Chapter Twenty
After making love again in the shower and catching a much-needed nap, he should have been relaxed, but as the afternoon waned, a sense of foreboding crept over Alex.
“You want to eat outside?” Cilla piled the sandwiches she’d made onto a platter. Neither of them was in the mood to spend time in the kitchen cooking, but they were both hungry, having left the diner before finishing lunch.
“Sure. You grab whatever else we’ll need.” Wanting to scope out the area, he carried the platter to the table on the back porch. Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the yard, but the itch between his shoulder blades was a warning he couldn’t ignore.
“Everything okay?” With a tray piled high with drinks, plates, napkins, and potato chips, she joined him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Everything’s good.” The lie was bitter on his tongue, but it wasn’t like he could say, “I’m pretty sure tonight is the night you die.”
She set the table, putting everything in its place. It was a little thing, but one of many she did without thought during the course of a day. That’s what made her and Ivy House special. What most would consider making an extra effort, she considered necessary.
Take this simple meal. The drinks were in tall glasses with ice and a slice of lemon, the plates were glass, not paper, the napkins cloth. Even the chips were in a bowl instead of the bag. It was all designed to make a person feel welcome and special.
Alex had eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world, places where this sort of service was expected—and reflected in the prices charged.
He wasn’t a paying guest. There was no compensation for the extra time it took to create this inviting atmosphere.
She was doing it for no other reason than she wanted to.
People had feared him his entire life. Many, who had no idea exactly who and what he was beyond an affluent businessman, wanted his money or influence. Neither of these applied in this situation.
“That looks nice.” He swallowed a groan. You’d think a man who’d lived as long as he had would be able to come up with something more sophisticated.
Her lips curved into a smile. “Glad you like it.”
On impulse, he reached over the railing and snapped a rose from the nearby bush. Then he wondered if he should have. Damn, he hated being unsure of himself. He was out of his depth with her.
Since it was done, he went with it. Making sure there were no thorns on the short stem, he tucked the pink bloom behind her ear. Her skin was as soft and delicate as the petals. The bright pink rose and the copper of her hair should have clashed but was somehow perfect.
She touched her fingers to the flower and gifted him with a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
Over the centuries he’d given expensive presents to women he’d briefly been involved with, everything from dozens of hothouse roses to expensive jewelry.
None had shown the pleasure Cilla had over the simple flower plucked from her own garden.
He’d basically given her something that already belonged to her.
He feathered his fingers across her cheek before stepping behind her to hold out her chair. After she was settled, he took the seat across from her.
The garden was aglow in the late afternoon sun, but it was shaded here.
There was barely a breath of wind. Everything was still, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
In the distance, someone shouted and a lawnmower began to hum.
The sweet scent from the nearby gardens perfumed the air.
The woman across from him completed the scene.
His entire soul exhaled. An unfamiliar sensation crept over him. It took him a second to recognize what it was—contentment. No restlessness plagued him. There was no desire to jump on his bike and race the demons within him. There was nowhere else he wanted to be. No one else he wanted to be with.
The reality of what was going to happen, what he had to do, crashed down on him. It took every ounce of control he possessed not to curse his father for putting him in this situation. Alex had been shown paradise. And it was about to be ripped away.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Frowning, Cilla reached across the table and touched his arm. “If there’s something you need to do…” She trailed off, giving him an excuse to leave.
“I’m right where I want to be.” It was both true and false. While his time with Cilla was priceless, something he would never trade, if he’d never met her, he wouldn’t be experiencing the excruciating squeezing of his heart or the sharp talons of grief gripping his stomach.
He pushed the platter toward her. “Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” After she’d selected a chicken sandwich, he helped himself to one with roast beef.
Was this what humans experienced as they watched their loved ones die? This sense of being hollowed out. Knowing that whatever you did, you couldn’t stop the inevitable.
There would be opportunity to analyze it all when he was alone. He was with Cilla now and wasting these precious minutes. “Chips.” He lifted the bowl and slid some onto her plate without waiting for her reply. She’d barely touched her lunch before ducking out of the diner.
