5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Monday, June 24th
Danielle was still nervously fiddling with her hair when Matteo rapped on her door the next morning. The coastal wind had picked up overnight, and nothing spoils a flirtatious smile like hair stuck to your teeth. With a huff, she tucked an elastic band into the pocket of her red sundress, fluffed her wavy mane, and opened the door.
Her breath caught. Mamma mia, what a gorgeous man.
He leaned on one elbow, the very picture of beachy casual in slim knee-length shorts and a faded chambray shirt with rolled sleeves. His short, dark scruff framed a languorous smile.
“Good morning, bella. How beautiful you are this morning.”
“Grazie, Matteo.” Might as well use the dozen words of Italian she’d learned from her grandparents. Chalk it up to role-playing. While she was here, she was la bella Danielle, woman of mystery, pretend girlfriend to a gorgeous, much-too-young charmer. The dull realities of her life would return soon enough.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Matteo said as she locked up. “Callie’s café has the best frittata.”
“Frittata? Is everyone in this town Italian?”
He chuckled. “Lots of Croatians too. They make the best pasta fazool, but don’t tell Uncle Sal I said that.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She nudged his arm. He reached for her hand and, when she nestled into his soft grip, interwove his fingers with hers. That simple touch thrilled her nearly as much as last night’s breathless kiss. What was his secret? Must be some powerful Italian sex juju.
With the tourists still snoozing in their motels, RVs, and rental cabins, Main Street was as quiet as an abandoned movie set. They passed a candy shop boasting “The Best Fudge in the Universe,” a custom T-shirt vendor, and Souvenir Galaxy, all closed up tight. Callie’s Coastal Café was still dark, but the tempting scents of bacon and coffee beckoned. Matteo tugged her down an alley to a back door propped open with a brick. “After you, my lady.”
A narrow hallway led past the kitchen to a small dining room filled with chatting, munching customers.
Matteo pulled out a chair at the last empty table. “In summer, Callie saves this room for locals. Otherwise, we’d never get a seat.”
A gum-cracking older woman with a welcoming smile stepped up to their table, an order pad at the ready. “Morning, gorgeous. Who’s your friend?”
“Callie, meet Danielle, an old friend of Uncle Sal’s.”
Callie looked her up and down, then nodded her approval. “Glad to meet you, hon. What’ll you have?”
Matteo leaned in close and lifted a single eyebrow. “You trust me, bella?”
“Absolutely.”
He grinned up at Callie. “We’ll have garden frittata, sausage, sourdough toast, and—coffee?”
Danielle nodded.
The frittata was a revelation: fluffy, cheesy eggs studded with onion, peppers, spinach, broccoli, mushrooms, and swirled with garlicky pesto. The sausage was Italian, spicy and scented with fennel seed. The toast was crisp, the coffee strong.
While they ate, Matteo waved and nodded to the other diners. “Hal’s the mayor. That’s his son, a teacher at the elementary school.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Janice owns an art gallery and does those paint-and-wine parties. Out of season, she runs an art program for kids.” A nod toward the corner. “Marquetta, the librarian, and her wife Zora—she runs the crystal shop. Pretty good fortune-teller. Told me I’d find fulfillment here in Trappers Cove.”
“And have you?”
He quirked a mischievous smile. “Not yet, but things are looking up.”
A thrill of anticipation skittered down her spine, right to her long-neglected lady parts.
After breakfast, he asked, “You mind a walk? Next stop’s about a mile away.”
She glanced down at her flat espadrilles, glad she hadn’t chosen cuter, taller shoes. “A walk would be great.”
They strolled through town toward the paved promenade, separated from the beach by grass-covered dunes. Only a few figures dotted the wide, flat beach at this early hour: old folks taking their daily constitutional, damp dogs galumphing after thrown sticks, and a few hopeful fishermen gazing seaward. The surf whooshed softly in and out, sheening the packed sand like a mirror.
“Nice to get out before the crowds,” he commented as they strolled. “Summer keeps us so busy, I almost forget how beautiful it is.”
She stopped at a bench to extract a pebble from her shoe, then laced her hands behind her head and leaned back on a sigh. “How does the song go?” She hummed a line, then softly sang, “Mother, Mother Ocean…” Of course, Matteo was too young to appreciate Jimmy Buffett.
But it seemed he wasn’t too young to appreciate her, judging by his soft smile as his gaze drank her in from head to toe.
How long had it been since an attractive man noticed her, much less caressed her with his eyes? Flushed with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, she directed her gaze to the shimmering horizon. “So peaceful. If I lived here, I’d never let a day go by without visiting the beach.”
“Why don’t you?” Matteo sat beside her, his shoulder warm and firm against her bare skin.
“Why don’t I what?”
“Live here.”
Reality, that merciless bitch, jabbed her ribs.
“My kids. They’re pretty rooted in Tacoma.” The family counselor she’d consulted during the divorce stressed the importance of keeping the kids’ lives as normal as possible. Their needs trumped her fantasies of a fresh start.
Matteo nodded. “Well then, you should visit more often.” Extending his hand, he pulled her to her feet with a sturdy tug that knocked her off-balance.
