16. Sixteen
Sixteen
Juliet
I stood in the kitchen the next day, eating a sandwich as I stared out toward the lake. A fine veil of warm rain fell steadily over the landscape, giving everything the hazy quality of a half-remembered dream. The lake was a deep, murky gray beneath the troubled sky. Though I’d expected the rain to dim the colors outside the window, instead the grass turned to a rich, glittering emerald.
After so many beautiful spring days, the rain might have been a disappointment. In reality, I found it even more beautiful than the sunlight.
I spent the rest of the morning uploading photos of Cooper’s Point from my camera and drawing in a fresh sketchbook, trying to recapture what I could recall from the one lost during my tumble.
All the while, I was still feeling guilty for how I responded to Henry that first day. This town was his whole life—his childhood, his family, his home. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how I would have felt if some outsider burst unexpectedly into my world and put all of that at risk. He had a right to be unhappy, and I could have refused to rise to the bait.
How would things have turned out if he’d managed to apologize that night at the restaurant before I threatened him? Would I have accepted it and moved forward, or would I still be holding a grudge?
Knowing me, it was the latter.
Thankfully, he seemed like the type to be able to laugh at his mistakes instead of wallowing in them. How else would a man stay such good friends with his ex-wife?
After eating, I sat at the end of the couch where Henry had left his pillow and blanket neatly folded on the table, surreptitiously drawing a deep breath to see if his scent lingered.
Oh sweet lord, there it is, I realized, letting my eyes flutter closed for a moment as the barest hint of that intoxicating cologne met my nose. After indulging this folly for longer than was probably wise, I forced my eyes open.
“You have a problem,” I told myself sternly.
The boxes cluttering the living room floor offered no response.
“You know who’d know what to do, boxes? Sarah.”
The thought of my best friend brought on a pang of homesickness. I picked up the phone and fired off a text that didn’t mention my hiking accident, the resulting injuries, or the terribly attractive inn manager who’d spent the night in my home. No sense freaking Sarah out over what probably wouldn’t amount to anything.
Especially after I’d gotten her all riled up in my defense by describing our unfortunate first encounters.
As soon as it was sent, I froze, staring down at the screen. I was almost certain she’d be asleep by now with the time difference, but if she tried to video call, there’d be no way to hide my forehead from view, not without gazing off into the distance the entire time. Sarah would absolutely suspect something was up if I did that.
I waited a few tense minutes, then breathed a deep sigh of relief when she didn’t respond to the text. I’d give her all the details eventually, preferably when there were no physical signs of my unfortunate fall.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine how my best friend would react to meeting Henry in person. Sarah’s husband, Andre, was handsome in his fair-haired, Nordic way, but the contrast between the two men would tempt even a devoted landscape artist like myself to try to capture it on canvas.
With that in mind, I grabbed my sketchbook again in an attempt to distract myself from thoughts of Henry. I let the pencil lead while my mind wandered.
Some indeterminate amount of time later—minutes or hours, I wasn’t sure—I stared down at the paper, bringing into focus a sketch of the lake from the day before, the lighthouse standing proudly in the background, Blue frolicking in the waves at the front. Seeing it, I realized I hadn’t taken a single photo, not even on my phone.
Is he really that distracting?
I considered the question carefully, running one fingertip over the sketch.
Yes, as a matter of fact, he was. If only I could predict whether that was a good sign or a bad one, maybe I’d be able to put him out of my mind.
As if summoned by the question, my phone chimed with a text from Henry asking if I had plans for dinner. I bit my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot as I replied that I did not.
Are you up for company? Your choice of takeout, my treat. Chinese? Italian? Thai?
I gave him my preferred dishes from each option and told him to surprise me, then I set the phone aside and wandered into the bedroom. As I stood before my limited wardrobe, I wondered what the dress code was for this kind of non-date.
Nothing low cut, I decided that much right away, considering how his attention had drifted to my cleavage the day before. The memory of it was enough to quicken the blood in my veins and cause a slightly giddy feeling to rise up in my chest. A little flirtation at the beach was one thing, but brushing it off in the coziness of the cottage might be beyond my abilities right now.
There wasn’t much to be done about my bruised forehead, though I'd removed the butterfly bandages that morning as Libby instructed, but there was no way I was greeting Henry in yoga pants and the shelf-bra cami I’d spent the morning in. In the end, I grabbed a simple teal t-shirt and a pair of jeans, managing to carefully clasp a regular bra without tweaking my wrist as I got dressed.
Would he think I’d done it for him if I left my hair down? I spent a ridiculous amount of time in front of the bathroom mirror as I debated hairstyles.
Finally, annoyed that I’d given his words so much power over my decision, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and forced myself to stop thinking about what Henry Walker liked. I was a grown woman who could make her own damn choices.
My last relationship had ended poorly during my mother’s illness, but it wasn’t as though I’d never spent time around attractive, flirty men before now.
It never affected me like this before, though, turning me into a frazzled mess of hormones.
I was deep in thought about whatever mysterious chemistry seemed to exist between me and Henry when a light knock sounded at the door. Steeling myself, I opened it wide and watched a slow smile spread across his face.
“Hey, Red,” he said. “That’s a good color on you.”
Though the telltale flush crept along under my skin, I responded with an arched brow and demanded, “Do you compliment everyone in town like this?”
Henry sidled by me to set the bags of Chinese takeout on the kitchen counter, then he turned to let his gaze wander more slowly over me, from head to toe and back up again. There was no mistaking his interest this time—and my rebellious body was responding to it.
“Nope,” he said once he’d finished his perusal, turning to unpack the bags.
