27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
C ARLY
I avoid Micah’s regard when I walk away, even though I feel his gaze on my back. I don’t want him to look into my eyes. I’m scared he’ll see the thoughts running through my mind, nasty thoughts that don’t deserve to see the light of day.
Thoughts I never thought I would have about another woman, much less someone I consider a friend.
Well, maybe not a friend, but at least an acquaintance and not an enemy.
And those thoughts originate from somewhere deep inside, a malevolent envy that I’ve felt probably my whole life.
And I hate that I feel that way, hate that I’m getting possessive and jealous over a man who’s not mine and will probably not even remember my face when he leaves. I hate that I was thinking of pulling him away from a conversation he was enjoying, just so he and Tate couldn’t continue their banter. So that he wouldn’t realize how much prettier, smarter, and better she is than me.
But he probably already sees it. Anyone with eyes and a working brain can see it.
And that’s what makes it hurt worse.
Luckily, I think I hid my feelings pretty well. I treated Tate with the same friendliness as always, but I was hoping that she and her mom wouldn’t linger. Seeing her joking around with Micah, with her long legs and beautiful smile and luscious red hair... I felt like a drab fat little mouse in comparison. And watching Micah smile back at her, made it so much worse.
He’s going to leave you for her. The thought consistently pounds against my skull, and it’s not an entirely irrational one. After all, Micah promised no loyalty to me and he would be well within his rights to exercise other options.
I bet Tate would make a better fake girlfriend than me. Heck, she could even be his real girlfriend eventually. They fit well. Tate’s smart, accomplished, and bold. I bet she wouldn’t have goofed up with his grandfather. She would have handled that situation with more finesse and found a way to defend Micah without pissing off his family.
Something I couldn’t do.
I just need to go home . Hal seems to have the cookie stand under control, and Kayla’s mom will be coming later to help. Emma has Tate to hang out with, and Declan and Micah can have their manly talk. I doubt anyone would miss me if I were gone.
My thoughts are interrupted when someone from behind grabs my wrist.
I already know it’s Micah, even before he spins me around to pin me with a look.
His eyes scan my face and he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I guess... I don’t know. I got tired. I have a headache and I want to go home.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He tucks my hair behind my ear.
“I didn’t want to interrupt y’all’s conversation. But you can stay, I don’t mind.”
His eyes continue to search for a clue in my features that would hint at the cause of my mood switch.
“You’re really not going to tell me?” He let his hand rest on my waist and the orange glow of the sun gives his emerald eyes a fiery glint. His scent is strong, gaze, soft, beseeching, lingering on my lips as my breath catches.
I can’t do this with him right now. Not here. I’m not confident I won’t cry.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. I can’t talk about my feelings to Micah when they’re still fresh. But maybe later I can turn it into a joke. Tell him I was just PMS-ing and we’ll laugh at how ridiculous my hormonal brain is.
Or maybe, hopefully, later will never come, because Micah would have forgotten all about the questions he has and we’ll move on from it without incident.
Micah places a soft kiss on my forehead and the move is so tender I blink back tears.
Shit, I really need to get out of here.
Luckily, he doesn’t stop me from leaving. Instead, he takes my hand and walks out with me, letting me have my silence while still being a steady rock at my side.
I can’t help myself. I hold his hand tight.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad he followed me out. His presence is comforting and it helps soothe my emotionality.
We continue strolling down the pavement, smelling the grass, listening to the birds chirping, and watching the shimmering lake in the distance.
“This is nice,” Micah says. “You know you could build a great country club with a view like that. Buy a few yachts and rent them out. That would be a fantastic experience to offer tourists.”
“Yeah, but build it with what money? That would require investment and no one here has it. I bet most of the people in Laketown don’t know what a country club is.”
“Hmm. You’re right. I’ll talk to Declan, and see if he wants to do a joint venture with me.”
I send him an amused look. “You realize doing something like that will make you have to stay in Laketown longer than you intend to right?”
He sighs. “Neither my grandfather nor dad are budging, so it looks like I’m already going to be staying a while. Like I said, I might as well do something with that time.”
“So you’ve given up on leaving? You’ll stay in Laketown?” I don’t want to evaluate the quick flutter of my heart at the thought.