She landed with her palm against his broad, warm chest. Heat infused her face as she stumbled back. “Um, yeah, I’d like to. But between my work and the kids’ lessons and sports, it’s hard to find the time.”
His gaze dropped to the pavement.
Change the subject, quick!
“Nice of them to put these benches here.”
“They’re memorials.” He pointed to a bronze plaque on the seat back. “To folks who lived and died here.”
The plaque read, In memory of Carlotta Agnesi, 1909-1992. Beloved wife, mother, friend, and maker of the best damn cioppino in Washington State. She loved this spot best of all.
Danielle whistled. “Eighty-three years. Think of all the changes she saw in her lifetime.”
“She lived longer than most. Lots of these plaques are dedicated to fishermen lost at sea.”
As they strolled on, she calculated. She was already halfway to eighty-three, and how much time had she spent doing things she loved, in places she loved?
Matteo pointed toward a white tower rising above a stand of wind-sculpted cypress. “Gull’s Point Lighthouse. Best view in town.” He turned onto a path worn through scruffy brush.
“It’s been ages since I visited the lighthouse.” She pointed to a sign on the wooden gate. “Too bad. It’s closed until noon.”
Grinning, Matteo motioned her through. “Not if you know the keeper.” He knocked on the door of the neat little cottage at the stone tower’s base. It swung open to reveal a burly, ruddy-faced man with a grizzled jaw and bright, laugh-crinkled eyes. He ran a hand over his close-cropped ginger hair.
“Well, now, Matty-me-boy. You said you were bringing a friend. You didn’t tell me it was a beautiful lady.” He enveloped Danielle’s hand in his calloused paws. “Fred Gallagher, at your service. Come in, come in.” His hazel eyes twinkled, and his Irish brogue thickened. “Will you two be wanting the tour, or just the view?”
Matteo cocked an eyebrow in a silent question. While Danielle enjoyed an Irish accent, it was Matteo’s deep voice she wanted to hear more of—wanted to bathe in, if she was honest with herself.
She linked her arm with Matteo’s. “View, please.”
Matteo’s smile shimmered with sexy mischief as he covered her hand with his own.
“Right, up we go.” Fred led them past a ticket counter and up a tall spiral staircase. Their footsteps echoed as they passed doors to the storage rooms and lighthouse keeper’s quarters. At the top, a metal door clanged open. “Hold on tight, now.,” Fred warned them. “It gets mighty windy up here.”
Seen from below, the lighthouse tower hadn’t seemed terribly high, but when she stepped onto the metal platform, dizziness seized her. She grasped the cold iron railing, rough with peeling paint. Wind whipped her hair and made her eyes water.
As if sensing her budding panic, Matteo stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I won’t let you fall, bella,” he murmured into her ear, and the goosebumps that bloomed over her skin had nothing to do with acrophobia.
Their guide settled against the wall, lit a cigarette, and launched into a story. “Out there.” He pointed toward a cluster of rocky islands rising above the surf. “That’s where it appears when the moon is full.”
Matteo’s chuckle rumbled against her back. “The ghost ship?”
“Aye. The Ivanova. Ran aground in 1822, coming back from Alaska with a cargo of furs. Everyone aboard perished. But when the moon is full, ye can still see her, a ragged ship with glowing sails. And down below,” he pointed at the tower’s base, “the captain’s widow paces the shore, a spyglass in her hand, watching for her husband’s return.”
Danielle shivered, imagining the ghostly widow, forever searching the horizon for her lost love.
Matteo whispered, “He’s probably making it up.”
Fred snorted. “I heard that. Just you come back when the moon is full. See if you don’t feel something.”
Matteo’s arm tightened around her middle. She damn sure felt something now, something powerful and a bit scary. She shivered again, despite the heat of his body pressing against hers from shoulders to knees.
Taking his cue, Fred cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Close the door when you come down. Don’t want the seagulls shitting on the stairs.”
“Romantic, isn’t he?” Matteo nuzzled her hair, and the soft scrape of his beard on her cheek did funny, delicious things to her core. “Just imagine how it was in the old days when the lightkeeper held so many lives in his hands.”
“Could we step back from the edge? I’m getting a little dizzy.” Truthfully, it was Matteo’s nearness more than the height that knocked her off-balance, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Sure, bella. I want you to feel comfortable.” He shifted to the wall and extended his arm.
She nestled beneath it and let the truth spill out—because why not? Soon, she’d return to her daily grind and never see this kind, flirtatious young man again.
“I am comfortable with you, Matteo. It’s strange, since we met two days ago, but…” She shrugged. It didn’t make sense, but this ease she felt in his company was as real and solid as this stone tower.
He nodded, his cheek against her hair. “Yeah, I feel it too. Some things you can’t explain. They just are.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.
Throwing caution to the stiff, coastal wind, she raised her chin and met his gaze.
He cupped her jaw in both hands, dark eyes sharp, as if he could see right through her fear, right to her galloping heart. His plush lips pressed to hers for a long, sweet moment. Pulling back, he threaded his fingers into her hair. “More?”
