Chapter 18
chapter eighteen
Wendy
The farmers market is twice as crowded as usual because of the holiday weekend. The week of and after Fourth of July is the busiest time on the island. Vendors I’ve never seen before are crammed between regulars who have been set up every weekend for the past decade.
The street smells like grilled corn and fried chicken, and if I hadn’t eaten lunch a couple of hours ago, I’d grab something. I weave through the crowd with Josie’s fruit list in one hand and an iced coffee in the other.
Carter appears beside me when I reach for a jar of raspberry jam. He grins, takes the bags off my shoulder, and carries them for me.
“Oh wow, princess treatment,” I say. “Thanks. You’ve saved my arm.”
“Of course. You will most assuredly need it later,” he says.
The smile he gives me does me in.
We walk so close that his arm brushes against mine. A month ago, I would have put three feet between us and checked over my shoulder. Now him barely touching me in public drives me wild.
Carter stops at a hot sauce vendor and tastes four different samples while having a full conversation about Scoville levels with a guy who most definitely has no taste buds left.
The vendor warns him about the Carolina Reaper, but he tries it anyway.
His face stays neutral for exactly two seconds before his eyes water and he coughs.
“That’s a weapon,” he barely says. A few tears streak down his cheeks.
“Aww.” I actually feel sorry for him.
The vendor howls with laughter, and Carter buys two bottles.
“I’m shipping these to my brothers as gag gifts.”
He tucks them into the bag he’s carrying, taking the opportunity to touch my back.
At the next booth, he picks up some jarred butter pickles and studies the label.
“I think Gale would love these,” he says and hands over a hundred without asking the price, telling them to keep the change.
He buys a few pounds of steamed shrimp at the end of the row and shakes the vendor’s hand like they’re old friends.
As I’m a few booths down, pretending to look at candles, he glances in my direction. Carter smirks and lifts his brows. Desire rolls through me. A month ago, he walked into the B&B and refused to make eye contact with me. Now he’s undressing me with his gaze like I belong to him.
I grab several pounds of strawberries and blueberries, then search for ripe mangos when Carter reappears holding a bouquet of colorful hibiscus wrapped in brown paper.
“For you.”
“These are my favorite flowers.” My voice is barely above a whisper as he hands them to me.
“They reminded me of you.”
“No one told you?” I ask because so many people have been trying to hook us up, throwing hints here and there.
“Just a lucky guess.”
I inhale the sweet scent. I can’t remember the last time anyone gave me flowers, including myself. “Thanks. Seriously made my day.”
“You’re welcome.” He shoots me a wink, then matches my pace.
The walk back to the B&B is leisurely. Our arms swing between us, and our hands occasionally touch. His cologne, the way he moves, the sound of his laugh are all things I’ve memorized without meaning to. It’s things I’ll miss when he’s gone.
When we walk through the doors of the B&B, the house is alive.
Every room is booked until tomorrow. Josie’s decorations are stacked in boxes in the lobby.
Rose sings along to a country song on the radio in the kitchen.
A few guests sit on the couch in the living room, flipping through the scrapbooks that live on the coffee table.
The last thing I want to do is cry, but I’m so excited that we’re fully booked.
Every coupon Josie handed out over the past week, every late night I spent rewriting the listing descriptions and answering inquiries at two in the morning—it made a difference. I blink away the tears, even if they’re happy ones.
In May, we had one room booked and an electric bill that was late. The sliver of hope I had was delusional, but we somehow pulled it off. The screen goes blurry, and I blink faster.
“You good?” Carter asks softly.
“Yeah, just very happy,” I say, knowing he knows he’s responsible for some of that.
He squeezes my shoulder, giving me a moment alone, like he can read my thoughts.
Carter carries the shrimp to the kitchen, along with the fruit Josie wanted for the trays she’s serving tomorrow.
Gran squeals when Carter hands her the pickles, and then she pulls him into a tight hug.
He fits here, just how he is. I put the flowers in a vase on the front desk, where everyone who enters can enjoy how pretty they are.
Tomorrow, the property will be a madhouse, and I need an escape. Since there are so many people around and Gran is enjoying the company of the guests, I take the opportunity to do that.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I tell Gran with a smile.
