Chapter 22
T HE SUN HAD yet to reach its highest point in the sky when Carrah turned down the gravel-filled path. She blew a long breath while gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. What had she gotten herself into? She muttered to herself as she looked up ahead and watched Chris open the trunk of his Jeep.
She parked and noted a hint of gray clouds rolling in and wondered if they should reconsider. Her thoughts to make a change of plans had little to do with the potential of rain. This was summertime in Florida. Everyone knew the weather was fickle. Besides, most melanated folks preferred the cloud cover at the beach.
Contemplation of their impromptu excursion had everything to do with her thoughts of being alone with Chris again—and not for the reason that most would think. He was safe, easy to talk to, listened, and offered solutions. Hell, she’d already confessed her most sacred secrets of writing a novel and feeling trapped. What would she tell him next?
There was no denying she was vulnerable to the heir of Noir’s longest-standing competitor. She best not forget that he was indeed her rival. Reminding herself of the constant he had held in her life since she was old enough to know might reduce the chances of her lips becoming loose and disclosing the trouble the company was in.
“You again,” he snickered, opening the door to her car. His smile made the world go still while issuing regrets of a past they had no ability to change. “I honestly thought I’d be waiting another thirty minutes or so. You changed and gathered your stuff quicker than I expected.” He extended his hand and helped her from the car.
“So it seems you take me for a run-of-the-mill type of girl.” She took his hand, exited the car, and moved to get her beach bag and chair from the back seat.
His face tightened as he reached in first and took her bag and chair before moving to his trunk. “Run-of-the-mill girls can’t get my time.”
“Summer does.” She bit her tongue as her eyes darted to the ground. Why did she say that? He wasn’t Gav, Dunc, or Reg, whom she could be careless with and tease. Nor was he Trent, making her second-guess the woman she was because his eyes, hands, and dick wandered.
There was no rebuttal. Just Chris moving to place her belongings into his trunk. Which, in some ways, was a reply. Not exactly one she liked, but she cared not to read between the lines. What he did with Summer was his business. Still, the silent treatment was killing her. It seemed especially worse when he brushed past her and went to the passenger side of the Jeep.
“Come on, get in.” His tone was clipped and impatient as he held the passenger door open. “We’ve got about an hour ride.”
The demeanor he now demonstrated contradicted the way he was seconds ago when she arrived. In an effort to still her tongue and keep the peace she disregarded the manner in which he spoke then slipped through the door. She settled into her seat, wishing he hadn’t clearly taken her comment so seriously as she watched him go around the front of the car and then slide into the driver’s side.
“Jealous much.” His peripheral sliced across her before he put on his sunglasses and she felt like she’d turned the shade of rage. “Never pegged you for that type.”
“Because I’m not,” she snapped.
“Hmmm… then why say what you said?”
Carrah gazed out the window. She honestly wondered too, and so she searched herself for the answer to his question. What she found, she didn’t like, because it exposed the stains of insecurities her ex-lover had left behind. Chris was not allowed to see that damage. “Apologies. I tease Gav, Dunc, and Reg all the time about their lady friends. We aren’t there yet.” She swallowed hard, fidgeting with her hands before finally looking over at him.
His head ping-ponged while his gaze remained straight ahead on the gravel path leading them to the main road. Abruptly the car stopped, and without a word he got out. From the side mirror she observed him close the gate to his property. When he got back in the car he sat still as though he was in deep contemplation.
“You’re right. We aren’t there yet. I believe that is the point of all of this. Am I wrong?”
Anyone else being as direct as he was in this moment might have appalled her. However, she had learned from their last few interactions that Chris didn’t mince words. In honesty, it was refreshing because there were no secrets or hidden motives to uncover.
She shook her head. “You aren’t wrong. I meant what I said. I want to know you… beyond the attorney-client association.”
“But why?” He finally turned and looked her in the face. God willing her heart wouldn’t flatline.
“I could ask the same of you.” Their eyes locked and she hoped he couldn’t see her unspoken desires.
