by Noelle Adams
“What?”
“Closure. That’s what she said. I need closure—from the thing with you back then.”
“Closure.” Phil was shaking his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Damn it.”
“Why damn it?”
“Your sister and my uncle have been conspiring.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Russ said almost the exact same thing to me yesterday. I was angry because he was obviously the one who’d told where I was, and he said I needed closure. Those were his exact words.”
Rebecca giggled at the dryness of his voice. “I think it was definitely Laura’s idea, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she told Russ about it. They work together all the time, and they’re always coming up with plans. Usually about the business, but still... They might as well be little kids whispering about all their naughty plans.”
“I don’t think Russ ever acted like a kid, even when he was one.”
“He does have that ornery cynic thing going, but I don’t know. When he’s around Laura...” Rebecca trailed off. “Anyway, yeah, I guess they’ve been talking about us needing closure.”
Phil had been looking at her, but now he turned back toward the bay. He didn’t say anything.
Rebecca didn’t either. They fished for a few minutes.
Then Phil finally said, “It’s not a bad idea.”
“What is?”
“Closure.”
“Oh.” Her heart was beating like crazy, which was absolutely ridiculous. Closure was supposed to make her more peaceful. Not get her riled up like this. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“You want to try it?”
“Maybe.” She licked her lips. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything. I’ll only be here two weeks.”
“That’s probably long enough.” He still wasn’t meeting her eyes. “For closure, I mean.”
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s try it.”
REBECCA STAYED AT THE pier for another half hour. Then it was getting hot and she was worried about the rising jitters in her chest and belly, so she told Phil goodbye and that she’d come to fish again tomorrow morning.
No use overdoing it. She didn’t need to see him a lot. An hour or so fishing every morning was more than enough time for closure without getting her thinking in dangerous directions.
She spent the day hanging out by her pool, reading and napping. She made herself a late lunch of grilled chicken and salad and enjoyed everything about it.
That evening, however, she decided to take a walk again, and she ended up back at the pier.
She hadn’t intended to. She was going to wait until tomorrow morning to see Phil again.
But there she was with another ice-cream cone, leaning against the rail and looking at Phil’s tight butt.
He noticed her more quickly today and gave her a little wave, so she walked over to where he stood.
She wasn’t going to stay long. Just say hello and then continue her walk.
Maybe she’d just finish her ice-cream cone. It was melting like crazy already.
“No fishing gear this evening?” he asked with a little smile. His face and posture were a lot more relaxed now than they’d been for the past two days.
He looked younger. More like himself. She liked to see him this way.
“No. I’m not sure fishing is something I’d want to do more than once a day.”
“Too bad. Nothing like it.”
“I’m not sure I see the appeal yet. Maybe it will come later.”
He gave her a sideways look that was warm and amused and ironic and caused flutters to erupt in her chest. “Maybe so.”
“When did you start fishing?” she asked, wanting to distract herself from his attractiveness and because she was genuinely interested. “You never fished as a kid.”
“No. I didn’t start until I moved here.”
“How did you even end up here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t really know. I just got in the car and started to drive until I reached the ocean. Then I turned north and stopped when I saw a Help Wanted sign at a hardware store. I got the job and found a place to live and didn’t have much to do. So I started to talk to some of the locals here on the pier, and eventually I began to fish.”
Fascinated by this abbreviated history, Rebecca could sense a lot of emotion hidden beneath the casual words. Pain and anger and the need to escape had led him here.
But he must have found some sort of peace in the process, and fishing was evidently part of it.
They fell into silence for a minute until Phil said, “Russ told me about your mom. I’m really sorry.”
Rebecca swallowed over a familiar ache. “Thank you. It’s been six months now, but I still miss her every day.”
Phil glanced down at the water. “Yeah. I never knew my mom.”
“I know you didn’t.”
She was feeling too emotional now—and emotions and Phil were not a good combination for her—so she reached out and gave his upper arm a small squeeze as she turned to walk away. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be here.”
Closure.
It would be good. A relief. She needed it, and it was time she do something for herself after so many years of pouring herself into other people.
Maybe at the end of these two weeks, she could find closure at last.
Four
THE NEXT DAY, PHIL was trying to remind himself that all he could hope for in the next two weeks was closure.
His mind knew this was true.
His body had no clue.
And his heart... wasn’t thinking clearly.
He’d woken up excited about the day, which hadn’t happened to him in ages. He normally went through life with an easy kind of nonchalance. Not working too hard. Not worrying too much. Not feeling anything that would bother him.
So the jittery anticipation he felt as soon as he opened his eyes worried him.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way.
