Читать книгу Almost Home - Debbie Macomber - Страница 14

“I’m still sensing you’re hiding something from me, Chalese,” Aiden said, his voice soft and low and sexy. “What else do you want to tell me?”

I leaned back in the booth of Marci’s Whale-Jumping Café and tried to breathe.

I shouldn’t have been surprised by his astuteness. Aiden was a prize-winning reporter, but I still felt struck, as if an elk had charged at me and the antlers were stuck in my gut.

“No, there’s not anything else I want to tell you.” That was the truth. I inhaled the scent of buttermilk pancakes, bacon, and orange juice and wiped my hot hands on my jeans.

“It would be better coming from you, sweet Chalese.”

I tried not to blush at the “sweet” part.

Our charming village on the island, a mix of very old and medium-old, well-cared for shops, churches, and restaurants, was small, and it hadn’t taken Aiden any time to find my truck parked in front of the café, a place with blue leather seats, windows to take in the view of the ocean behind the café, and a giant plastic whale hanging from the ceiling wearing a white captain’s hat.

“Hey! Chalese!” Reuby, Gina’s son, yelled across the crowded room when I first arrived. “Hear ya got a special friend. If he breaks up with you, are ya gonna climb up on his roof and bust the skylight out?”

Everyone laughed.

“Very funny. Actually, if he broke up with me I would bulldoze his home with a tractor. I like tractors.”

“Is the skylight thing going to be in Brenda’s next movie?” Jefferson Harris called out. He made art out of recycled materials and did pretty well.

“No, it’s not. Brenda and I—”

“And your sister,” Lavender Mercato called out. “Man, that gal’s gonna have five kids quick as a lick and ain’t nothin’ slowed her down since high school. She’s still gettin’ in trouble with you two. Did I hear you three were skinny-dipping again the other night?”

I covered my face as they all cackled. “I’m going to sit here and go to a special place in my own gnarled head, have some breakfast, and pretend I’m alone.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be alone for long,” Fred Mitchell called out, nodding his shaved head toward the door; the snake tattoos on his arm no longer alarming me as they once had. “Your man’s coming in.”

“Lookee who’s here!” Shadow Morrison drawled. Shadow is a financial planner. She wears dresses over skinny black leggings, flowered hats, and sparkly scarves. She’s twenty-six and does almost everyone’s investments. A whiz kid. “I think it’s the special friend.”

Reuby called out to Aidan, “Your special friend is right here, dude. Right here.” Now this was a smallish restaurant, but Reuby still felt compelled to point me out. “She hasn’t ordered yet, but she always has eggs Benedict, sauce on the side, blueberry pancakes, and her own Marion Berry jelly. Her jellies are awesome rad.”

There was loud, general agreement. One of the island’s secret multimillionaires called out, “Jam Lady does it best, man.”

I saw Aiden’s look of surprise at the attention. Then he covered it, and that easy smile came out. “Well, I’m hoping to eat breakfast with Jam Lady, if she’ll have me.”

I groaned. Torture me further: he was wearing cool jeans, a black sweater, and a white T-shirt. Studly. I was sunk. I knew it.

“Her sister always orders breakfast for dinner,” Reuby said, playing with the ring in his eyebrow. “Pancakes with strawberry syrup and sliced bananas and white wine. ’Cept when she’s pregnant. We all know when Christie’s pregnant, ’cause that’s when she starts ordering the weird stuff. Whole onions fried with garlic butter. Grape juice with her pasta. Guacamole and pink lemonade and sliced apples. She dips the apples in the guac, dude. It’s weird. Plus she sucks down Chalese’s marmalade like its water.”

“Tell him about Brenda,” Shadow called, flipping her blond braids onto her back.

“Yeah, Brenda’s the third sister, but they don’t share no blood. She orders whiskey sours sometimes for breakfast. That’s when she’s hungover. For dinner, she orders a salad with extra olives and pickles. One time she ate a whole pizza by herself and three beers. Those three, man, I dunno. Strange.”

“Strange is good,” Aiden said, his voice low and rumbly. “Who wants a boring woman? I don’t.”

“Cheers to that,” Fred agreed, holding up his coffee cup. “Bring me a high-kicker in red knee high boots.”

Dear me, the joys of living on an island with not very many people …

It took Aiden twenty minutes to walk to my table because everyone had to say hello, welcome him to the island, and then regale him with stories about me, his special friend.

There was the red and pink streamer incident at City Hall (it was a protest, long ago), and the tractor Brenda and I borrowed and drove behind a group of racist skinheads over from the mainland who insisted on having a parade. We kept the tractor one foot from their heels. When they got worried they’d be run over and started jogging, we revved the tractor and followed close so we wouldn’t lose them. They called the police, but we explained we merely were trying to keep up with the skinheads!

Charges dropped. We followed them out of town with the tractor.

