22. Mac
My cousins cheer when I walk back into the bar. “All part of a day’s work,” I say. They clap me on the back, saying something about my granddad.
I should go to Shelby. See how she’s doing. But I don’t. I go straight to my office, closing the door behind me. I sink down into the chair still turned toward that whiteboard, my hands shaking as I sink my forehead into them.
There’s a knock at the door a moment later.
I stand up, already knowing it’s going to be her. “Come in,” I say, my voice surprisingly level, considering what just happened.
Shelby walks in, looking flushed and overwhelmed and worried and beautiful. “Mac?”
For a moment, I only stare at her. At the little crease between her eyebrows as she takes me in. The pink at the apple of her cheeks.
The soft plush of her bottom lip, pink as a spring rose.
The only words I can think of come tumbling out of my mouth.
“Do it again.”
“What?” There’s raucous laughter outside. She closes the door behind her and walks in closer. “Did you say?—”
“Do it again, Shelby,” I rasp. “Please. Not in front of him. I don’t want him having any piece of it.”
“I—” The tip of her tongue darts out, wetting those lips I can’t take my eyes off, and I can’t stand it anymore.
I slide my hands over her ribs, pulling her forward until she’s pressed up against me. Her whole perfect soft self melds into me, fitting me like we’re two broken pieces that finally, finally match.
“Let me, then,” I say, dipping my face down. I need her permission. I won’t do it without it. “Please.”
Shelby’s eyelashes flutter, her hands going to my chest, and for a painful moment, I’m sure she’s going to push me away. Tell me I’m sorely mistaken, that this wasn’t what any of this meant. I was a means to an end. That I’m an idea, a figment, a piece of meat people have idealized dreams about but don’t ever really want to know.
Then her hands slide up, snaking around my neck, and she rises up on her toes, her breath a warm flower against my lips.
“Kiss me, Mac,” she breathes. “For real this time.”
I don’t waste another second. I lift my hands, sliding them into her hair. Her lips are even softer than my feverish memory recalls. Her body is warm and electric and plush and perfect beneath my oversized hand as I slide one to her back and press her more firmly against me.
She opens her lips for me, just enough that I brush my tongue against her upper lip, and she sucks in the slightest intake of breath through the little gap between our mouths.
My already rapidly swelling dick turns to steel at this sound; it’s Pavlovian now, I know it. Every time she sighs, gasps, breathes, I’m going to get hard.
“Jesus, Shelby,” I say against her lips, our teeth clicking. It’s not awkward. It’s indescribably perfect. I close any last bit of space between us and take the kiss greedily, my hands roving her back, her neck, her shoulder blades. I can’t get enough. I’ll never get enough.
Shelby, Shelby, Shelby, I think as I drink her in. Shelby.
Finally I realize I’m devouring her, that this is probably not what she signed up for since our last kiss was so chaste.
I break the kiss, and I immediately want her back.
But I step back instead, forcing myself to give her space.
I take in a long, deep breath.
“You okay?” Shelby asks.
I shove my hands into my pockets so I don’t touch her again, flexing them open and closed in the soft cotton.
When I open my eyes, Shelby’s got a hand against her kiss-bruised lips.
“I’m sorry,” I croak.
I want to say it’s been a long time, but that’s not it. Not at all. It’s her. It’s all her.
I can’t hide the bulge in my pants. So I turn around. “I couldn’t stop…I…when you kissed me outside, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared…”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says behind me.
My stomach drops. She regrets it. She did it to make her ex take the hint. She didn’t actually want to do it.
Then I showed my whole ass in here, begging her to do it again because it meant something to me.
I chuckle, though there’s no mirth in the sound. “That’s what I like about you, Shelby. In the beginning, you didn’t care that I looked a certain way. You didn’t know anything about me. Then, when you did, it wasn’t a big deal. You never think of me the way…you don’t have preconceived notions of me.” I swallow. “But I guess that leaves me unsure of how you actually feel about me.”
She doesn’t say anything. Some panicked part of me wonders if she’s somehow slipped out the door without me noticing.
I turn around, but she’s still there.
“I like you, Mac,” she says. “I’m attracted to you, clearly.”
“Clearly?”
She frowns. “Were you there for that kiss just now?”
