He shifted suddenly, fixing serious eyes on hers. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
She nodded.
‘If there hadn’t been a baby...if Tom had told you he was having an affair, would you have fought for him?’
Her mind blanked. It was a question she hadn’t asked herself, a question that seemed too big to answer. She drank the last of her cocktail and parked the glass by her feet. ‘I don’t know... I’d have to think about it.’
He sighed. ‘You were in a no-win situation, but I wasn’t.’ He pushed his hair away from his eyes. ‘I could have fought for Astrid and I didn’t.’
She pressed her lips together. He might not have fought for Astrid at the time, but he wasn’t letting go either. ‘Maybe you felt too hurt. Betrayed! I mean, even if Astrid wasn’t actually
having an affair, there must have been a moment when you felt turned over, too beaten to fight...’ She sighed. ‘Or maybe you could just see that there was no point.’
A shadow lengthened behind his eyes. ‘Maybe I was indifferent.’ He swallowed. ‘Scary seeing as I was about to get married.’
It was hard seeing him turning on himself like this. She reached for his hand. ‘I suppose the thing to hold on to is you were sure once... I mean, you did propose.’
‘I was twenty-three.’
She bit her lips together. Cynicism on his voice. He was on a downward spiral, and what could she possibly say that wouldn’t make him feel worse? To be engaged so young. To be engaged for so long... Why weren’t they married already? She wanted to know, but sharing more confidences would only make her feel closer to him and the writing was on the wall. He’d said he felt numb about Astrid, but he was churning away over her all the same. Astrid was on his mind, probably still in his heart too. For her own sake she had to put her heart back on its leash.
He shifted on his feet. ‘Emilie, I’m going to go.’
She nodded. He clearly needed some space, and she did too. No ties! She stepped in, went up on her toes and kissed him softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
For a split second, his eyes flickered, maybe with hesitation, and then he smiled. ‘Yes. Maybe I could take you sailing...’
CHAPTER TEN
One week later...
JOEL DRAGGED THE catamaran up the beach, then crashed on to the sand, pulling in long, deep breaths. His heart was pounding. He’d just pitchpoled spectacularly, turtling the boat, winding himself.
He inhaled slowly, filling his lungs, feeling his pulse steadying. Sailing while distracted was never a good idea! He should have been watching the swell, throwing his weight aft in time to stop the starboard hull nosing under, but instead he’d been thinking about Emilie, about the first time he’d taken her sailing.
He felt a smile coming. That giddy excitement on her face as the hull had risen high into the air. She’d been laughing and shrieking as he’d tooled the boat across the water, playing the mainsheet, flying the hull. Flying! That had been his heart too. Seeing her so crazy-happy had filled him to the brim.
He unzipped his life vest, giving his lungs some space. He’d taken Emilie sailing three times and snorkelling, which she’d never done before. They’d swum with turtles and they’d found a small, secluded stretch of reef teaming with bright, darting fish in rainbow colours, but the best sight of all had been Emilie pushing up her mask, face aglow, her smile like heaven. It had been an amazing week, just living in the moment, feeling free...
There’d been so many great moments, like riding rickety bicycles along paths of winding red packed sand to a lagoon bar where the locals raced hermit crabs for low stakes. In the evenings, she’d insisted on cooking because she’d said she would die of guilt otherwise. That was Emilie, so conscientious!
He’d insisted on taking her out one night, though, to an elegant restaurant in Via Garda. They’d drunk Painkiller cocktails at a beachside table under the stars. She’d made him laugh when she’d whispered to him that the cocktails weren’t nearly as good as his.
He dug his hands into the sand, closing his eyes. In bed with Emilie, it felt like something was taking him over, a feeling too pure, too big to hold on to. Maybe it was sexual chemistry, plain and simple, but it scared him because it seemed to have strings dangling from it, and Emilie had said ‘no strings’.
He sighed. She might have said it, but so often over the past week it had felt as if the lines were blurring. So often he’d felt the light in her eyes reaching right into his heart, had felt the light in his own beaming right back. Confusing! It was why he’d never spent a whole night with her, even though he’d wanted to. It was why he was still going off on his own now and again, although it wasn’t the only reason.
He got up, shrugging off the vest and throwing it on to the trampoline. Astrid was still the itch he couldn’t seem to scratch, the puzzle he needed to solve, and today, his belly wouldn’t stop churning. Emilie had been busy with the finishing touches for the cake she was making for Melinda and Erris’s beach party anyway, so he’d split. As long as he was back in time to carry the boxes and drive the boat to Boulder Cay, she’d be cool. No strings!
He fished his tee shirt out of his daysack and put it on, scanning the beach. Salt Island was barely inhabited. There were only a handful of buildings idling under a stand of palm trees near the jetty, but running into people was the last thing he wanted to do. That would mean talking and he didn’t want to talk. He needed to think. He turned, walking in the other direction, taking a sandy path which wound upwards to the top of a small hill. It was a steep climb and the sun was hot. He felt sweat breaking out around his hairline, a trickle sliding down the side of his temple.
