Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Anna
Do it again,I thought. Heavens above, please, do it again.
My heart expanded, bursting and flaming and burning me through. What was this feeling? I’d never known I could ache for a simple touch. And for Graham.
Did he feel this too? Could he tell how he affected me?
My cheeks were burning, surely as red as a sunned strawberry. I held fast to his arm, distracted by his strength and warmth, bracing myself against the sick feeling in my stomach that roiled with every lurch of the sea.
Not as bad. The waters were settling. I took another deep breath through my nose. Yes, definitely settling. And my stomach followed suit. I could manage. But the problem at hand: I did not want to.
Graham felt so unbelievably good.
Nothing had ever felt so right. So comfortable and warm and whole.
And suddenly nothing else mattered. Not Papa, not his secret, not this wide-open sea.
I wanted to stay beside Graham, like this, forever.
The jolly had slowed, and I was feeling better. But how could I sit up now? How could I look Graham in the eye with my feelings so obviously displayed? Especially after I’d completely fallen apart earlier.
Perhaps he hadn’t kissed me. Perhaps his jaw had simply brushed my hair. But it had felt like a kiss. Like comfort and care. I’d never felt anything like it before in my whole life.
“This’ll do,” Morton said, and I peeked open an eye. He stashed his dripping oars alongside the bottom boards on the right, then braced himself as he stood. “You still with us, Miss Lane?”
I watched him step over the center thwart toward the stern, still letting Graham bear my weight. “How can you stand like that with the floor moving?” I said through a painfully hoarse voice.
Morton laughed his rough, scratchy laugh. “Give it a try. T’easier than you think.”
The jolly drifted slowly, smoother than when Morton was rowing. I squared my knees, balancing my feet on the bottom planks. Then I sat up, scooting a small width away from Graham, and held fast to the bench. Chilly air blew through the space between us like the smart eyes of a chaperone, and we both seemed to sober.
“Come, see what I have in my bucket,” Morton said. He held a spool of thick thread that he was unraveling.
“What sort of fish are you after?” I asked, decidedly not looking in Graham’s direction.
“I’ll tell ya when you’ve made your way up to the center thwart.”
I gave the man a scowl, and he cackled.
Graham shifted in his spot, and I felt suddenly, horribly shy. Hobbling up to Morton seemed more comfortable than staying on this bench under Graham’s study. I held fast to the left side of the boat, then tested my weight on my feet. The jolly’s motions were rhythmic, like a song. Rolling back and forth, up and down. I felt the motions move up my legs to my hips. A dip made me step back, and I fell hard upon the bench.
Surprised that Graham hadn’t reached out to save me, I looked over. He wasn’t even watching. His eyes were set on the horizon, cheeks rosy from the chill. Still right there, waiting, but giving me the privacy I needed. Morton was busy knotting a hook on the end of his line, so I tried again.
I was steadier this time, but still I hunched my back, ready to fall forward or backward to whichever thwart was closer. A few steps, and another dip, but I was close enough to the center thwart to throw a leg over and hold tight.
“There she is,” Morton cheered. His bucket was roped to the back thwart. It sloshed with water. “You’ll like this,” he added, nodding his head toward the bucket.
“Here,” Graham said from behind. He spread a little towel on the bottom boards in front of the bucket for me to crouch upon. “Are they still alive?” he asked Morton.
“Just enough,” the man responded. “Don’t go stickin’ your hand in there, Miss Lane.”
When the waters eased for a moment, I took my opportunity to move from the center thwart and kneel beside the bucket. The bottom boards smelled putrid and fishy, so I touched my nose. No wonder I was so queasy. Fish and the sea were an awful combination I did not remember from Lyme.
Graham had moved behind me at the center thwart. I peered inside the bucket. Many small bulbs bounced around inside. They looked squishy and soft like jelly, tinted pink, and had long twirly legs protruding out from every side, twisting around each other so that I could not tell which belonged where.
“Octopus?” I asked.
Morton tugged on a large leather glove, then reached inside the bucket. Water sloshed out, wetting the edges of the towel, but my attention was focused on the little arms that curled around Morton’s glove.
“Bait,” he answered. “The real prize is the cod we’ll catch with ’em.”
“Close your eyes,” Graham said gently as Morton lifted up his line, with its hook and heavy lead sinker.
“Poor thing,” I moaned, obliging.
“Not poor thing when I make a living off the cod and families fill their bellies. It’s the way of nature, miss. Nothing less, nothing more.”
A quiet plunk, and I opened my eyes to find Morton unwinding the line. His movements were quick, calculated. His rough hands worked with surety and precision. Satisfied with the length of it, which seemed to go on forever, he held fast to the line, then reached behind him for another spool.
I winced as he hooked another small octopus to that line, then cast it out close by and let the thread unwind a while.