I pulled plates from the cupboard, flustered into silence. A smile lingered on his lips when I finally turned back to him, but I scowled.
“What are you grinning about?”
“You look good. Sunburn from yesterday has faded, your forehead is healing right up, no wrap on your wrist, no limp.” I rolled my eyes, but he only winked as he added, “And now I can’t decide what hairstyle I like better, because that ponytail shows off your neck perfectly.”
Before I could react, he reached out and stroked his knuckles along the side of my throat. My mouth dropped open, but then my phone vibrated on the countertop between us, shattering our connection. We both glanced down out of reflex, and Henry let out an amused snort when he read the text from Sarah.
Off to Amsterdam tomorrow. Any new run-ins with that dickhead from the inn?
I slapped one palm over the phone and the other over my eyes. Henry grinned at my pained expression when I peeked between my fingers. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned one hip against the counter.
“So I take it you haven’t told your friend how I swooped in to rescue you yet? You wound me, Juliet.”
“No, I have not. I didn’t want her to worry and end up rushing out here or something. I’m sorry, I won’t let her keep thinking you’re an asshole, I promise. Not for much longer, anyway.”
His smile had my stomach flip-flopping madly, then he nodded, tapping a finger against his chin as a glimmer of mischief crept into his expression.
“I’ve never played the villain before, but if you’re into roleplay, I suppose it could be fun,” he replied, offering a teasing smile that made my breath stutter for a moment.
I groaned as I dumped a container of noodles onto my plate. “Fess up, Walker. Do you intentionally say things like that just to make me blush? It goes with the pasty complexion, all right? I can’t help it and it is definitely not amusing. It’s physiological.”
He reached over and brushed his thumb over the hot splotch of color along one cheekbone, causing my eyes to widen even more. When my lips parted in surprise, his gaze landed on my mouth and, for one breathless moment, I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me.
“Yes, I do it on purpose. I admit it freely,” he said softly. “You’re gorgeous anyway, but damned if blushing doesn’t make you ten times more tempting. I wouldn’t call you pasty, though. Just fair, like fresh cream.”
“Henry,” I began, but his fingers dropped and he shook his head with a rueful smile.
“I’m not pushing for anything you’re not interested in, Juliet. If you want to just be friends or work colleagues or polite strangers, I’ll abide by whatever boundaries you set. If you don’t want me touching you, you only need to say the word and it won’t happen again.”
His hazel eyes glinted gold when they dropped briefly to my lips once more, but everything about his bearing in that moment indicated utter sincerity. I stared at him until he spoke again.
“Whatever’s between us, this spark, it feels right. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”
“No, you didn’t cross anything.”
A relieved breath whispered past his lips and he nodded. “Good.”
“Spark seems like a good word for it. I was thinking chemistry. It’s not—I’m not opposed to you touching me,” I said, cheeks heating further even as I held his gaze. “I just want to be sure I’m not misinterpreting it.”
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “Believe me, you’re not.”
I held up a hand and added, “But before anything else happens, I also want to know that this spark isn’t going to screw things up between us, in terms of the inn. Maybe this is me being overly cautious, or maybe it’s feeling off-kilter being new in town, I don’t know. I don’t want anything to turn weird.”
Henry reached out to cup my chin in his hand. “You’re talking to the guy whose ex-wife is still one of his best friends,” he reminded me with a grin.
That statement was absurdly comforting as I considered it. I had no intention of ever actually working at the inn, and I’d already been through the strain of avoiding the place because of him. The realization that maybe this, the two of us, might be possible brought a smile to my face. Henry lifted a brow in question.
“Okay,” I said simply.
“Okay,” Henry repeated, running his thumb lightly along my jaw.
His focus dropped to my lips again. I tensed, wondering again if he would kiss me. Instead, he let his hand fall—though he didn’t look away from my mouth for several seconds—and he stepped back.
“We’ve got plenty of time, Red, and your noodles are getting cold.”
We ate side-by-side at the counter. Henry asked about Sarah and Andre, teased me for keeping secrets from my best friend, and miraculously took my mind off the thought of kissing him.
At least, my mind was off of it until he casually reached over to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. Then my lungs forgot how to function.
“You were saying?” he prompted, clearly enjoying the effect his touch had on me.
“You, sir, are a tease,” I threw back. When I narrowed my eyes at him, he only grinned at the accusation.
“A tease, huh? Does that mean you want me to kiss you, Juliet? I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and I seized the impulse to reach out and smooth it back into place. His eyes darkened in response, so I let my fingers drift along the sharp line of his jaw. When my thumb brushed over his lower lip, he caught my hand in his and watched me in silent challenge.
“Yes,” I said simply.
He blinked, clearly trying to remember what he’d even asked before I touched him, but I slipped off the stool before he could respond. Holding his gaze with my own, I laid my hands firmly against his chest, enjoying the feel of warm, hard muscle beneath his shirt. He shifted so I could stand between his knees as he set his own hands at my waist. My palms roamed from his chest to his shoulders before slipping around to cradle the back of his neck.
“Yes, I want you to kiss me.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, shifting his thumbs under the hem of my shirt to brush across my skin.
I shivered at the caress. “And I think I underestimated.”
“Oh?”
“When I said I’m not opposed to you touching me, I mean.”
It was laughable just how big an understatement that was. At the moment, I was sure I’d combust if he stopped touching me.
“I’ll take that as a good sign.”
The words teased over my skin. Henry laughed softly at my dazed expression and tugged me closer. When he nuzzled the edge of my jaw, I shivered in his arms and did the only thing left to do.
I kissed him.