‘The thing to hold on to is you were sure once... I mean, you did propose.’
Ever since she’d spoken them, Emilie’s words had been clinging to the edges of his consciousness. For some reason he couldn’t shake them off. He had proposed to Astrid, so he must have been sure once, must have been sure for all these years because they’d set the date for the wedding, hadn’t they? So why wasn’t he broken and bleeding? Why hadn’t he fought for Astrid?
‘You did propose.’
He strode on, sweating into his tee shirt, picturing his screensaver, the selfie they’d taken... Warm pleased smiles, sparkling eyes, Astrid holding out her ring finger, showing off the ring that had been his grandmother’s, the ring that Lars had given him. He stopped, pulse pounding in his throat, a familiar acid ache starting in his belly. Splintered shards were moving together... Their apartment. A party. Their official engagement. Astrid closing the door on the last guest. Collapsing against him.
‘At least this’ll get Karl and Lars off our backs for a while...’
He felt the ache deepening, expanding, moving upwards into his chest. Karl and Lars. Pressure! Had Astrid felt pressured into accepting his proposal? Had she been trying to make Karl happy? Had Karl leaned on her the way that Lars had... Black dots peppered his vision. He fell to his knees, heart hammering like it was pushing his blood backwards. Shards and splinters were flying at him like knives: Lars popping open the ring box.
‘You should make it official, son! Propose to Astrid at her twenty-first birthday party. It would mean a lot to Karl right now!’
His temples pounded. Dryness filled his mouth. Pressure. Legs trembling. Pressure. Like speed-cubing. Hands trembling around the cube. The stopwatch. The fear. Pressure!
He rocked forward, gulping air. He’d squared up to Lars. He’d told him he’d propose in his own good time. But he’d taken the ring. Taken the ring! Proposed. Proposed! Just as Lars had wanted. Just as Lars had wanted!
Pain howled in his chest. All this time, he’d thought he was his own person, blazing his own trail, but it wasn’t true. He’d done as Lars had asked, some fragment of his eight-year-old self still craving approval, and maybe, deep down, he’d been despising himself for it all this time. It was so clear now. Resentment for Lars had been the wind beneath his wings. He’d built Larlock from the ground up to show Lars that he didn’t need him or Larsson Lüning and he’d put everything into it. Everything! Maybe that was why he’d always kept the Lars corner stuck down, because it was too painful, too hateful to peel back. He sucked in a ragged breath. And what about Astrid? Had she only agreed to marry him for Karl’s sake, trying to make him happy because he’d lost a wife and was losing a battle with his health?
No! He sat back on his heels, steadying himself. He couldn’t believe that, any more than he could believe that he’d only asked Astrid to marry him because Lars had prodded him with a ring.
‘The thing to hold on to is you were sure once...’
He closed his eyes. The waves rolling on to the beach below were a steady gush, rhythmic, soothing
. He breathed in deeply, saw cherished shards spangling behind his lids... Astrid in her green beanie. Blue eyes, clear as water. Shy smiles. Bright laughter. Pale hands full of lingonberries. Painting the walls in their first apartment. Walking through the snow in Royal Djurgården...
He felt his chest shaking, something breaking apart inside. Astrid had been his friend, his first love, his rock, and he’d loved her. A sob filled his throat. He had loved her, he had, so, so much...but Larlock had taken him over and Astrid’s law career had taken a hold of her, and somehow the years had spun by, happiness turning slowly into a sort of bland comfort. They’d stopped sailing together, their love life had dwindled, but they’d gone on, treading water, coasting on the foundations they’d built in earlier times, all the while drifting further and further apart. They’d stopped feeding the fire, stopped loving each other in the right way and their flames had all burned out, but still, they’d carried on.
Had they been afraid to look at what they’d become because of their families’ expectations? ‘Don’t hurt Karl’s daughter...’ Had he unwittingly been bending under the weight of Lars’s unspoken warning for all these years? Kristus! They’d even set a date for the wedding. He rolled each shoulder forward in turn, wiping his face on the sleeves of his tee shirt. Maybe Johan had actually saved them! As for Lars—his belly flinched—living under the cloud of his father was killing him and holding on to all that resentment was pointless. Exhausting. He’d have to find a way to let it go.
‘Is that why you didn’t want to go into the family business?’
Emilie’s intuition had been spot on! She wasn’t only good with evidence! He breathed in deeply and out again, letting go, wilting. He slid a hand to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the tightness there. A brown pelican was flying over the sea below, stoop-shouldered, scoop-beaked. He felt his lips twitching. Emilie had been elbow-deep in icing when he’d left, indulging her love of sugar craft, she’d said. She’d made two sugar pelicans and a whole raft of other small creatures and colourful figures. The cake was large and complicated. When it was finished it was going to be less of a cake, more a work of art.
Harlequin Romance April 2021 Box Set Page 58