Some small part of me buoys again, just a little. She doesn’t feel the way I do, or she’d be octopussing herself to me the way I want to attach myself to her. Or at least showing some indication of that.
“I just…” She swallows, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheek, it’s so smooth and soft. So achingly perfect, that little plane of her face.
My thoughts scare me with their intensity. Like I kept the bottle capped so tightly that now that it’s open just a little, my shit’s flying everywhere.
“I’m still trying to sort my life out. As you can see, everything’s still completely messed up. I just need…I need…” Shelby reaches for her throat. “I need…”
“Space,” I say softly.
She purses her lips. “I guess.”
My chest goes so tight I think something inside me might snap in half. I want to tell her I love her being a part of my family. I want her there. But I’m feeling too much. I’m going to scare her off.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Not telling you about the inn was selfish. I wanted you to stay. Nate’s been so different since you’ve been here.” My voice cracks. “You’re the bridge between us.”
Her eyes grow shiny.
Even though what I just said was perfectly true, I’m still not telling her the whole truth. She has no idea just how selfish I am. Because having her live with us is for me. I want her there for me. Her connection with Nate is just an added, incredible bonus. She showed me what it took to get to my son, and I’ll be forever grateful, but I don’t need her there to keep that alive. I need her there to keep me alive.
But I can’t subject her to that kind of pressure. She already broke under the pressure of her family. It’s how she ended up here in Redbeard Cove. If I can have even the littlest part of her, it’s better than having her run away like she did on that island.
“I’ll tell Diane to expect you tonight. I’ll ask Lana to bring your things over.”
“I didn’t—” She swallows, and I hold my breath. But it’s a fool’s game. Even if she says she wants to stay, she’ll be saying it for me. “Okay,” she says. “Sure, that’s probably best.”
I nod curtly. “I hope we can still continue the work here?”
“Of course. I’ll be back next week.”
We make arrangements, and just like that, Shelby’s gone.
The next morning, the clouds are heavy and gray, rain threatening as I get into my truck. I check my phone—no texts from Shelby, of course. Plenty from Lana yesterday telling me I’m a damn fool. One more this morning for good measure.
I leave a note for Nate, then head to the Redbeard Care Home down at the other end of town. The rain starts pinging on the windshield just as I pull into the parking lot, and I have to hold my coat over my head as I dash across to the main entrance.
“Nice surprise to see you here today, Mac,” the receptionist says as I pass through the automatic doors. Michelle Yee is a middle-aged woman who still maintains her Singaporean accent even though she moved to Redbeard Cove over twenty years ago with her daughter. I normally love hearing her speak.
But today I just say, “Is he up for a visit?”
“I’ll check.” Michelle’s black bob, threaded with gray, swings as she leans for the phone to call my dad down.
“Actually, if it’s okay, I’d like to see him in his room today.”
She frowns, her hand over the receiver. “He needs the exercise, Mac.”
“I’ll take him for a walk, then.”
“In the rain?”
“Please, Michelle.”
She must see the pain in my face, because she nods. “You’re lucky. He’s having a good day.”
I was counting on it. I pray that hasn’t changed since she saw him last.
Luckily he picks up, and apparently he’s okay with staying upstairs, because she gives a nod.
When I get to Dad’s floor, he’s standing out in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his slacks, his cardigan buttoned neatly.
“Alasdair.” He smiles wide. “So kind of you to come by.”
You’d think my dad would be a grump like me. But it was Mom who was the reserved one. Dad was always a beacon of positivity. He greets me like this every time, and it’s exactly why I came by here. I needed to hear that. I needed someone to welcome me in with no pretense, no awkwardness, no hidden feelings bubbling under the surface they show me.
“Hey, Dad.” I hesitate, then step in and envelop him in a bear hug.
“Oh!” he says, surprised. At one time, Dad was nearly the same height as me. Now his voice is muffled in my shoulder.
He’s so skinny against me, his spine knobby under my palm. But he still looks healthier than half the residents in the home I passed on my way through the lobby. He’s got a full head of silver and white hair, which he calls “salt ’n’ rocks,” and his skin is ruddy even in the winter thanks to his formative years on boats. He’s sprightly too. Looking at him today, you’d wonder why he’s in this assisted living facility at all. On his bad days, you’d know. His dementia’s the reason he’s here. I didn’t want to wait until he burned our family home down. That, and it was just him in that big house. Once he retired, he spent more time with ghosts than with his friends unless I came over and dragged him out.
