5. Mark
The breath Faye holds as she stares into my eyes nearly guts me.
It’s like she’s taken all the air from the room, and I can no longer breathe.
But I just hold her gaze and wait for confirmation.
I’m hardly wrong when it comes to reading people—Hell, I’m not even sure why I said it, but the words were out before I could think better of it.
I’ve spent every spare moment of the last three days thinking about this woman, and I need to know if it’s all in my head, or if she’s feeling whatever this is, too.
“I… Uh…” She fidgets, then looks anywhere but at me.
When she shifts her weight back and forth from foot to foot, guilt crashes in. Beating around the bush costs lives, and I’ve gotten in the habit of never mincing words.
That may be a great tactic while on missions, but as I watch her cheeks darken, I’m thinking I might’ve been a bit too direct.
However, it feels as if a lot is riding on her answer, and honestly, for some reason beyond me, I need to know where she stands.
Hesitantly, I step forward and let her off the hook. “Look, Faye, if there is someone special in your life, I’d never get in the way.”
Squaring her shoulders, she finally meets my gaze. “No… I don’t suppose you would.”
Now, it’s my turn to be caught off guard.
“What does that mean?”
Reaching out, she takes my hand and squeezes it gently. “That’s just not who you are.”
Damn straight. There’s no way in hell I’d step in on someone else’s girl. Even if she’s the only one I’ve been able to think about since seeing her again.
I may not like it, but I’d never interfere.
“So… does that mean you do have someone special?”
Faye gasps, and her eyes widen like saucers. “Oh, hell… I’m really messing this up.” Shaking her head profusely, she quickly adds, “No… There’s no one else.”
Relief floods through me, and I jerk her into another hug. “Good, because it’s been way too long since we’ve caught up.”
With her body pressed firmly against mine, I find myself finally relaxing into her.
I swear we’re so close, she feels my stomach rumble before it makes a sound, and a beautiful giggle fills the room. “You really do need food, don’t you? Let’s go before you famish in my foyer. Pop’s is one of my favorites.”
Running a hand down my face, I admit, “Yeah, it’s been a minute since I’ve eaten.” I was so hell-bent on getting back to Seaside, it never crossed my mind. But the way her smile lights up her face in amusement makes my hurry worth it, even if it is at my expense.
“Just give me a sec to grab everything, and we can go,” she says, stepping away.
As she gathers her things, I take this opportunity to fully take her in.
She has this air of sophistication, yet she remains casual for this beach town.
She’s wearing an ice-blue tank that accentuates her toned arms and makes her eyes brighter than I remember.
Memories of how those beautiful blues could get me to do just about anything with a simple glance vividly return with a vengeance.
As she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, I take note of the subtle highlights streaking through her dark-blonde hair when light hits it just right.
When we were younger, she’d always wear it in a long braid to keep the beach wind from having its way with it, but now, it’s cut in long, wavy layers just below her shoulders.
I can’t help but wonder if she still enjoys riding with the windows down and letting it blow all around her.
As she bends over to grab a pair of sandals by the door, my eyes are drawn to the way her dark-gray, cargo-style joggers hug her sexy curves and fit like they were made for her.
Time has certainly been good to Faye.
She effortlessly looks comfortable, yet sophisticated. My daughters call it casual chic—if I remember correctly. She’s got this timeless look about her.
Grabbing her purse from the side table and a denim jacket from the coat tree beside it, she turns to me with a smile. “I’m ready if you are.”
Opening the door behind me, I lead her outside.
The moment she spots my truck in her driveway, I catch the slight shake of her head as a smile forms on her lips. Her head turns just as I’m certain her eyes roll, but I can’t be sure.
“Something wrong?” I ask, reaching to open her door.
Faye simply shakes her head and climbs into the cab of my truck as if she’s been doing it for years. “Nope. Just get in and drive, Lancaster.” As I shut her door, I swear I hear, “Yeesh… Some things never change.”
Chuckling, I do as I’m told.
Once I’ve backed out of her driveway, heading toward Pop’s, I ask, “Have you been living in Seaside long?”
“Just over a year.”
If she’s been living here a year, how the hell did I not notice her next door when I moved in? “What type of business are you in, if you’re leaving town for nearly six weeks at a time?”