“No,” he says, facing me. “Just putting a pause on my dreams until I figure out what my next steps are with my firm.”
I swallow the sinking feeling and nod. “Do you have the architecture firm already set up or is that what you need the money from your grandpa for?”
“Yup, more or less. I technically started the firm back in college, but we disbanded after my father’s sabotage. But there was always an unspoken agreement that we could come back together eventually. We just need an initial investment and a few big projects to solidify our name. And we’re working on both those things. We’re courting a huge real estate mogul who wants to build a string of shopping malls. He’s impressed by my ideas but he’s not going to give me the contract unless we look like we have our shit together. And that’s where the money comes in.”
“Wow,” I say. I can see the clear passion on his face whenever he talks about his architectural dream.
It’s so interesting to see because as a rich kid from a wealthy family, he technically doesn’t need to do anything else for the rest of his life. He can just rely on his family’s money. And for a while there, I thought that was all he was doing.
Despite everything he told me, I never really noticed this driven side of him before. And it’s admirable, especially given his circumstances.
I’m driven because I’m trying to escape poverty and make something of myself.
He’s doing it simply because he wants to.
We walk a little more and I spot a boat coasting close to the shore with two familiar people climbing aboard. I smile.
“Speaking of yachts, if you want someone to help pilot them, I know the perfect person.”
“Emma’s grandpa?” He guesses because I’m staring in that direction.
“Yup. That old man loves the water so much that I think he might have been a pirate in his past life. “
Micah chuckles and Grandpa Crane catches sight of me.
“Is that my Lady Fishy?” he calls out, his voice echoing across the field. I lift my hand and wave.
“Lady Fishy?” Micah murmurs.
“An old nickname. I’ll explain later.” I head over to where Grandpa and Amelia are sitting on a small fishing boat, aware that Micah is following me. Grandpa adjusts his trademark Chinaman’s hat to shield his face from the sun. Amelia is wearing a similar, albeit smaller, hat.
Grandpa peers at Micah first. “Hey, I know you. You’re that Mark fella that was at Declan’s engagement party.”
“Micah,” Amelia and Micah correct simultaneously and then look at each other. Micah grins and attempts to snatch the hat off her head while she scowls and fights him off. I suppose the two of them are well acquainted. I remember Emma told me that Micah helped Amelia escape the forest when she was kidnapped. And with Micah and Declan working together, they’ve probably met more times than that.
“Hey, Amelia,” I greet. “What are you guys up to?”
“Grandpa says he’s going to show me Burgstone Wharf, and he’ll tell me the story of the Burned Man.”
“Burned Man?”
“Oh, I never told you that story?” Grandpa Crane’s eyes glitter with excitement under the brim of his Chinaman’s hat.
I shake my head. To be fair, he could have told me the story but he tells so many of them, that they kind of start to blur into each other after a while.
“Oh, it’s a good one. Get in the boat, the two of you can join us and I’ll catch you up to speed.”
“Oh, I’m not sure about that, Grandpa.” I share a look with an amused Micah. “We’re just coming back from the picnic, and I’m sure Micah has work to do.”
“Nonsense. You don’t work after a picnic; a picnic is an excuse for a lazy day. And it’s a Sunday too. No one is supposed to be working on the Lord’s day.”
“Um...” I try to find another excuse but I already suspect it will be futile.
The only thing Grandpa loves more than fishing is telling one of his elaborate and unrealistically epic stories, and he just found two more semi-willing victims.
So Micah and I climb onto Grandpa’s boat and shift our weight around so as to make it as well-balanced as possible. This means that I’m sitting next to Grandpa and Amelia is sitting on the other end next to Micah.
She gives him a funny look and then turns it on me. “Are you two dating now?”
“Um, no,” I say quickly, side-eyeing Grandpa. “We’re just friends.
“That’s what Emma and my dad used to say when they were dating.”
Shoot. “Yeah, but we really are just friends. Right, Micah?”
But Micah, the little devil, only winks conspiratorially at Amelia who makes a face.
“Gross. Everyone’s dating now. Pretty soon this town will be filled with gross couples and you’ll all be popping out crying little babies.”