“What’s wrong, Alasdair?” Dad asks when I finally let him go.
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“You don’t usually manhandle me until the end of our visits.”
I chew my cheek and don’t say anything until we’re settled in the living room. Dad heaves himself in his favorite armchair with a grunt, and I lower myself onto the edge of his sofa.
I tap my fingers on the armrest.
“Coffee?” Dad asks.
I shake my head.
“Cookies?”
“No thank you.”
“Then for God’s sake, son. Tell me what’s got your nets in a knot.”
That actually makes me chuckle. “That’s not a real saying.”
“My father said it.”
I sigh, leaning back and rubbing my forehead with my open hand.
Before I can say another word, he says, “It’s the woman, isn’t it?”
“That obvious?”
“Course it is. You were moping about her a couple of weeks back, then when I asked you about her the last few visits, you suddenly had nothing to say. So tell me, what happened?”
I drop my hand, considering what to share with him. Finally, I decide on all of it. It’s a little weird talking to Dad about how she saw me naked that time, but he’s one of very few people I tell everything. Maybe he was a therapist in another life, because he’s one of the easiest people to spill your guts to.
“I see,” he says when I’m finished.
“I don’t expect you to have any answers,” I say. “I just needed to get that all out.”
Dad nods. “Is there any reason you didn’t tell her how you felt?”
“Yes. Because she’s only here for two months, Dad. She’s got a whole life waiting for her back in Vancouver.”
“What about your life?”
“You know I’d never leave Redbeard Cove. Can you imagine me in a cramped condo in Vancouver? I’d be like one of those tropical birds that drops dead when you put in a cage.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. They’re a lot thicker than they were when I was growing up, underscoring his skeptical expression. “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
I scoff. Shelby’s dramatic. She’s fling-yourself-into-the-ocean dramatic, slam-a-door onto-my-head dramatic.
I love it.
I’m not dramatic. I’m sensible.
“You used to love visiting the city, Mac. Just because my mind is going doesn’t mean I don’t remember details.”
I scowl and get up to stand at the window. There’s a beautiful view through the glass. Beyond the care home’s grounds is a forested area—Crown land, which means it’ll never get developed. Past that is a rocky shoreline and the gray chop of the ocean. “That was fifteen years ago, Dad. Anyway, none of that’s the point. Nobody’s uprooting anyone for anyone. It’s only been a few weeks, and we’re not even—we’re not together at all.”
Dad’s other eyebrow flies up. “I thought you were courting her.”
“Courting? Dad, what is this, the 1940s? You didn’t even court Mom.”
“Sure I did. We just didn’t call it that anymore. That boy of ours should bring it back.”
I chuckle softly. I like how the minute I told him about Nate, he didn’t judge me for making that big mistake with Nadine all those years ago. He just welcomed him in with open arms. They play chess together now. I look over at the game they’ve got going on the card table against the wall.
I sigh, taking off my cap. “I just like her, Dad, and she doesn’t feel the same way about me.”
“What makes you so sure about that?”
“She said as much. She wants space.”
“Did she tell you she needed space from you?”
“Not in so many words?—”
“Did you suggest that, Alasdair?”
“I—”
“Did she ask to move back to the inn?”
I think about that. “I guess... No. I offered.”
Dad stands up. “Well, I expect you better hurry.”
“What?”
“You’ll want to catch her before she gets settled and decides to tell you to get lost.”
“But Dad, I told you it’s not going to work out—even if she does want to stay with us, I?—”
“Son,” Dad says, propping his hands on his hips. “No one’s suggesting you pop the question. I’m just saying why are you looking for reasons to keep her out of your life while she’s here?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Dad’s already at the door, holding it open.
I look at him one more time, asking him for permission to stay back and hide. But he starts closing the damn door, his hand shoving me out. “Bring that boy with you next time. And tell me how it goes.”
I scowl at him, but this time he opens his arms and gives me a thump on the back. “Scram,” he says, practically slamming the door behind me.
I guess he’s not always the sunshiny one.