“Chalese sells the best jams and jellies ever. She sells to the stores, the restaurants. Probably makes a fortune—that’s our Chalese,” old Mrs. Chittick said. She carefully cultivated the “old, frail lady” image, but I knew for a fact that the woman could split wood faster than you could say “old, frail lady.”

But the Chalese who made the best jams and jellies was all the Chalese I wanted to be. Nothing more.

Not one thing more.

“There is nothing else I want to tell you,” I whispered back to Aiden across the table, pushing what was left of my eggs Benedict aside. “Nothing.”

We shared another one of those gazes. By gosh, why did I feel as if my soul mate was sitting across from me, right past the salt and pepper shakers?

Aiden was clearly disappointed and worried. I was sure there was a miniature goat stuck in my constricted throat. Did he already know something was up? And if he did, how much did he know?

He had another bite of my raspberry jelly. “Everybody’s right. This is incredible.” He rolled his huge shoulders then leaned toward me. “I know you’re hiding something. I can feel it. I’m already searching for it. This is my job, and I will find out what it is.”

I blinked rapidly to clear the tears and the exploding fear. What would my friends here think of me when they knew?

“The article is going to come out, and I can help you if I know the truth.”

“I know the article will be printed, but I’m hoping it will have minimal impact for me here on the island. Maybe the day it comes out we’ll be hit by millions of falling stars and no one will read it.”

“And you can continue to be anonymous? No one will know you and Annabelle are one and the same?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

“That isn’t going to happen, Chalese.”

Good-bye, life.

“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t. You make me nervous.”

I got up to leave the booth. He got up to follow me, and I did not miss what he said under his breath. “You make me nervous, too.”

“I don’t know why I make you nervous.”

“Spend half a second in front of the mirror, charming Chalese, and you’ll figure it out pretty damn quick.”

I shot him a glance. “You’re flirting.”

“Not yet. Simply stating a fact.”

I heard Mrs. Chittick and Mrs. Meyerson titter in the corner.

“He’s a romantic!’

“He’s a sex god!”

“He’s got a body identical to Zeus!”

“Yep, a sex-god Zeus.”

“Do you think he’s asked her yet?”

Mrs. Chittick yelled, “Hey, Add-on! Have you asked her to marry you? You know that girl’s never said yes. Not once. Four times men have asked her to the altar. Always a no. Smart, she is. Women live longer if they don’t marry, you know. Husbands stress us out, make us so mad our insides curdle, so frustrated we believe we’re on blipping fire. Better to stay single, if you ask me, but I’d marry you, sexy Zeus god, if you asked!”

“Fifth time’s the charm!” a millionaire announced.

“She’s broken hearts here on the island. Ya gotta watch out for that, Add-on,” Fred the high-kicker said.

I hurried out as another sweat-fest took its time to burn the heck out of me.

I wiped my brow.

“How about a walk on the trail around the island?” Aiden asked me.

“Sure, Zeus,” I said. “Whatever.”

Brenda greeted us back at my house wearing a gold pantsuit, a sparkling silver headband, and fairy wings. She had a date with a businessman from Seattle who was at his weekend house for a few days. I have no idea why she periodically puts on outrageous costumes for her dates; I don’t ask. She gave me a hug, then flapped her arms as she jumped off the porch and into her sports car. I smelled her sultry, earthy perfume.

I grabbed a bag of grapes. Then we leashed two joyous dogs each before heading for the ocean and a nature path around the island. The day was warm and clear, too pretty to miss.

“Aiden.”

He turned his head toward me. Now that was a novelty. Most men listen about as well as they can crack walnuts with their knees. “Tell me about you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not much. I was raised by my father. We’re still close. My mother died when I was five in an accident in India. He’s still in love with my mother. That’s why he never remarried. He was an executive, and we traveled all over the world. He continues to work. He’s in Zurich right now. I still have friends from Zimbabwe to Saudi Arabia to London to Toronto. It was a great life. I had much more independence than most kids, but …”

“But what?” I felt so unbelievably sad for the little boy who grew up without a mother.

“Once my mother died, I never felt I had a home.”

“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t had a safe home until Whale Island.

I unleashed the dogs. They leaped into the water. I could almost hear them yodeling, “We’re free! Free!”

He shrugged. “People need a home. They need to know they belong somewhere, that there’s family and friends around, that there’s a place that’s set aside for them to be loved, to laugh, to be themselves.”

“You don’t feel as if you have a home now?”

He thought for a second. “I have a condominium, Chalese. It’s nice. It’s on the water in Seattle, fantastic view, it’s modern, it’s sleek. I have a stove that doesn’t catch on fire and a sink that doesn’t leak, but I wouldn’t call it home. It’s where I live, not where I feel I belong.”

We stepped over a log on the sand, then headed closer to the ocean, took our shoes off, and waded in.