Micah laughs at that. Grandpa says, “Love is a beautiful thing, Amelia. You shouldn’t find it gross.”
“It’s not a beautiful thing. Mysteries are beautiful. Like the one you’re going to tell me.”
That’s all the prompting he needs as he pushes us off the shore. “Alright. Let’s get ready for the ride.”
As the boat sways and surges at a steady pace, Grandpa begins his story. “It was a warm and stormy night. Sometime in summer. And it was practically hailing. I’m talking about the kind of rain that makes you feel like the world is ending. Just big fat drops pelting...”
“We get it, Grandpa,” Amelia says, sounding very much like Emma in that moment. “No offense, but can we get to the meat of the story.”
“Patience is a virtue, my dear.” Grandpa smiles at her indulgently. “Anyway, just to continue setting the scene. This was nearly two decades ago. The hotel fire had happened just a few weeks before, and most of the Pink Hotel had burned to ashes. I lost my little boy and his wife.” Grandpa swallows thickly, a sad smile on his face. “But of course, my grief was nothing compared to little Emma’s. She cried nearly every day and asked if there was a way we could get them back. And then she watched this fairy-tale movie on TV– I forget the name–but it had her convinced that if she went to the hotel and said a magic spell, it would bring them back. Of course, I tried to dissuade her, but even back then, my Emma was very stubborn when she put her mind to something. So I had no choice but to take her, to see for herself.”
The boat’s now entering a tunnel, where the lake continues out on the other side. “Of course, neither of us accounted for the rain. And when we were about half a mile away, it started pouring. I had to jet to make it in so we didn’t get too soaked. You would have thought I was in high school again.” His eyes twinkle at the memory. “Although to be honest, I wasn’t much of a jock in high school. I could have been, had I not torn my Achilles in freshman year...”
“Grandpa...”
“Sorry, sorry. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. We dashed into the hotel to protect ourselves from the storm, but when we arrived, there were already wet footsteps on the floor. Meaning that someone had gotten there right before us. Now, I thought they might still be there, so I called out and no one answered. It was a little spooky. And then, suddenly, when we walked across the hall, someone ran down the stairs and out the door. I only got a glimpse of him but he had white hair and a huge burn scar on his face and a little on his neck.”
“Wait, what?” I jerk to attention. “A man with a burn scar on his neck and face?”
“Yes.” Grandpa seems delighted by my enthusiasm. “And I swear on the almighty, Carly, I’ve never seen that man before and never saw him since. I think maybe he could have even been a ghost. I thought he was a ghost. Until recently, I saw him for the second time.”
Anxiety tightens my stomach and my spine laces straight. “Where?”
“It was a few days ago, in the alley behind Lou’s. A few of the guys and I were over at Lou’s playing poker but I needed to take a leak and the bathroom was choked up. So I went out back to do my business and there he was coming out. Our eyes met and he took off running again.”
“Strange,” Micah murmurs.
No. It’s more than strange. Internally I’m freaking out a little.
I tune out the rest of the conversation as my mind whirls around one thing. The man with the burn scar. Just like the guy Nate described to me.
I thought my cousin was just messing around. Trying to scare me into coming to visit him more often.
But what Grandpa Crane is saying...
No. There can be more than one person with a burn scar on their arm and face. It may be a coincidence.
Or it may not.
But I don’t know what to think right now.
As Grandpa continues the elaborate story that somehow includes him beating everyone at the bar at pool, my mind remains on what he just told me. Even after getting assaulted by a flying fish, much to the mirth of everyone else on board, I still can’t forget it.
And unluckily, Micah also hasn’t forgotten about our conversation. When we get back into our hotel room about an hour later, he closes the door behind me and summarily sweeps me off my feet.
“Micah!” I yell, shocked. My legs kick in protest but he carries me with relative ease over to the couch and sits with me on his lap. “Do you want to tell me what was bothering you now?”
“You didn’t have to carry me, you know?”
“Didn’t have to. But wanted to. Now tell me. What happened at the picnic?”
I blow out a breath staring up at the ceiling. I don’t want to talk about this. I really don’t want to talk about it, but knowing Micah, he’s not going to let this go. So I have no choice but to try and explain it as maturely as possible.