“So you want us to be friends? Like how you are with Gav, Dunc, and Reg?” Carrah nodded a cautious yes , uncertain if he was in total agreement. Besides, this was all they could be. The two of them sharing a semblance of any friendship already went against each of their family’s principles. Chris fastened his seat belt, put the car in drive, and turned onto the main road. “For the record, Summer Bradshaw attempts to steal my time. I don’t give her any.”
“Seems like you were when I ran into the both of you at the ball.”
“I was being cordial,” he exhaled with a grumble. “Besides, she’s the only one that didn’t give me crap about tagging you during the kickball game.”
Her eyes rolled as she snorted derisively. “Oh, there’s a surprise.”
He chuckled then. “She’s not my type.”
“You have a type? I’m intrigued. Do tell.” She turned in her seat, putting her back against the door to face him.
He chastised her for a few minutes on the unsafe nature of how she was sitting. After her third refusal to sit right, he sighed. Carrah grinned in his silent concession and then repeated her question.
Chris cleared his throat. “Aside from physical attraction, I like a woman who is confident, yet soft. Intelligent—and isn’t chasing me. A woman begging me to slip between her legs is unattractive.”
“Unless you’re a fuck boy,” she quipped.
“Of which I am not.” He only took his eyes from the road for a second and glanced at her. “I think you know that, though, even if you don’t know me all that well. Your turn.”
A tense silence crept between them. This hole was much harder to avoid than the others she’d outmaneuvered in their more recent conversations. She took in a deep breath, accepting the safe space, and decided that it wouldn’t be so bad to share. There was no benefit, no one for him to run and tell her business to. Most had already speculated that the relationship her parents and Trent’s attempted to sell to the public was far from perfect.
“Faithful.” She swallowed and turned to sit correctly in her chair. “A man who only wants me.”
Chris eased his foot off the gas pedal. His head whipped to get a better look at her, sitting quiet now with a distant gaze at the road ahead. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Albeit slowly, he was beginning to comprehend that Trent had been the unfaithful fuck boy. It was perhaps the reason they were no longer a couple. However, he wouldn’t dare ask if her ex got his kicks from having a side piece or two.
Without thinking, he raised the volume on the radio to ward off the silence sitting between them, and offered her full command. A thing he never did, but was relieved to see a smile light up her face as she reached for the radio. She pressed buttons, reacting to the songs that came over the airwaves. Classical music made her giddy while she hummed with the tune. Rock was a no go, but the old school sounds of Motown got her fingers snapping. Eventually, and to his surprise, Carrah settled on a hip hop station.
This woman seated next to him contradicted the prim-and-proper girl he knew from afar. Bouncing to the beat and rapping along with one of the hottest female artists in the industry made him tease her, calling her ratchet. She laughed, and continued spitting lyrics. His discovery of her in this light was refreshing. It lowered his guard, and by the time the next song hit the air, he joined in as they rhymed in sync with OutKast.
What was meant to be a temporary distraction sparked banter between them that became lighthearted conversation for the remainder of their ride.
“Bethune Beach okay?” Chris asked while exiting the highway. He turned onto the palm tree–lined street heading in the opposite direction of the main causeway. Most people tended to prefer New Smyrna. It was the surf hub known for the Canaveral National Seashore and exploring sand dunes. However, if today was meant for him to escape, then he wanted to avoid the crowds while reconnecting with a place his family had frequented when he was young.
Carrah’s hands clapped together and her smile lit up his car. “Of course it’s okay! I used to dream of having a beach house out here.”
Enthusiasm ignited between them as the car merged onto the only road leading into the well-preserved enclave known by many both in and out of their circle as the Black beach. While Martha’s Vineyard clung to the Inkwell, the Shores had Bethune Beach. It was founded by Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune after Black students were denied access to Daytona Beach, as a result of the Jim Crow South. Bethune Beach was a place during the first half of the twentieth century that came to be a haven for African-Americans who were not allowed at any other public beaches.