“I felt the exact same way before I came to Whale Island.”

“You feel this is home now?”

“I do.” I turned to face him. “I know how it feels to desperately want a home. I don’t leave the island much, because I feel so right here, so safe. Yes, it’s a problem now and then that we all know each other so well, but mostly it makes me …” I searched for the right word. “It makes me feel as if I went on a quest for myself and found myself here. It’s a gift. It’s mostly a good thing, except for when Brenda, the menace, gets me in trouble.”

“Not that that would ever be your fault?”

I laughed with him. “Never.” I tilted my head. “You’ve never married?” I applauded my own daring in asking that question so nonchalantly.

“No. I have worked and travelled constantly, and I have never met anyone I wanted to marry. Fifty years is a long time to be together, and I need to be sure. I’m getting married once, and then the gal’s stuck with me forever. You?”

I grimaced. “Let’s skip that topic.”

He paused. “Let’s not. I want to hear about those marriage proposals you said no to.”

I hung my head, letting my black hair cover the sides of my face. “Let’s talk about biochemical engineering, international economics, or the stock market and skip this part.”

“Too dull. So … have you been married? What about those four proposals?”

“Aiden, I don’t want to talk about that, and I sure as heck don’t want it in your story.” Small, cool waves lapped at our legs until Nutmeg Man galloped on in and splashed us.

He nodded, wiped water off his face with his hand. “This is off the record. A conversation between you and me. It’s personal.”

“I don’t know …”

“Trust me on this, will you?”

“Trust you?” Out in the distance I saw a spray of water from a whale. I was a bit of a head case, that was true, and I had serious, free-ranging trust issues, but for this one conversation …

“Yes. Trust me.” Charlotte, a white mutt missing half an ear, circled our legs, barking.

I took a leap of faith into those green eyes. “I said no because even though all those men seemed right initially—smart, ambitious, interesting, blah blah blah—when I got to know them, their flaws shone like a six-story spotlight. I knew I’d be infinitely happier single than married to any of them.” Plus, I kept seeing a bit of my father in each of them. That was enough to liquify my insides with fear.

“Smart woman.” He tucked a curl behind my ear, then drew his hand back real quick, as if that motion had surprised him.

“None of them listened well,” I said, clearing my throat when desire flamed up and out of control in my nether regions. “Sometimes they didn’t even bother to look at me when I spoke, or they’d say ‘Yep’ or ‘Uh-huh,’ which really means ‘I’m not listening. You’re not worth the effort, and the conversation is not about me, Mr. Man, so I’m not interested.’”

Identical to my father’s attitude.

“One man was passive-aggressive and controlling. He sneakily put me down when he could, threw out barbs. The second man was a closet drinker with the accompanying problems of denial, blame of others, anger, and depression.”

I watched a sailboat leave the dock.

“The third man was a goofball who did not want to take responsibility for anyone, including himself. He was eternally lazy but tried to hide it under the artist/musician mantle. He played the sax.”

“And the fourth man who asked you to marry him?”

“He was a liar. I found that out about two days before he asked me to marry him. He hid massive credit-card bills, and his betting and gambling. When I found out, that was it.”

“Good decision.”

“Yes, it was. In none of them had I sensed a real and true kindness. Compassion. Selflessness. For those men, it was all about them. I knew they would never help me, support me, encourage me in my career or anything else. It sure wouldn’t come naturally to them, and they wouldn’t do it if they had to inconvenience themselves in any way.”

And I hadn’t trusted any of them.

“So when they asked you to marry them?”

“I felt as if I were suffocating.”

“Suffocating.” He nodded.

“I couldn’t breathe. I can only compare it to having a wedding bouquet smashed over my nose. Had I slept with any of them, which I didn’t, I’m sure the feelings of suffocation would’ve been exponentially worse.”

“What about marrying someone else? Some great, kind, smart, handsome bloke who made you laugh? Would you still feel suffocated?”

“Yep. I’d still feel as if my windpipe was being somewhat smashed. I don’t think I would be happy married.” Unless it was to Zeus here. I might be able to breathe long-term around Zeus, the sex god.

“Because …,” he prodded.

“I am happy with my life the way it is.” I had to hide away, keep things private, and I preferred to do that without a husband strapped to my back. Unless, perhaps, it was Zeus. He would not be too heavy on my back.

“You don’t want kids?”

“No.” Well, no more than four with Zeus. “Do you?” I tried not to feel insanely, flamingly jealous of the wife he did not yet have and the kids she would bear him.

“Yes, I want kids.”

“But you travel all the time for your work.”

“I did travel all the time for my work. I came to the Seattle paper a year ago because I wanted a change in my life. With this job, I knew I could have a life, flexibility. I’ve travelled almost constantly for twenty years, not counting my childhood. My suitcase is worn out. I have enough frequent-flier miles to go to Saturn. I can’t even think about pretzels anymore without feeling sick. I don’t have a real home, and I want that. And I want a family—wife, kids, the whole nine yards. I’ve wanted that for years now.”