“Hungry, already?” he called to the sea. Then he yanked fast on the first line, reeling it in, one handful at a time. I glanced to Graham, who was grinning, leaning over the side of the boat with boyish wonderment on his face. “A big one, too. C’mere, Everett. Give us a hand.”
Graham did not need to be asked twice. He hopped over the center thwart, his coat brushing my back, then took the first line from Morton and continued to reel it in.
“It’s a good weight,” Graham agreed.
Our eyes met, and I forgot to be shy. I couldn’t help but grin back. Perched upon the center thwart, I leaned over the side of the jolly boat to watch the line come in.
An eternity of anticipation, then finally, the water broke, and the fish flapped free. Its body was as long as Graham’s arm, tail flopping wildly as Graham reached down and gripped a space near its head.
Morton yipped, then took the fish from him, and Graham took hold of the other line.
“Want to try, Anna?” he asked. But I was still partly in shock that we were in a boat, surrounded by the sea and its inhabitants, and quite far from the shoreline.
Morton leaned over the other side of the boat with a knife, then flopped a bloody fish into a bucket. He looked at me and laughed. “She’s gone green. I don’t suppose your little lady is used to a seaman’s life.”
“Not in the least,” Graham said, and I considered defending myself. But Morton had called me Graham’s lady. And Graham had not denied it.
“What sort of fish is that?” I asked instead.
“Cod,” both men answered.
So that was what my dinner looked like before I ate it. “They look so smooth and slimy.”
Graham handed Morton the second line, then baited the other and threw it out.
“You’re in luck today, Morton,” Graham said.
And so it went. For nearly two hours, the sun lowered in the sky while Graham and Morton reeled in fish. At one point, we rowed a little further out, and I had to take another half hour to recover. In time, they filled an entire bucket to its brim with cod, and I sat back, laughing at the two of them jesting and poking at each other. In time, I forgot about my heartache and let the sea revive me.
The men reused their bait when they could, arguing over whether a cod could be caught on half an octopus. I’d never seen Graham so happy and carefree. I could tell he liked using his hands, seeing something tangible come from hard work. And I liked watching him laugh.
“You two shall sink our little boat if you continue on with such success,” I teased them. My stomach had settled, and I’d become one with the sea. At least for now. I liked how the salty breeze brushed through my hair. Though I could do with less fish and guts and blood.
“Not until you’ve at least tried your hand,” Morton said, but it was less a command and more a taunt. I could see why he and Graham got on so well. “One cast is all.”
“One cast,” Graham agreed with a look so hopeful, I wanted nothing more than to please him. “Try your luck, Anna.”
Morton had already cut the hook off his line and was spinning it back around his spool. Graham held his empty hook at the ready.
“I am not baiting that hook,” I said with finality. “But I suppose I will try one cast.”
“There’s my girl!” Morton laughed, reaching out a hand to help me over the center thwart.
I stood, a little wobbly, but took a few steps to the front thwart until I sat facing the water. Graham held up the octopus-baited line, which I took and threw as far as I could. It landed with a familiar plonk, and the line released, sinking, sinking, sinking.
“Let it out a little at a time,” Graham directed.
Having retreated toward the back thwart, Morton stood with hands on hips, watching over us.
My fingers fumbled on the line as I tried to unwind it. It was tough on my hand. Graham noticed and took off a little woolen half glove and offered it to me. He held the line while I tugged the glove on, then he handed it back.
Still, I fumbled to unwind the line as quickly as they had. I looked to Morton, half embarrassed at my inabilities.
He winked, then nodded toward Graham.
Graham stepped forward. “There’s a rhythm to it,” he said, “like everything on the sea.”
Then he rested a knee on the thwart and crouched behind me. “May I?” His deep voice rumbled at my back, and my skin prickled with anticipation. The thwart’s length was barely enough to fit us both.
I glanced over my shoulder and nodded. The line in my hand drifted, pulled by the sea, while my other hand held fast to the wooden spool.
Graham placed one hand over mine, holding the spool with me, and my breath hitched. Graham Everett. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way ... this exciting. Then his other hand slid down my arm to the line. I felt his touch all the way down to my toes.
“Place your hand on mine,” he said, and I could feel him swallow hard.
I released the line and stared down at his strong, capable hand. With every movement, however slight, my back brushed his chest. Was I alone in this feeling? I tilted my head to find his expression as though it would be some key to his thoughts, but he was right there, and my forehead met his cheek.
“S-sorry,” I mumbled, turning back.
He laughed, a gentle sound. “Anna, take my hand. I’ll show you the rhythm.”
Hesitantly, awkwardly, I placed my hand over his. My fingers grazed his knuckles and the spaces in between, and held fast.
“Ready?” Graham anchored the spool at my hip so the line came out horizontally. He let the line sink into the sea, but every time it pulled, he flicked off the end of the spool with a swip, swip, keeping time like a measured song. I felt like a puppet, and I started to laugh, leaning back into his chest.
