5. Chapter 5 – Lucy
C lay insisted on walking me to my car. Hardly necessary in sleepy Friday Harbor, but after a suspicious death in the spring and a few petty crimes over the summer, I didn’t argue.
Dinner was… surprisingly nice. I’d expected flirty nonsense.
Maybe a few jokes, another fake proposal.
Instead, he gave me honesty—about his past, his wife, things I hadn’t earned yet.
And he didn’t say them for pity or attention.
He offered the pieces of his past like he wanted me to really know him.
His shoulders were relaxed but his gaze vigilant as we strolled, like he couldn’t turn off protector mode. Our arms brushed, the hair on my arms prickling. Unable to turn off the awareness of him.
He was quiet as he walked beside me. Close, but not crowding.
Normally, I would have walked to the brewery from the studio, but there was no reason to leave my car overnight.
Clay opened my door for me, resting one elbow on the hood. Waiting for… what? A thank you? Good night?
“I had a nice time tonight.” His deep voice, soft as the evening air, sent tiny prickles zipping up my arms.
I put a hand to his chest. Mistake. The firm muscle under my palm made me want to stroke, not push away. “Not a date, Robertson.”
He pouted, the downturn of his lips ruined by a smile just as swift. “You sure about that, Lucifer? I think there’s something between us.”
Practicing honesty was overrated. I barely wanted to admit the attraction to myself, let alone to him.
“It’s just a little animal attraction, Robertson. Nothing we can’t handle.”
His eyes flashed, a grin broadening his features. “Yes. Let’s handle it.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you like it.”
I exhaled in one long gust. I did like it. Too damn much.
“Okay, hotshot. What happens if we hook up, and it’s bad? We’re going to see each other every week for art classes. It’s a small island, and you’re friends with my friends. What’s going to happen if we crash and burn, or if the chemistry’s not there?”
My objections were legit, even if they weren’t the real reason I was scared of seeing what we could be. Worse than it being bad? It being good. So good I’d forget how long it took to rebuild myself.
“If you feel that strongly about it, we could test us out privately—no labels or expectations.”
He probably meant it as a compromise, a way to meet me halfway, but I still recoiled.
I’d worked too hard to leave the negative voices of the past where they belonged.
Christopher had been eager to downplay our relationship in public.
In private, he’d call me the only woman who ever understood him.
Said he needed me. But in front of his coworkers, he’d mock my hair or outfit, then blame me for taking things personally and getting too emotional when I called him out on it.
Acting like I was too needy or immature.
It took me forever to realize that half his friends thought I was just some clingy girl he hooked up with, not his girlfriend.
Clay’s offer, well-meaning or not, zapped a hidden nerve. The one that was still raw and aching beneath all the armor I’d built.
“Dude, have you met me? I’m not keeping anything on the down-low. I’m not anyone’s side piece or secret.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. More like holding a mini-trial. One kiss. For science. Then you’d have the facts to make your decision.”
Clever man, putting me in the driver’s seat. Especially when I couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to kiss him, now that he’d brought it up.
It’d been so long since I let anyone touch me. Suddenly, I ached for the brush of his lips. Wanted to feel the gentle scrape from his beard, taste the lingering hint of iced tea on his tongue.
“One kiss.”
He nodded. He looked so earnest, standing beneath the parking lot lights in his uniform. His dark eyes were drowning me in their chocolatey depths.
An itty-bitty kiss. Just a taste. To see if we clicked.
I closed my eyes, swaying forward. “Okay. One.”
Every sense was attuned to him. His big body blocked most of the wind, giving me a sensation of shelter. He was close enough that a simple lean would close the distance. But the only thing touching me was the breeze.
My heartrate picked up, my blood pounding heavily in my ears, making it impossible to count seconds Cool air caressed my cheeks, anticipation building as I waited. And waited.
When I finally reopened my eyes, Clay stood in front of me like a statue.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
“The right moment,” he rasped. His voice sounded strained.
My eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of smugness in his expression, relaxing when I couldn’t detect any.
“Robertson, I don’t get you. I thought seizing the moment was your whole schtick.” I spread my arms wide. “Seize me already, dammit.”