“I’m a cybersecurity consultant. My client in London was onboarding a new branch of their business. I was tasked to set up their network and ensure there weren’t any data breaches as they expanded.”
She always was brilliant, but I can’t say I was expecting this. “Do you work in the private sector or with government agencies?”
I catch a slight shrug as she confirms my suspicion. “Both. This time, it was for a private company. But I do have government contracts with the DOD from time to time.”
“Interesting…” I draw out, allowing me time to mull over my next question. Department of Defense contracts are hard to come by. She must be top-notch to land those. However, in true Faye fashion, she interjects before I can continue.
Her spine straightens as her head turns my way. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”
Exhaling heavier than I should, I admit, “I find your line of work interesting… Nothing more than that. I’ve always wondered where you ended up.
In high school, you were one of the smartest people I knew.
It’s good to see you put that big brain of yours to work.
Have you always been an independent contractor? ”
“Only for the last ten years. Before that, I worked out of New York with a company that handled cybersecurity for major corporations as well as the DOD. It’s how I’ve kept my foot in the door as an independent contractor.”
“How did I not know this?” I muse aloud, more to myself than expecting an answer.
I feel like a total ass for not reaching out to her at some point.
All defensiveness disappears as she reaches for my arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Our paths never crossed, Mark. How would you know?”
“I suppose you’re right,” I concede as I pull into a street parking spot in front of Pop’s Hops.
“I usually am.” She grins widely and rolls her eyes, then reaches for the door handle. “We’ve got plenty of time for catching up, Lancaster. No need to worry about it all happening at once. You’re starving. Let’s go eat.”
With that, she hops out of my truck, and I’m left gaping like an idiot.
She always could call me on my shit like no other.
Glad to see some things haven’t changed.
By the time she takes a few steps, my brain kicks in, and my body goes double time to catch up with her. My long strides eat up the distance between us, and just before she makes it to the door, I reach out to open it and hold it open for her.
“Thanks,” is whispered as she walks in and waits by the sign to be seated.
I barely step up beside her when a waiter greets us. “Welcome. Would you like a table inside, under the patio, or near the bar?”
Faye glances my way, and I nod, suggesting she make our choice, as I have no preference.
“The patio is fine.”
On the way to our table, we learn about tonight’s specials, as well as some of the newest brews they’ve acquired. He also informs us that a live band will start soon and advises us to sit adjacent to one another if we want a better view of the stage.
Sitting next to Faye is no hardship, that’s for sure.
I pull out the chair with the most direct view of the stage and motion for her to take a seat. The scent of vanilla, lavender, and something uniquely her washes over me, and memories from our summers here in Seaside surface.
As soon as we’re both seated, the waiter slides a menu toward Faye, but she shakes him off. “Oh, I don’t need one, I already know what I want, and this guy”—she points at me with a wicked gleam—“promised me a French dip. Can I get a pint of Puckering Pear, as well?”
“What’s a puckering pear?” spews out of my mouth before either of them says more.
Rolling those beautiful blues my way, she smirks indignantly. “Only one of the best microbrews.”
“It’s distributed from Bedknobs and Brews in Colorado,” the waiter eagerly adds. “It’s popular this time of year.”
Always down for something new, I shrug. “I’ll take a pint of that, as well as a French dip.”
“Excellent choice. I’ll put your order in and get it out to you as soon as I can.”
The moment he walks away, she turns to me and sighs heavily. “Of all the gin joints in all the world, how did you…Mark Lancaster, become my neighbor?”
“I should ask you the same thing.” I laugh.
Casablanca was always one of her favorite movies. She was a fan of the classics. I can’t imagine that ever changing.
“Seriously, Lancaster… How did you end up in Seaside? You were hell-bent on leaving town. I can’t for the life of me fathom you settling here.”
“It’s not that unfathomable,” I deadpan and hold her gaze.
A perfectly sculpted brow arches my way. “Are you always this evasive?”
Only when I know it gets you riled up.
When she doesn’t back down from the staring contest I’ve perpetuated, I eventually give in with a shrug. “It’s simple. My kids.”
Her brows knit together as she studies me further. “What do you mean?”
“Where they go, I go. Now that I’m retired, and Uncle Sam isn’t dictating where I live, I’m determined to spend as much time with my girls and their growing families as possible.”
From the way her eyes widen, she obviously didn’t expect this response.
“Families? More than one of your kids lives here?”