15. Shelby
When I hear the soft click of the front door opening at Mac’s place, my stomach swoops.
I haven’t seen Mac since Tuesday morning, and for some reason, nerves dance along every square inch of my skin now that he’s about to appear.
I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like I’ve developed a crush on this man. I’m a practical woman. I don’t get crushes on unobtainable grumpy-ass men.
But when Mac rounds the corner from the foyer into the kitchen, I know why.
I’m trying to impress him. But also, good God, he’s so attractive the very sight of him after an absence apparently turns me into a puddle.
“Hey, Mac.” My stomach flips, but I manage not to blink. I’m relieved at how calm I sound, despite the blood rushing in my ears.
I operate well under pressure. Usually.
Mac doesn’t even grunt. He just stares, frozen. I think that’s because Nate and I are elbows-deep in an explosive mess of food in the kitchen, early aughts indie rock music blaring over the speakers.
Nate looks up at the sound of my voice. “Hey, did you know Shelby knows these guys?”
He’s talking about the band playing.
“She, like, made their website or something right before they became famous. Don’t you have, like, five of their albums?”
Mac still hasn’t said anything. He’s still working on getting his jaw to function again, I think.
Somehow his bewilderment makes me relax a little. It’s just Mac, who I seemed to manage fine with before.
Nate slaps a hamburger patty down on the plate, and Mac’s eyebrows fly up.
I have to laugh. Nate does each one with more of a dramatic flourish than the last. I’m pretty sure because of how funny I’ve been finding it.
“We’re making dinner,” I explain.
“I see,” Mac says, setting down the bag he’s carrying. I try very hard not to watch the way his big-ass bicep flexes and how his forearm pulses as he lets it go.
“We’re running a bit behind,” I say. “We had some trouble finding the ingredients we needed for the burgers in town, so we went to Swan River.” I don’t mention that means I made two trips there today. “Did you know there’s a farmers’ market there that’s open during the week?” When Nate told me about it, it was like a wrench in the whole “Shelby Fox would never live in Swan River” thing. Shelby Fox would love a farmers’ market. I just know it.
Then I remember Nate only knew about it because his father has dragged him there in the past. “What am I talking about?” I laugh. “Of course you do.”
“Mac’s a veggie snob,” Nate concurs.
Mac only blinks. “I was going to ask if you needed help, but it looks like you have this…”
“Under control?” I supply as I pull a tray of homemade hamburger buns out of the oven.
Mac scrapes a hand over his beard. “Wasn’t going to say that exactly.”
I elbow a dirty bowl aside to make room for the tray of buns, and on the other end of the island, another bowl drops off the edge of the countertop. Mac’s hand flies out, catching it before it hits the floor. Every surface of the kitchen is completely covered with used bowls and utensils and ingredients in various states of disarray.
“Listen,” I say. “This isn’t your kitchen right now. It’s ours. So why don’t you get yourself a drink and go join Cal on the deck?”
Mac’s eyes snap to the chairs outside, where Cal’s reclining with his feet up.
“We wouldn’t let him help either,” I reassure him.
Mac grunts something, but he does as he’s told, grabbing an IPA from the fridge and heading straight out onto the deck. Luckily the weather’s been clear all day, so at least he won’t slip again.
When I look over at Nate, I’m shocked to see he’s grinning.
But Nate’s shocked me a few times this afternoon with how quickly he’s warmed up. He’s got this sardonic sense of humor that makes me laugh so hard. I honestly can’t wait for this dinner just so Mac can see what an amazing kid he’s still got, teenage hormones or not.
“Holy shit,” Cal says over a mouthful of burger. “I just about expired waiting for these, but you were right; they were worth the wait.”
“Why, thank you,” I say. “The burgers themselves were all Nate.” I wink at Mac’s son across the table since he’s too far away for a high five.
“Good job, dude,” Cal says, taking another giant bite. “They’re really fucking good.”
“Cal, for fu—” Mac grimaces. “Watch your mouth.”
We all laugh at that, even Nate.
We really did make them wait, though. It’s been a full hour and a half since Mac came home. The sun’s just a strip of orange over the ocean and mountains off the deck, and the four of us have just now sat down to eat. I kind of overdid it with toppings and sides, which took a while, plus I wanted to clean up the kitchen so Mac wouldn’t have to. Of course, I had to kick him out to keep him from pitching in three separate times.
Cal, we let help.
Now with a spotless kitchen and a full table, I can finally relax under the glow of the string lights as I watch this sweet group of boys enjoy the spoils of what really was more fun than work.
Well, relax as much as possible with Mac sitting next to me. I thought I’d be fine—the table’s so big there’s a good foot between us, and Nate and Cal are directly across from us. But his presence makes me feel like I’m sitting just a little too close to the fire.