“I want our first kiss to be special.”
I hated that part of me wanted that too. Wanted him to mean it. To make it last. To be different.
“You’re unbelievable. Hot and cold. This is why I have trust issues.”
It wasn’t fair. I knew it as I said it.
“Lucifer, those started long before you met me, and you know it. Think of this as my way of building credibility.”
“How is asking to kiss me and not delivering building anything?” I asked, exasperated.
“I’m giving you time to get to know me first.”
“I don’t have to know you to kiss you. They’re just lips. I’ve kissed my grandmother with them.” I wrinkled my nose, distracted from my rant by the image of me locking lips with my grandma. “Not on the mouth, obviously.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” he said wryly.
“Make it make sense, Robertson.”
He reached for my hand, tangling our fingers. The light caress felt good. Right. His gaze met mine, his expression bordering on a tenderness that made me uncomfortable.
“When I kiss you for the first time, I don’t think we’re going to want to stop.”
“So now you’re afraid of sex with me?” I skipped right over protesting that stopping would be easy. I wasn’t a liar.
“Not quite. But I think you’re scared of intimacy.”
“Duh. I was pretty clear about that. Breaking up in a small town is awkward as hell.”
“When we come together, I want it to feel right. Like the most natural thing in the world.”
“Robertson, we’re not the nature channel.”
He grinned. “Challenge accepted. I know you don’t trust me yet, Lucy, and that’s fine. I’ll wait. But that means you have to wait too.”
I slid into my car, muttering under my breath.
The man was a menace. Winding me up and letting me down.
He crouched beside me, fingers tangling with mine on the seatbelt.
Pent-up aggression made me want to slap his hand away, but his face was too close.
His lashes impossibly long. How did he manage to look gentle and dangerous at once?
I quit breathing, letting the buckle fall from nerveless fingers. Smoothly, he slid the belt across my lap, careful not to touch me, clicking me safely in place. Taunting me with his proximity.
He stood to his full height, finally giving me space to breathe. But now the entire car smelled like him. Salty, soapy, and with just enough onion to prove he wasn’t perfect. That and his stubborn refusal to kiss me.
“Sweet dreams, Lucifer.” Gently, he shut my car door.
It sounded more like a taunt than a good night. I drove the few blocks home, parking behind my studio-slash-apartment. Clay idled at the curb in his truck, waiting until I was safely inside before rumbling away. Shut doors, seatbelts, and locked lips—he threatened to ruin me with patience alone.
I slipped off my shoes and belly-flopped on my well-worn couch, screaming into the cushions. The tiny release felt good. Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling.
I’d kept my promise to be real. No biting my tongue or shrinking to fit. I’d done that before, and I wasn’t dragging those regrets into my new life.
I could have taken control and kissed him. The power had been mine. Maybe that was what he was waiting for, pushing for, but something about his expression held me back. Open but uncertain. Like all protests aside, a kiss would be more than just a kiss for Clay.
He’d shared more in the last hour than in the few months I’d known him.
He’d shattered my original assessment of him with one word – widower.
I had him pegged as a flirt. Charming. Harmless.
Temporary. Nothing to take seriously. His admission withdrew him from the feckless fuckboy category and put him into a more serious group: a man you could build a life with.
The realization sent a tremor through me.
He had me questioning everything. Him. Me. What I wanted. If I could trust my own judgment yet.
He kept teasing and pushing. The marriage proposals were obviously a joke. Tonight he’d alluded to a more serious interest in dating.
But was his heart really up for grabs? Was mine? I’d drawn a hard line, giving myself five years to establish my independence and unlearn bad habits. Reassert control. While I was nearing the end of my self-imposed period of celibacy, could I really cozy up to Clay and not regress? Not surrender?
I was done being a doormat. Done being a fool.
Clay met me at my strongest. And he seemed to like that. He sparred with me, undaunted when I challenged him. He wasn’t intimidated by my sharp edges or scorn. And tonight, he let me see beyond the bravado. He showed real vulnerability, talking about his wife. About therapy.
Could he respect the strength it took to escape a bad relationship and break free from a toxic past? I wanted to believe he could. But what if I was wrong? What if I lost myself again—this time to him?