I tried to make light of it so I didn’t bang my head against the ground like a jealous, rabid rat gone wild envisioning his wife-to-be and kids. “I’ve rarely heard a bachelor admit that. Strike that. I’ve never heard a bachelor admit that.”

“I admit it. It’s what I want.”

“I’m sure your kids will be born ready to be ace reporters, lie detectors in their tiny fists, flak jackets on, pens at the ready …”

“And your kids, Chalese? They’ll be born clutching paintbrushes and drawing pencils.” He paused. “And then they’d be off to spy on someone through a skylight ….”

I tossed a grape at him.

He tossed one at me.

I tossed another.

And somehow, some way, our faces ended up so close I could see the darker green flecks in those eyes, the lines crinkling from the corners, and the wave of those brown curls.

And there we froze.

I should have moved away, at the very least to avoid the abject, eyeball-popping humiliation of the last kiss-attack. This time, I kept my peepers open.

But that electricity, that lust, that thing between us, went loose, boinging off both of us. Aiden leaned in to kiss me, his fingers entwining with mine.

His lips could not have been better, a mixture of softness and demand, passion and restraint, rampaging lust and more rampaging lust.

When he pulled me closer, I linked an arm around his neck and gave in to that quivering, sexily sinking, hot sensation until I thought I might self-combust. He pulled me in close, so we had a warm, tingling, full-body press going on. After luscious minutes, he picked me up, me, Ms. Plentiful Bottom, and gently placed me on my back in the warm sand and followed me down, his kisses strong, our breath mixing, a pant following a moan and a pant, until I had no idea where I stopped and he began.

He pulled his head up. “Damn. Oh damn.”

I tried to speak, couldn’t. I did make a sound in my throat, though, like someone would who landed unexpectedly in heaven. He was an excellent kisser!

He bent to kiss me again, and I kissed him back, his lips trailing my neck, and lower, and I instinctively arched my back, willingly diving into that pool of passion in a way I’d never dived.

And then there was cool, ocean air where a warm, muscled, male body used to be as he arched up on his elbows, knees to the ground between my legs, shaking his head. “Dammit,” he breathed.

I dropped my arms and waited, trying not to smile like a Cheshire cat, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I’m sorry, Chalese,” he started breathlessly. “Dammit.”

“Dammit twice?” Charlotte circled us, then ran off, barking, like she was tattling to the other dogs.

“Yes, twice.” He crinkled his eyes, appreciating the humor, before he went back to serious.

I wanted to laugh, wriggle, dance. The man who was going to expose me had kissed me, and the kisses were, well, outstanding! Even my throbbing body yelled, “Outstanding!”

“I can’t believe I’m in this situation,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, I can, I can believe it. You have strung me up since the second I saw you. I can hardly think anymore but I have never gotten involved with anyone I was interviewing. This is totally unprofessional and inappropriate.”

“It felt totally appropriate, though. Yes, it did.” I grinned up at him, then ran a finger over his lips. Warm. Yummy. His eyes shut, he moaned.

He was a truly delicious male specimen. Truly delicious. The kisses had been the commanding sort of kiss, the “I’m going to take charge here” kiss, the “I want you, and I’m about to lose control over you” kiss.

Awesome! I chuckled.

“This is funny to you?” he said.

“Yep. It is.” I cupped his face, and he turned his head more fully into my palm.

“It’s a mess.”

“That, too,” I agreed. I bit my lip but couldn’t suppress my smile. How I wanted that man. He was huggable and kissable, and I had never had such a base, magnetic attraction to any man in my whole life. My body was thrumming for him. Thrumming! “A beautiful mess, though.”

I saw something flicker in those eyes, eyes that never wavered from mine. “Beautiful, tragic. Complicated. And I really must kiss you again.”

It was an instant, a millisecond, and we were right back in each other’s arms, sweet, hot, desperate, on-fire kisses, hands going this way and that, legs curved around legs, a roll here and there, an arch or two, a semistraddle.

Until he pulled away again and panted, “This is out of control.”

I noticed he was breathing really hard, even harder than me.

“But it’s fun.” I smiled at him. “So much fun.”

He gave up, that stressed expression leaving his face as he laughed.

The dogs circled us, barking, tails wagging.

“You are a helluva kisser, Zeus,” I muttered.

And maybe, one day, I could trust this man. Maybe.

“Hi, Mom,” I said into the phone. “You’re in Dallas? Yes, I got the shiny green coat for winter. It fit perfectly …. I do appreciate the ear flaps on the hood and how the coat reaches my ankles. I resemble an overgrown caterpillar. I’ll take the extra vitamin C and green tea you sent, and I’ll do the earth mud mask …. I love you, too ….”