After helping himself to some, he resolved to enjoy their meal. “What were you like as a little girl?”
She popped a chip into her mouth and crunched. “That’s a broad question. I was quiet. I told you my father worked a lot. Richard was much older. I read and drew.”
“You’re an artist?” Sitting there watching her, drinking in her every word and nuance, would make her self-conscious, so he forced himself to eat and assume a casual manner.
Her laugh made him smile. “I sketch and dabble in watercolors. Not surprisingly, my subject matter is primarily flowers and wildlife. I wouldn’t call myself an artist.”
“Would you show me?”
She tilted her head to one side. “You want to see them?”
“After we finish eating.” Putting things off wasn’t an option. He was starved for every ounce of knowledge about her, eager to compile as many memories as possible.
“If you really want to and aren’t simply humoring me, I’ll dig out some old sketchbooks. Tell me something I don’t know about you.” She pointed a chip at him. “Not about your brothers or your love of motorcycles and business. Something personal.”
She already knew more about him than anyone other than his brothers. Opening up wasn’t something he did. As a reaper, it was forbidden. As a man, it made him vulnerable.
“I love the beach. Not the sandy kind where people lie around sunbathing. A rocky one with shells and treasure carried in by the tides. I particularly enjoy the ones close to older towns. You never know what you might find.”
Resting her elbows on the table, she leaned forward, green eyes sparkling. “What’s the most unusual thing you’ve found?”
Not the most expensive or rarest, but the most unusual. Was it any wonder he lov— adored her. Was it any wonder he adored her? “I’m not sure. There’s sea glass in both orange and red, two of the rarest colors. Gold and silver coins.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me? Gold and silver coins? Are you a treasure hunter in your spare time?”
Shit, he’d said too much. He’d had thousands of years to pursue his pastimes. This was what happened when you became too close to someone. You made mistakes. “It helps me relax. I head to the beach whenever I can. I’ve gotten lucky a few times.”
“I’ll say. But what do you consider the most unusual?”
He thought about it a bit and smiled. “A rusted metal moose.” He held up his hands to give her an idea of the size. “Maybe four inches wide and five high. It’s flat and made from sheet metal. I always wondered what it came off of, where it came from, and how it ended up washed onto a beach.”
Laughter spilled from her lips, the sound infectious. “Are you serious?”
He chuckled and nodded. “Yup.”
“What happened to it?”
“I took it home, cleaned it up, and hung it on the wall.”
“I love it! We’ll have to hit a beach on the coast.” Her smile faded and she waved her hand in front of her. “Forget that. I said it before I remembered you won’t be here much longer.”
“There’s nothing I’d like more than to have a day at the beach with you.
” His voice was hoarse with barely suppressed emotion.
He wanted that day with her more than he wanted his next breath, but it wasn’t in the cards.
“Not sure when it would happen. You’re busy with Ivy House and everything else. ”
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. It was only a thought.” She picked up her sandwich and took a huge bite.
…
Cilla cursed her wayward tongue, wishing she could recapture the lighthearted mood.
It was fun to dream about a day on the beach together with nothing more to worry about than searching for shells and treasure.
She couldn’t remember the last time responsibilities hadn’t weighed her down.
As much as she loved Ivy House, running it was a seven-day-a-week job.
On days when there weren’t guests, she worked on the house and worried about how to get more paying guests. It was a never-ending cycle.
Added to the stress of dealing with her brother and ex and the pressure to sell, it was little wonder she wanted to be at the beach. Or anywhere she could relax and get away from everything. “The gazebo was my hideaway when I was a child.”
“It’s a beautiful spot. Has it always been overgrown?” His interest was real, not feigned in order to get something from her. They’d already had sex. Not like he had to butter her up for that.
“Not like it is now.” It made her determined to return it to its former glory.
“There’s a stone path covered in grass and debris.
The gazebo was bright white, not buried beneath the ivy.
It offered shade on hot days and cover on rainy ones.
The smell of the roses reminds me of my grandmother—of those simpler, carefree times. ”