Luckily Cal cusses again, and Mac sets down his burger strictly to glare at his best friend, which makes both Nate and me laugh, cutting the tension considerably.
For a moment.
“Don’t kids in eighth grade speak almost entirely in swear words?” I ask.
Nate nods confirmation as he reaches for more home-cut fries. “Pretty much every other word.”
I think about the boy on the school bus today. Should I tell Mac? I have the strong sense he doesn’t know Nate’s getting bullied.
“Your dad swore like a sailor,” Cal says to Nate helpfully. “Makes sense since you both come from a long line of sailors.”
“Is that true?” I ask.
Mac makes a low grumble of affirmation. “Dad was the first one in that line to ever wear a tie.”
“When he became mayor?” I ask, as if I don’t know the whole story already. I’m not good at playing coy, though; I confess immediately. “I saw the articles at the coffee shop.”
Mac picks up the tongs to grab some salad. Even though he’s been absent for the past few days, my study of his micro expressions has picked right back up again. When he glances at me next, I know he’s assessing how much I know.
For a moment, there’s a long pause filled only with the clinking of cutlery.
Then Mac says, “You read them all?” he asks. His expression remains stoic. But those eyes—God, those eyes—they’re fixed on me, swirling with something that vacillates between hope and pain. My heart feels like it cracks as I take in the vulnerability in those ocean-deep eyes.
“Yes,” I say honestly. I hold his gaze even as my pulse flutters, this time with nerves. I don’t want him to shut down around me. I want him to know that I don’t pity him or revere him for saving all those people. That I’m here, acknowledging that it’s just a part of him, that’s all.
Maybe he sees it—that I know something of what he felt.
After a moment, he looks down. But I watch his Adam’s apple bob; the slight pulse of muscle at his cheek as he picks his burger up with his left hand, his right hand flat on the tabletop.
Before I know what I’m doing, I slide my hand over on the wood. My pinky brushes against his.
He looks over at me as if I’ve stepped right into his personal space, which I guess I have. But I know how much I yearned for human touch when I didn’t get it.
I don’t do anything else. I fully expect him to move his hand away.
Instead, to my shock, he hooks his two smaller fingers over mine. Not the whole hand, just the pinky and ring finger in a gentle squeeze. The connection lasts a breathtaking few seconds, and in that time, the whole world seems to stop. It’s a thank-you; an acknowledgment of my knowing his pain.
Then he lets go. But as he pulls away, the length of his forearm brushes against mine, and this touch—it’s not comfort. It’s the heat of that fire roaring up against me. My skin explodes in gooseflesh.
Mac doesn’t even blink.
Can no one else pick up on the crackling heat over here?
“You know your grandfather was a fisherman,” Mac tells Nate.
“So he quit when he became the mayor?” Nate asks.
“He did. But in a town as small as Redbeard,” Mac says, “being a mayor’s only a part-time job. You keep up with whatever you already do and do the mayoring on the side. But being on the boats meant he’d be out of town too much to do his job, so he switched careers when I was twelve. He always loved to read, so he started a book distribution company. My mother was so happy, she threw a party when he came home from his last trip to sea.”
My heart squeezes at the mention of Mac’s mother. I’ve never heard him talk about her before.
“How’d he end up running for mayor in the first place?” I ask, wanting more but not wanting to ask directly.
“Cannery shut down,” Mac says. “And I think he wanted to stay home for Mom but needed a reason.”
That squeeze pulls tighter.
“Never did get the cannery back up and running,” Cal says. “But he found a way to fix everything else up in this town.”
“Your dad sounds amazing,” I say. I mean it. “A man who cared for his wife and family enough to end a career he’d been born into, who loved books, and who saved the town?”
“He is,” Mac says. He gives me the faintest hint of a smile, and my stomach flips.
I’m sexually repressed. That has to be it. Richard and I hadn’t spent the night together in at least a month before… The thought of Richard douses the flames roaring up my body, at least somewhat. He shouldn’t factor into any of my feelings anymore.
I sit up straight. “Diane mentioned he’s in a care home now,” I say, keeping my voice light and all appendages far away from Mac.
“Redbeard Care Home,” Mac says. “Nate and I see him pretty much once a week.”
“You go more than that sometimes,” Nate says. “He’s pretty cool for an old guy.”
“That’s what Nate says about me too,” Cal whispers loudly to me.
We all laugh. Thank God for Cal.
“What about your family, Shelby?” Cal asks. “Do you have a cool mayor dad? Sisters or brothers?”
My stomach knots. I take it back.
Mac throws Cal a glare.
“What?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about her family.”
“It’s fine,” I say. They’re innocuous questions. I have pat answers. “My parents are both alive. They live in Vancouver. My dad owns a few properties.” I glance sideways. He owns hundreds of properties, but I’m not about to tell them that. “My mom’s an actuary.”