“It was nothing,” I say. “I just thought, since you and Tate were hitting it off, maybe it was just time to make my exit.”
I say it as effortlessly as I can, as though the bad thoughts weren’t eating me inside. I’m hoping he won’t dig deeper but that’s clearly too much to hope for.
“Hitting it off?” He sounds confused at first, and then his eyes flare in understanding. “Wait, you mean like flirting?”
I try to imitate a casual shrug, but I don’t quite think I land it. “I mean, that’s what it looked like. I thought maybe you wanted to... anyway, I didn’t want to be a third wheel so I gave you your space.”
Micah makes a choking sputtering sound. The look on his face is a combination of shocked and wounded, and he stares at me like I said something so insanely crazy.
“You thought I was flirting with your friend in front of you?”
I try another shrug. Once again, I think I miss the mark. “I mean there’s nothing wrong with it. We’re not exclusive or anything.”
“Yes we damn sure are,” he snaps, shocking me. “Let’s not lie to ourselves. For as long as this fling lasts neither of us is fucking anybody other than each other. And if I see you with that friend of yours, touching all over you again, I’m gonna snap his wrist for good this time.”
I snort at the impassioned look on his face. “Okay, Don Corleone. I get it.”
It takes a second, but amusement finally appears on his features, and his anger retreats.
He sighs. “Maybe it’s my fault for not discussing it before, but I thought it was understood that we’re exclusive. And even if we weren’t, I’m not that much of a heel that I would flirt with your friend in front of you. Come on, that’s tacky as hell.”
He looks so offended that I would even think such a thing that I have to believe him. Now that I think about it, my view of that scene was probably already colored by my feelings of inadequacy and jealousy toward Tate.
And now that I realize it, I can’t help but be ashamed. I duck my head. “Yeah, you’re right. I was probably just PMS-ing.”
He smirks. “Yeah. Same way I was PMS-ing when I hit your friend Bobby.”
“Robbie.”
“Whatever.”
I smirk at the dark jealousy in his voice. He’s still mad about that conversation with Robbie. It’s unbelievable, but also unbelievably vindicating.
And because of that, I find myself admitting, “It’s just that, with Tate, there’s something between us that I can’t explain. Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other most of our lives and we’re both friends with Emma. But I can’t help but compare myself to her, and I fall short every time.” There. The words are out. I also feel the need to clarify that Tate’s not at fault here. “She’s never done anything to explicitly stoke the jealousy though. She’s always been nice and thoughtful, but for some reason, I can’t help but be jealous of her.”
Micah takes a few thoughtful seconds. And I start to feel a bit more embarrassed. And then he says, “I think I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “My brother and I went to the same private school, and everyone always compared me to him. I think that’s standard when it comes to having an older brother, but Tristan was also just better than me in every way. Smarter. Kinder. Calmer.”
“Was he a ladies’ man too?” I tease softly, and he shakes his head.
“Nah. That was the worst part though. He was decent with the ladies, but he never actually made an effort. It was like he didn’t have to. Girls just gravitated toward him and even some of my hookups would probably have preferred to be with him. All the smart girls liked him, wanted to be with him, but they only wanted to fuck me. And they weren’t shy about letting me know who they thought the better brother was.”
It’s my turn to stay quiet for a few seconds, sympathy blooming in my chest. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”
“It did. I almost hated him for a bit there, but it was hard to. He was just so nice . And super understanding. Really, the best brother.” He sighs. “Sometimes I can’t believe he’s gone.”
His loss magnifies in the air and I wrap my hands around his neck, burying my face in his chest. I let him have a few more seconds before he says, “Anyway, that’s probably why I’m the way I am with women. Maybe it’s a deep insecurity stemming from my brother.”
I can sense the forced levity in his tone, so I pull back and quip, “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just a horn dog.”
He winks. “That too.”
We both laugh and it’s like a weight lifts from the whole room.
We spend most of the night trading stories about our childhood and our insecurities. And then at some point, I fall asleep in his lap and feel him carrying me to bed.
It’s a bizarre night, but it’s one of the best I’ve had in a while.