Graham’s deep chuckle vibrated through me. “Hold the line, Anna. You’re making me do all the work!”
“But you let the line out so much faster than I can,” I whined, still laughing. I held tighter, aiming to please him.
Graham kept up the rhythm, and soon, let go altogether.
I unwound a few more times until Morton said, “That’ll do. Now, we wait.”
Graham took the spool from me and hung it on a little knob attached to the jolly. He positioned my hands, one above the other, on the line. “Feel the vibrations from the sea?” he asked. His breath tickled my neck.
“Yes,” I said in a shaky voice. “I feel them.”
“When you feel a tug, start reeling.”
He pulled back his hands, but I turned. “Wait,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. He looked like he’d just woken from a long dream. “Stay.”
He rubbed his jaw. “It may take a while,” he said, but he didn’t retreat.
“I don’t mind.” My heart hammered inside my chest, but for the first time in a very long time, I knew exactly what it wanted.
I turned back around to face the sea, my skin acutely aware of every movement Graham made as he shifted, then slowly settled behind me. I froze as his long legs encircled the small space around me, brushing my thighs as he situated himself. Then he leaned in and felt the line. He was so close. He was everywhere.
“Now?” I breathed.
“Not yet,” he answered. “You’ll know.”
My mind registered distant sounds from Morton rummaging in the back, but I could not be bothered. I wanted nothing more than to catch fish for the rest of my life.
Graham’s arm flexed around mine, and he grunted. “Mmm. Maybe there. Did you feel that?”
“No,” I admitted. Though the only thing my mind could comprehend at present was the feel of him. The smell of sweet leather and musk from his coat. His chest moving at my back with each breath. We sat there for an eternity, feeling each other’s movements, each other’s breaths.
“I’d wager you’ve caught ten fish for how long you’ve let that line out, Everett,” Morton teased, chuckling.
“Hush, you,” I teased back. “We are trying to catch a fish.”
Morton snorted. “He’s tryin’ to catch something all right.”
Graham bent over, then threw something that looked like a ball of rope at Morton’s chest, which only made the man laugh more. The two of them were insufferable, but I couldn’t help but smile.
Then my line tugged right. “Oh!” I shrieked, half standing. “Graham!”
He stood abruptly, yanking hard on the line. “Quickly, Anna! Reel it in!”
Panic struck me. “You reel it in! I do not know how!”
“One handful at a time,” Graham directed, taking the first pull with his own hands.
I took the second, he the third, and I kept his pace until my arms ached.
“Almost there,” he grunted, for he must’ve felt me tiring out. “Can you feel him resisting?”
“He’s too strong.” I grunted back. The line swerved in different directions as my fish fought for its freedom.
Morton looked on greedily. We’d definitely hooked a nice-sized cod. Perhaps the best of the day.
Graham nudged my shoe with his. “You cannot give up now. Look!”
Just then, the surface of the sea erupted around our line, and I gasped, staring hard at the spot. I’d done it! I’d caught my first fish!
Graham gave one more tug, and the fish broke free.
Only it wasn’t a fish.
It was a snake! My shriek filled the air, and I twisted around. My legs tangled on the thwart as I heaved all my weight as far from the creature as I could. Graham caught my waist, but only after he’d released the line, and we fell to the bottom boards.
“That’s not a fish!” I screeched again. I was tangled in a rope, splayed most indecently across Graham, so I pushed up on his broad, hard chest. His eyes were as wide as mine, mouth parted as he sat up. He must have not heard me, so I repeated, “That is not a fish!”
Morton had jumped the center thwart, then over us, and taken the line in his hands. Steadily, he reeled, completely unafraid. Excited, even. “Did you see the size of that beast, Everett?” he called over his shoulder.
“Cut the line!” I begged, twisting around Graham for protection. I never wanted to see that creature again as long as I lived. “Graham, make him cut the line!”
Graham hesitated, then, “Morton,” he said in a deep voice.
But Morton heaved a final time, and there it was, flopping its long body—or tail?—around like a swimming snake. The sea beast of Tabs’s nightmares. I held in a screech, backing over the center thwart, as far away as I could go.
“Well done, Miss Lane. Look at that eel. Twenty pounds at least.” Morton looked positively giddy. He flung the twisting thing toward the front thwart and made quick work of slicing the head, then rinsing it out and flinging the eel into his ice bucket. “With a haul this full, I ought to pay you two for this trip.”
“Row us home before Miss Lane faints,” Graham ordered, then tossed a rag to Morton. He followed me over the center thwart. “And before the sun sets completely. Then you can pay us a cod or two for putting up with you.” His voice sounded the slightest bit cross, but his amusement won out. Especially when he looked at me.
“All is well,” he chuckled, grabbing a blanket from a basket under the center thwart. “The eel is dead, and Morton has caught more than enough to take home.”