She nodded, and with a soft, hungry sound, he took her mouth in a luxuriant kiss. She relaxed into his hold, parting her lips to welcome the velvet heat of his tongue.
She’d forgotten how intoxicating it could be, this rush of desire washing through her like an incoming tide.
He slid one hand between her shoulder blades and splayed the other on the small of her back. He broke the kiss long enough to murmur her name, then pressed her to the wall, his strong arms cushioning her. A hard, hot ridge nudged her belly.
Must be the sea air, the dizzy height—because this was not her, this wanton woman groping and groaning atop a tower for the whole world to see. Her breasts ached for his touch, and her core throbbed in time with her racing heart.
With a soft chuckle, Matteo grasped her arms and stepped back. “Wow. That was—wow.” Ignoring the erection straining against his zipper, he tenderly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I apologize, bella.”
“Don’t apologize.” She grasped his hand and kissed his palm. “It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me properly. You are”—she sighed—“a wonderful surprise, Matteo. Thank you.”
His gaze danced over her face, and his kiss-swollen lips parted in a wicked smile. “You like surprises, Danielle?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Good to know.” He glanced toward the open door. “But I can’t entertain you properly up here. Shall we go down?”
Her imagination sprinted toward steamy possibilities, but she forced her gaze upward, to his sparkling dark eyes and not the sweet temptation below his belt. “Yes, let’s.”
He didn’t speak much on their walk back to town, but he held her hand, his grip easy and loose. The ocean breeze cooled her fevered skin, but her mind raced ahead. Where were they headed? Back to her place for a tumble in her rented bed? Nothing had ever sounded more enticing. Or more terrifying.
With quick, darting glances, she sipped at Matteo’s beauty—the wind ruffling his curly dark hair, the play of light and shadow across his smooth brow and sharp cheekbones, his graceful gait.
For eighteen years, Jason had been her only lover, his body as familiar as her own. She’d chalked up his declining libido to the passage of time, to their busy schedules, to the inevitable cool-down that came with knowing your partner so well. Turns out, she hadn’t really known him at all. And his libido was as frisky as ever, just directed elsewhere. The day his now ex-girlfriend called to drop the bomb about their affair was the day her sex drive closed up shop. Shutters down, lights out, doors locked.
Until Matteo.
When they reached her corner, he spun and clasped her hands. His broad chest rose and fell while his eyes searched her face.
Panic tightened her throat. This was it—crunch time. He was going to ask her back to his place, or to hers, and she had no freakin’ idea what to say.
He glanced heavenward and blew out a long breath. “Bella, I’m in a tough spot right now.”
Something inside her deflated. He was groping for a way out.
He stepped off the sidewalk to make room for a family with four bouncy kids heading toward the beach. The littlest child bonked into Danielle with his enormous inflatable unicorn. “Sorry!” he chirped.
Still holding her hands, Matteo drew her to a patch of shade beneath a cluster of anemic palm trees and flashed an adorable, shy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Danielle, I really like you, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to do something you’re not ready for.”
“I’m ready!” her id hollered and waved like an over-excited second grader.
Matteo twined his fingers with hers. “Unfortunately, Sal needs me this afternoon, and I’m driving him to Aberdeen tonight. How about tomorrow? We could have a picnic lunch on the beach. There’s a special spot I’d love to show you.” He dipped his head and nuzzled the sensitive crook of her neck. “Are you still up for it? Or have I scared you off with my grabby hands?”
The heat of his breath scrambled her brain. No doubt about it, he wanted her. And she wanted him so badly her teeth ached.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll bet you get a lot of single women tourists throwing themselves at you.”
He shrugged. “A lot of women flirt. Doesn’t mean anything.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I collect drawer pulls, and doorknobs, and picture frames, not women.”
She pressed her lips together and dropped her gaze to their joined hands. This guy definitely earned an A-plus in handholding. Never had such a simple act felt so intimate, so sensual. The way his thumb traced arcs across her knuckles made her imagine what those hands could do on her bare body, stretched out on her king-size bed, the sea breeze lifting the curtains while his palms glided over her breasts…
Her common sense made a last, futile stand. “Matteo, I’m old enough to be your—”
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re not. Though you are old enough to be my sexy babysitter.” His chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. “Every guy’s fantasy.”
She spluttered a laugh, and he joined in. “Last night, you helped me by pretending to be my date. That was a sweet, generous thing to do. But I’m not pretending today, Danielle.” He released her. “What do you say? Lunch tomorrow if I promise to keep my hands to myself?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded, even though she’d much rather have his hands all over her. And she suspected that’s exactly where they’d be tomorrow night.
“Great.” A wide grin lit his face. “I’ll meet you at noon.” He pecked her lips, then turned and jogged toward town, leaving her to stumble back to her cottage, her heart tripping like a sprinter’s.
Inside, she collapsed onto a wicker chair by the front window and grinned into the distance, slowly shaking her head. She reached for her phone to share the news with her book club friends, then paused, finger poised over the screen.
Soon, she’d share the happy news. Cari, Laurie, and Marie would applaud her audacity. But for now, she’d keep this sweet surprise to herself, polishing it like a secret jewel, something to keep her warm in colder days to come.