“What’s an actuary?” Nate asks.
“Someone who gets paid a lot of money to do math,” Cal says.
I laugh. “Pretty much.”
“Any siblings?” Cal asks.
I was hoping he’d forget that one. The truth always makes people react weirdly, so I usually just say no. But Mac looks at me intently, like he’s curious too.
So for some reason, I tell the truth. “I did. I was a twin, but my sister passed when I was twelve.”
Cal does the face I knew he would—the deeply regretful for asking face. “Oh fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
But Mac keeps his eyes on me. I can practically see his mind processing that; like he’s turning that new fact about me around in his head.
“How’d she die?” Nate asks.
“Nate,” Mac says, firmly but not unkindly. “If it’s for your own curiosity, it doesn’t need to be asked.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “She had leukemia.”
Cal grimaces, looking much more pained than I feel.
“It sucked,” I admit.
“I’m really sorry for bringing it up, Shelby,” Cal says.
“Please.” I shake my head. “It’s a totally innocent question. I usually just say no, because it’s kind of a conversation ender. But I figured you guys could handle it.”
I look at Mac when I say that.
His eyes are so deep in that moment I swear I nearly fall in.
“Well, I have a sister,” Cal says, “but she’s a total pain in the ass. So I know hardship too.”
It should be a tactless joke, but coming from Cal, I can only snort with laughter. Even Mac’s shoulders shake. It’s enough to bring us back to the jovial spirit of the night.
“Are there any more of those?” Cal asks a half hour later as he polishes off his last fry. “Because these are the sh—the best.”
“I’ve got another plate of them keeping warm in the oven,” I say, pulling Mac’s cardigan tighter over my shoulders as I stand up. It’s not quite warm enough to be sitting out here, though the heavy sweater and the heat lamp make it so I haven’t been uncomfortable.
But Mac stands abruptly. “I’ll go.”
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I’m working on my second glass of wine or what, but Mac seems softer somehow when he looks at me.
And it’s doing things to my insides.
The moment Mac’s in the house, Cal leans forward. “I don’t know if you guys drugged the burgers or what, but whatever it is, keep doing it. I don’t think I’ve seen that guy almost smile so much since…well, since you turned up, Nate.”
“Those are smiles?” I ask. Then I register Cal’s weird wording.
Turned up.
“Yeah,” Nate says, to what I’m not sure. But he takes a big chug from his glass of root beer and only half suppresses a giant belch immediately afterward. It sounds remarkably like a foghorn.
We all fall over ourselves laughing, even Nate.
I don’t know when it happened—maybe halfway through the shopping trip or while we were making burgers—but Nate’s relaxed into this completely different boy.
I feel just the tiniest slice of pride that I might have had some small part in helping him shed that heavy armor he carries around.
I just hope it lasts.
Mac comes back a moment later, the plate of fries in his hand along with something slung over his other arm.
A blanket, I realize, as he opens it up.
“Stand up,” he instructs me.
When I do, he wraps it around my shoulders, tucking it into itself so it won’t fall down.
His knuckles brush against my neck, and I shudder at the ghost of a touch.
Shit, it’s happening again.
“If this isn’t warm enough, I’ll make a fire.” His voice is low. Only for me.
He’s mistaken my shiver for a chill.
But I can’t help smiling enthusiastically. “Yes, please. Can I help?”
He meets my eyes, and there’s the tiniest twinkle of amusement there. “I already chopped the wood.”
I joked during dinner that I swore Mac was an undercover lumberjack; it became a bit of an ongoing gag that involved lots of wood and axe puns between Cal and me, with Mac’s lip curling like he was annoyed. But that twinkle was still there. He enjoyed it.
“Damn,” I say softly. “I would have liked to see that.”
Only after I sense the silence at the table do I realize we might almost sound like we’re flirting. Or that I’m trying to flirt with Mac.
I clear my throat. “Anyone else want a fire?”
“Actually, I’m cooked from my trip today,” Cal says. “Think I’m going to turn in. But let me help with these.” He stands up and starts piling dishes up his arm.
“How about you, Nate?” I ask.
“I’m going to go play Firestorm,” Nate says. He looks at me intently.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, grinning. “I texted Avery this afternoon. It should be here tomorrow.”
For a moment, Nate looks like a kid at Christmas. But he schools his expression into clearly feigned indifference. “Cool. Thanks.”
“Thank you for cooking with me,” I say.
“Texted who?” Mac asks, frowning.
Nate explains with shocking verbosity who Avery Lee is as they bring everything inside. After giving Cal a hug goodbye, which Mac watches closely from inside, I realize that all there’s left for me to do is relax.
I seem to get to do that a lot around here.