I stilled as Graham wrapped the blanket around my back, then sat down beside me. This time, far enough away to make me miss him.
The sun was setting, framing Brighton’s hills in a fiery glow. Pinks and oranges and yellows lit the sky as Morton started to row us toward the shore, humming his happy tune.
In companionable silence, we watched the sun’s last reflections on the sea as gentle waves careened us to shore. I glanced at Graham. So handsome, his wavy hair windswept, lips parted, and cheeks creased as he smiled softly toward the sea.
I’d been surrounded by his family all week, and it had been a dream. But, sitting beside him, I realized, even when we were silent, I never felt alone in his presence.
I felt like me.
I felt wanted. Cared for. Like I’d be missed. And Graham did that. He made me tingle all over, made me laugh so hard I ached, and when he spoke to me, he spoke to me, and he listened.
How had I been so foolish? How had I let my pride and jealousy fuel this fire against him? For thinking back, even when I’d wanted him gone, his presence had felt like home. He’d fit with us. Never out of place, even when I’d served him goat cheese and tortured him with the most awkward questions. He’d matched me flame to flame, and I’d loved it.
I’d loved him.
I love him.
Stupid, stupid girl. How had you not seen?
I watched his profile, the curve of his nose, round at the tip, and the soft dip in his upper lip. I wanted those lips. I wanted to kiss the crease of his mouth, the dimple in his cheek. I wanted ... too much for one night. But I hoped he wanted the same.
I plastered on a smile, hoping for nonchalance instead of “Ihave just realized my heart’s desire,” as Morton splashed into the sea and tugged the boat the rest of the way inland.
“Out you go.” He raised a hand to steady Graham, who jumped out.
“You did well on the return,” Graham said to me, extending his own a hand to help me over the side of the boat. “Did you enjoy the trip?”
Heavens, but his eyes were so sincere. How had I never paid attention? Graham wore his heart on his sleeve, and he cared. “Very much. Thank you, Graham.”
I braced myself against the unsteady motion and took his hand as I lifted a leg over. He caught my waist to steady my one foot as my shoe found enough purchase on the rocky beach to swing my other leg over. Still, I stumbled into him. A second’s worth of his hold seemed to brand me with something new. Something only he could give. Something I would not mind having forever.
“Steady?” His low chuckle rumbled between us.
Hands locked on his strong forearms, I swayed. How had I missed it? Why had I locked these feelings away until now? “Not quite.”
His gaze swallowed me whole, and I shouldn’t have let him look at me so openly. Like there weren’t fifty other tourists scattered along the shore ahead. I also shouldn’t have reached up to smooth the hair from his—
“Here you are,” Morton called, and I dropped my hand, flushing.
Graham stepped away from me, rubbing the back of his neck.
Morton had two large fish wrapped up over one shoulder, and the packaged eel over the other. A young boy trailed beside him, waiting. “You’re both of you welcome on the jolly anytime,” he said.
“For Tabs’s odd fascinations,” Graham said, motioning to the eel. “If you’re agreeable.”
I nodded. Her own dark creature of the sea, defeated. She’d love inspecting that thing even more than the prettiest shell on the coast. As long as I did not have to see it ever again.
Morton gave the fish to the little boy, and Graham told him where to deliver them. Then he and I offered our thanks to Morton.
The sun had dipped low, darkening the earth. Only an orange, golden glow haloed the sky, and it was glorious, but signified the ending of a day. Tourists were gathering to go home; stragglers finding their shoes and collecting their last purchases from the markets.
I wanted that too. I wanted to go home.
I tugged on his arm. “Come, Guardian Graham. Light on your feet. I have a reputation to save before night falls.”
He tugged me back, mischief alight in his eyes. His full attention sent shivers all over my skin. “Let’s tarry a while,” he said in a low, silky voice. “I am suddenly not in a rush.”
His cheeks were pink, chin dipped with the most becoming adoration on his face. So I obliged him. Was it the sunset? Or did he feel as content as I?
He took my hand and secured it in the nook of his arm. Slowly, releasing all our pains and cares to the salty breeze, we walked in silence, admiring the sea, pocketing a shell for Tabs, laughing as a tourist dipped down to clean his hands in the water, then struggled to rise and splashed sideways into the sea. Graham led me up to the Steine as stars began to light the sky and lanterns glowed on every storefront.
He stayed by my side all the way to the carriage, where he handed me up, then sat opposite, humming Morton’s sea tune, and watching out the windows with me.
I wanted to lean in, to feel his hum against my lips, feel the pressure of his hand at the back of my neck, and the warmth of his mouth on mine.
Goodness, Anna. Who have you become?
We only had a day left. Surely, I could control myself. Surely, I could wait to have a reasonable conversation with this man in the morning.
Surely, I could ...