Josie watches as I tug on Carter’s shirt. I move outside, and ten minutes later, he joins me. Not sure how inconspicuous it was, but at least I tried.
“Escape with me,” I tell Carter. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Last time a woman said that to me I ended up at a time-share presentation.”
I snort. “Sounds awful.”
“You have no idea.”
“Trust me?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” he says, following me.
We walk past Gran’s bungalow, away from the ocean.
The trailhead is a fifteen-minute walk past the beach access, through a stretch of trees that most people walk right by.
There’s no sign, only a foot-wide gap that’s easy to miss.
I haven’t been in over a decade, and it’s farther away than I remember.
My calves complain about the incline before my brain catches up.
“If I asked you to jump off a bridge with me, would you?”
He tilts his head. “How tall is the bridge? Is there water underneath? I’d have a lot of questions.”
“Mr. Logical,” I say. “I’d jump with you.”
“Really?” he asks.
“Because you’re logical,” I explain. “You’d assess the risk and decide if it’s worth it or not.”
“Ahh, way to clock me, Wendy Winslow,” he says, and I glance down at his wrist.
“Speaking of clocks, where’s your watch?” I ask. “Why don’t you wear it anymore?”
He glances at his bare wrist. “Don’t feel like I need it anymore. I’m on vacation.”
The path is a single track and thankfully shaded, or we’d be baking in the sun.
Branches cover us, and the leaves turn the sunlight green.
The ground is hard sand, mixed with seashells.
I used to hike this alone as a teenager when I needed the world to disappear.
I’d bring granola bars and cheap sunglasses and spend entire afternoons swimming and reading.
I’ve never brought anyone here. This is the one place on the island that’s sacred to me.
The smart thing would be to keep this mine, to come out here and be alone.
But Carter told me about his sister without hesitation.
He’s shared things about himself that I know he keeps secret.
I can almost imagine a future with him, and that scares me. This is all happening too fast.
I push through a curtain of vines, and it opens up to my secret oasis.
Water pours from a twenty-foot waterfall into a pool with smooth rocks at the bottom. Moss covers the surrounding ledge. Sunlight hits the surface of the turquoise pool, and it sparkles. The sound of the falls fills the small space until it’s the only thing left.
“Wow.” Carter stops beside me. His breath shakes on his exhale.
“Want to get in with me?”
His brow lifts. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” I tell him, taking his hand.
I strip down to my bra and panties, and he removes his shirt.
I lift my brow. “Skinny-dip?”
“How secret is this place?”
I reach behind my back and unsnap my bra, then slide out of my panties. I glance over my shoulder, walking toward the water, and Carter’s eyes stay locked on me. I dive toward the deep end and swim underwater. I pop back up, laughing.
“Come on. It feels great!”
“You’re like a mermaid.”
He takes it slow, wiggling out of his shorts and boxers, then confidently walks to the end and dives inside. Seconds later, he’s swimming next to me.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I tell him when he’s closer.
His hands find my waist under the surface.
“Can I ask you something?” I dip my hair in the water and move it from my face.
“It depends,” he says.
“Are you afraid of water?”
He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “I almost drowned as a kid. It’s trauma I’m still working through. Trauma my therapist says I should’ve gotten over years ago.”
Every surf lesson we’ve had together replays at once.
The first time he stood at the shoreline, he hesitated at the depth of his ankles.
His feet stayed planted, like the sand was safer.
I noticed how his breathing had changed, and not once did he mention it.
I dragged him into the ocean over and over, teased him, laughed when he wiped out, and the whole time he was fighting his demons.
“I’m sorry. We can get out,” I tell him, swimming away.
“I was on the swim team at university,” he says, pulling me back toward him by my ankle. “I’ve had tons of exposure therapy in the past thirty-two years since it happened. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll choose the water every time. Especially if it means being close to you like this.”
I move closer. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our lips brush together. At first, it’s slow, then desperate, and when we pull away, we’re both breathing harder than we should be.
The waterfall mists across the surface. Droplets catch in his long eyelashes, and he pushes his hair off his forehead. I take his hand, and we float together, naked, in the center of the pool while the rest of the world sits miles away.
“I’m going to miss you,” I tell him.
“If you asked me to stay, I would.”