No less than fifteen minutes later, Chris parked, and they were out of the car setting up a blanket, chairs, and umbrella on the shore in no time. He watched Carrah venture down to the shoreline and curl her pretty toes in the sand as he plopped down onto the blanket and looked out on the waves crashing in. He inhaled the deep salty air and relaxed. This was where the Atlantic Ocean met the Indian River, and it was pristine, quaint, and beautiful, much like his companion.
His stare remained fixed on her, wondering how he might keep his composure once she shed the crop top and shorts for the lavender bikini peeking underneath.
“I want to show you something,” Carrah called to him while jogging back to where they had set up camp. He tilted his head to see over the rim of his shades and tried his hardest to ignore those shapely, caramel thighs exposed in her cutoff jean shorts. “Got time for a little science at the beach?” Her lips quirked as she reached for her beach bag and pulled out two empty mason jars, a small shovel, and a funnel.
Chris chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say I have nothing but time today.” He stood, accepted the jar, and followed her to the shoreline.
“After we decided to come here, I realized we’d never done anything like this before… you, me, out alone as uh—friends.” She fidgeted with the top of the jar, but still continued eye contact. “You might have heard stories of me and my science experiments. I always did them with everyone else when we were little. Since you and I never had that”—she shrugged—
“I thought, why not today.”
The icy shield he needed to maintain melted a little more. The night they spent on the couch watching Dirty Dancing had taken a chunk of it and now he was uncertain if there was anything left. Emotions coupled with confusion continued to betray logic and the loyalty owed to his family. There seemed to be a meaning and purpose beyond him in finding this friendship or whatever they would call it. Carrah was unexpected, had been since the day she came into his office demanding help.
He gave a quick bob of the head. “I guess it’s never too late.”
She nodded and then began refreshing his memory on the concept of density while filling the mason jar with water, sand, and shells. The tangible example that varied densities wouldn’t mix but stacked had been forgotten by him. Chris never pretended to be a man of science, but she sparked renewed interest with this little experiment.
After closing the lid and shaking it all up, he watched everything fall back into its place. “Like oil and water, they will never mix,” he mumbled, observing the contents of his jar.
All the while thinking of how the dynamic established between the Chennaults and the Andrewses mimicked the separation. It was inevitable that after she no longer needed him, they would go their separate ways.
Carrah wrapped her fingers around the hand that he was holding the jar with and shook. “Not exactly,” she chortled, stilling his hand as they both watched the water and sand swirl within the jar. “While it’s true that both are heterogeneous mixtures, oil and water are chemically insoluble. They will never intersect. Whereas sand remains in the water settling at the bottom. Some scientists believe over time the sand absorbs the water.”
He snickered. “Did you really just geek out on me?”
She looked up at him and then back down to the jar in her hand. “Hardly.” She winked. “I just wanted you to understand that this isn’t like oil and water, and neither do we… have to be.”
“How’d you know I was thinking that?”
“Because it’s what everybody says of our families… and I was thinking it too,” she confessed before allowing a smile to slowly stretch across her face. “Turns out they are wrong. We’re more like salt water and sand.”
Laughter trailed behind her as she took off toward their umbrella and stashed the jar. He followed, processing her actions and then without knowing what else to say, he blurted, “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked, lifting her shirt over her head before facing him with creased brows.
“Letting me in.” He swallowed hard, again fighting not to admire the top of her lavender bikini, which was now exposed. “I’ve never been one to feel as though I was missing out. But after this experiment”—he huffed a chuckle—“and knowing everyone else had this with you all of these years, it stings a little.”
“Yeah, it does.” She sighed. Her mouth opened, but then closed. No more words fell upon his ears.
The awkwardness that surfaced between them lasted less than a minute as Chris tucked his jar away, shed his shirt, and grabbed the Boogie Boards. He was done standing behind enemy lines, debating if this woman was friend or foe. There was a picture he had not yet deciphered because she was unexpected. However, he knew they were no longer rivals. He could no longer pretend to be.
He extended his hand to Carrah. “Ride the waves with me?”
“You’ll have to teach me. I never learned.” Her hand slid into his.
He held it, wondering when to let go as they ran toward the water together.