Not about Rebecca.
Not anymore.
He’d been like this about her as a teenager, and the feelings had been brutally ripped out of his heart, leaving nothing but a gaping, aching hole. That was how it had felt back then, and he knew better than to risk it again.
Loving meant trusting. And trusting meant hoping.
And hope was a cruel tease.
That was what his dad had always said, and fate had proven his father right in the most painful of ways.
Phil wasn’t a naïve, romantic teenager anymore.
As he showered and dressed, he gave himself a mental lecture about keeping things in perspective. Even if he and Rebecca could overcome their history—which was doubtful—they’d still never be able to maintain a long-term relationship. Not when she lived back home and he was never planning to return again.
Emotional distance. That was what he needed.
He was going to work on that this morning.
Closure and emotional distance.
That was the key to staying safe.
AN HOUR AFTER THAT wise resolution, he was wondering if he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Rebecca in the morning sun.
Her hair was loose this morning, burnished gold in the sunlight, and her skin was flushed pink from the heat and dewy from the humidity. She was laughing about his description of his business partner, Larry—a middle-aged man who was a brilliant cook but who spent his life complaining—and the amusement glowed on her face.
Her tan shorts and fitted T-shirt also displayed her small, curvy body in a way that wasn’t particularly helpful for his state of mind.
Closure.
Emotional distance.
That was the key.
He shouldn’t be breathless from nothing more than Rebecca laughing beside him.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, turning her head to look up at him, her blue eyes wide and questioning.
He cleared his throat. “No. No. Why?”
“Because I just asked you a question, and you never answered it.”
Shit.
He couldn’t even remember what she’d asked him.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“Sorry. I must have zoned out or something. What did you ask?” He was ludicrously pleased that his voice was mostly normal.
“I asked how did you meet Larry.”
“Oh. Yeah. I just met him around. You know, when I was hanging out on the pier, fishing. He’d recently opened the restaurant there and wanted to expand in some way but wasn’t sure what direction to go in, and I threw out the idea of the shop. He liked it and said he’d only do it if I helped him, so I did.”
“Oh. Wow. I bet you never expected that.”
“No. Not at all. It just fell in my lap.” He exhaled. “Like everything else.”
Her smile faded slightly. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I just meant it happened without me trying to get it.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
The question was casual, but there was something knowing in her eyes. As if she still knew him, understood him, saw what his easy demeanor was hiding.
She’d been that way before too.
Whenever he’d had a bad day—when his dad was being an ass, when he’d missed a goal in soccer and lost his team the game—she’d always seen how he was feeling, even when he’d kept a smile on his face.
She used to rub his neck and shoulders for him, telling him he didn’t have to smile for her.
He’d never felt as cared for as when he’d been with her.
He wasn’t sure why he was remembering all that right now.
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Phil?”
He blinked. “Oh. Sorry. Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. And yeah, I guess it happens some. Things fall in my lap, and it feels like they’re meant to be, so I accept them.”
“But you like working in the shop, don’t you? You didn’t just take it because it was the only thing that happened to you, did you?”
“Yes,” he said, speaking the truth and not the truth at the exact same time. He’d approached careers the way he approached relationships—never hoping for too much and so never disappointed when it didn’t work out or when people let you down. “I like it. It’s what I want to be doing.”
“Okay. Good. Then it’s fine that it just fell in your lap. It would only be a problem if you go around accepting things that happen without trying to change them even if they’re not what you want.”
She was speaking casually. She obviously wasn’t trying to needle at his soul. But he felt the words there anyway. Deeply.
He was thinking about his father, who came from a tough, Appalachian family and was raised to never depend on anyone else since the world would never be kind.
His father hadn’t been wrong. His best friend had betrayed him.
Phil had learned from experience—his father’s and his own—that the people you love could still turn their backs on you.
It was such a depressing thought he forced it back into a dark corner of his mind where he’d kept it for the past seven years.
Realizing he was losing his struggle for emotional distance far too quickly, he made a point of changing the subject. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you start working with your family because it happened to you, or is it really what you want to be doing?”
“Oh.” She appeared taken aback by the question. “I guess I never really thought about it before.”
“Well, think about it now.”
She did. He could see the reflections pass over her face, and he waited expectantly for her to come to conclusions.
Finally she said, “I don’t know. I guess it did just happen to me. I mean, my family needed me, particularly after Mom got sick. I needed to be at home so I could help out. But I think it’s probably what I want to be doing.”
“What else would you do if you could do anything in the world?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really? You don’t know?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.” She looked away from him with a sheepish expression, as if she were embarrassed by the admission.
Her words and her expression made him feel strange. Deep. It was wrong that she’d never let herself seriously think about what she wanted—for her. “Well, think about it now,” he murmured.
She swallowed visibly “The truth is, I don’t have any grand ambitions in terms of career. I never did. I wouldn’t mind being a teacher, but I never felt strongly in that direction. And I guess I always feel kind of guilty about that. Women can do anything now, so why don’t I want to do something really impressive?”
“You can be impressive in a way that has nothing to do with career, you know.”
“Yeah. I do know that. I still love to cook. I don’t want a restaurant or anything like that, but I love cooking.”
“You used to want to go to cooking school. Do you still want that?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess I do.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
She gave a little shrug. “It never seemed worth the time and money since I didn’t want to be a career chef. It felt... indulgent.”
“What’s wrong with indulging yourself occasionally?” His voice was serious, not teasing at all.
“Nothing, I guess. It’s just not me.” She cleared her throat. “It’s not like I’m unhappy. I love being at home and helping out with Holiday Acres. I think I’ve got a good life.”
She seemed to mean it, but it was also clear that she rarely did anything just for herself. And it bothered him. A lot. That she’d poured herself out so much that her sisters had to intervene with this vacation. That she wouldn’t let herself go to cooking school, which had been a dream of hers since she was a teenager.
Why wasn’t someone focused on taking care of her?
He wondered if she was dating someone.
Probably.
There was no way someone as pretty and sweet as Rebecca would go unattached for long.
It wasn’t any of his business though, and he’d probably be better off not knowing.
“So no boyfriend?” he heard himself asking.
Shit.
How had that happened?
She flushed even more. “What?”
Realizing he’d blurted out the question without segue, he tried to cover. “Sorry. I guess that was out of the blue. It made sense in my mind though.”
She laughed, dropping her eyes. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? What the hell kind of question is that? I’m not in control of whether I have a boyfriend or not.”
Feeling more comfortable with the shift in tone, he gave her a teasing smile. “Sure you are. Are you saying that no one has asked you out in all these years?”
“Well, yeah. Of course. I had a couple of boyfriends in college. Then I dated a guy for a few months a couple of years ago. And I go out with guys now and then.”
“And are the guys always the ones who say no to future dates?”
“No. Sometimes I do.”
“So you do have some control over whether or not you have a boyfriend.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. Whatever. It’s just that nothing has worked out. And there aren’t really that many options of eligible guys back home, unless I want to start tapping the divorced over-forty crowd.”
He chuckled at that. “But Charlottesville isn’t far away. You’d have a lot more options there. You could find someone to date if you really wanted.”
“What’s your point?”
“No point. Just an observation.”
“All right then. What about you? Are you dating someone?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He met her eyes since her question had been a challenge. “Because there’s no one I want to date right now.�
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“Have you had any serious girlfriends?”
He couldn’t believe they’d stumbled into this personal conversation, but they were in it now and there was no way he could go back. “No. Not much of anything since...”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
He could see from her expression that she knew the end of his sentence would have been “since you.”
Suddenly afraid she would read more into this than she should, he went on, “Not that I’ve been a monk all this time. I go out sometimes. Nothing serious, but to...”
“Hook up?” Her eyes were laughing again.
“Uh, yeah.”
Damn. Why the hell was his heart racing like this?
This morning wasn’t going the way it was supposed to.
“Well, I guess that’s better than nothing,” she said at last.
“I guess.”
They fell into silence. They hadn’t caught a single fish all morning, and neither of them seemed to care.
Then Rebecca said, “If Larry is such a good cook, maybe I should come by the restaurant sometime.”
He straightened up, his heart jumping embarrassingly. “Yeah. You should. You could come to dinner tonight if you wanted. It sometimes fills up, but I could save you a table.”
“Really? That would be great. I could come around seven. I love good seafood.”
“It’ll be good. I guarantee it.”
For some reason—for no good reason—it felt like he’d just asked her out on a date.
PHIL WENT HOME AT ABOUT six that evening and took a shower and changed clothes.
He had three pairs of cargo shorts, and he wore one of the three every single day. There was no reason to put on anything different this evening, but he pulled on a pair of pants instead and paired it with a crew-neck black shirt.
He was still dressed casually. It wasn’t like he’d dressed up.
He looked perfectly normal.
He wasn’t getting ready for a date.
He went back to the restaurant to grab the best table for Rebecca, the one with the fullest view of the bay.
When he’d put a reserved sign out to keep it from being taken by someone else, he gave a wave to Stella, a friendly woman in her fifties who acted as bartender on weeknights.
