All I Want Is You (16 page)

Jack resumed eating at this point, mainly because he needed a minute to quietly absorb all he'd just learned. He continued to feel torn inside—­now between pitying Fletcher's sad denial and admiring his calm fortitude. He just couldn't decide which one made the most sense, especially since Fletcher had struck him as a pretty wise dude up to now.

“I know, I know,” Fletcher said then, reading his thoughts, “I seem naïve. But whatever it is she's looking for, the road will bring her back to me. She said in her note that everything will be okay, and the only way everything will be okay is when she comes home—­so that's how I know she's going to.” Then he smiled out over the ocean as if he didn't have a care in the world. “Faith, my friend, that's what life is all about. You have to believe in what you want. Because why would you even want something if it wasn't meant to be yours? That's how I've lived my life and most of the ride for me has been . . . almost effortlessly smooth. This is but a hiccup. A bump in the path. There's something I'm supposed to learn, and when I do, that's when she'll come back and things will be normal again.”

“What about . . . a new normal?” Jack dared to venture. “I mean, you have yourself a nice little home here, in a great place. You still have a great life as far as I can see. So . . . do you ever think about just making a new kind of normal for yourself instead of waiting for her to come back?”

Fletcher looked introspective as he considered Jack's words. “I suppose I've done that in a way. But nothing else is as normal as love. Nothing else is as good.” Then he lowered his thinly bearded chin just slightly to add, “You shouldn't run from it.”

Jack flinched, feeling accused. When had they started talking about
him
here? “Me? Who said I'm running from anything? I'm just on vacation here, man—­I'm just taking it easy, trying to unwind.”

“Then you shouldn't have come with a girl you're so clearly enamored of. Hard to unwind when you're fighting what your soul wants.”

If Fletcher wasn't such a wise-­seeming guy—­it was something he gave off, almost like a scent, even now, after what Jack had just found out about him—­Jack would have started getting pissed at this point. “How are you so sure you know what my soul wants, dude?”

But Fletcher brushed off the inquiry by saying, “The real question here is—­why does anyone run from love?”

“Who says I'm running from—­”

“Or whatever you feel for her. Because there's
something
there—­a blind man could see that.”

“Maybe it's complicated,” Jack argued.

“I'm sure it is,” Fletcher said. “But what if . . . what if you just shoved those complications aside? What if you just pretended they didn't exist? What would happen then? And how good might it be?”

And when Jack started to form a reply, Fletcher held up a hand to stop him, saying, “Don't answer me. Just think about it. Turn it over in your head and let yourself feel it. Because I know how amazing love can be, and if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't pass up the chance to explore that.” Then he pointed up the street. “There's a good ice cream place around the corner. I suggest we go grab a ­couple cones—­what do you say?”

A
NNA
slid into the cracked vinyl booth at the Hungry Fisherman across the table from Christy. Christy had called her cell and gotten lucky—­she was free for lunch. “What's your news?” Anna asked, wide-­eyed.

Christy had filled her friend in on her consignment deals by phone a few days ago, so all she had to say now was, “It's selling! My jewelry is selling! Even at those crazy prices!”

And Anna beamed. “That's fantastic, Christy! I'm so happy for you! And you know what? Those prices aren't crazy if ­people are paying them.”

Christy leaned her head slightly to one side, taking in that concept, and began to feel even more fulfilled. Then she told Anna the rest. “I stopped by both places just a little while ago to drop off some new jewelry and each has sold several pieces already, in just these past few days! And they were excited to get more.” She stopped, sighed. “It's just so amazing to be appreciated for something I work hard at and love doing, you know?”

Anna smiled in understanding. “I've never been an artist or anything, but I feel the same way when someone compliments some part of the bed-­and-­breakfast that I remodeled or designed myself. And though he'd never admit it, I know when ­people love Duke's furniture, it really makes him feel good.” Then she gave her head a playful tilt and leaned forward just a bit across the table. “So you're suddenly doing great with your jewelry—­that's fabulous. But . . . what's up with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot?”

Christy bit her lip. “Well, to be honest, I'm not totally sure.” Then she filled Anna in on what she'd missed, leaving out the embarrassing details, and concluding with, “But I guess I'm going to let it all go and just see where things lead. Hope he doesn't hurt my feelings again. Hope he gets that I'm a good person.”

“How could he
not
get that?” Anna asked, her eyes softening. “And if he still doesn't, let me know because I might need to beat him up.” After which she looked around the Hungry Fisherman. “That said, if I have any criticisms of you at all, it might be that you picked this restaurant.” She lowered her voice. “It's kind of freaky. I mean, did you see the scary life-­size fisherman at the door?”

Yet Christy just laughed. “It's kind of a wacky place, I know. But I've started getting weirdly attached to it.”

Just then, Abner exited the kitchen wearing a plastic king's crown. And Anna silently switched her gaze from him back to Christy as if to say,
Come on, really?

To which Christy replied by explaining, “That's Abner, the owner. He likes hats.”

A
FTER
they ate and Anna left to go meet Duke at the beach, Christy stuck around the Hungry Fisherman a little longer. The small lunch crowd had dwindled, and over time she'd come to find the rustic, seafaring ambience of the place surprisingly relaxing. Despite the statue of Abner—­and, well, Abner himself.

After texting Grandpa Charlie to say hi, she did a search on her phone for local thrift shops, to stock up on her supplies of outdated jewelry. And she found several within easy driving distance. A few minutes later, she said goodbye to Polly near the front door.

Though as she opened it to step outside, a fluffy white cat came slinking in, weaving a path around her ankles. “Oh my—­who are you?” she said, staring down at the affectionate kitty.

“Good heavens, shoo,” Polly said, waving a hand down at the cat. “She's a stray we've been tryin' to get rid of—­or, well, hopin' she wanders away, I guess. But it's hard to drive a cat away from a seafood restaurant, let me tell ya.”

“She's certainly friendly enough,” Christy remarked as the cat continued rubbing against her ankles, purring slightly.

“We've been callin' her Dinah,” Polly said.

And a tingle ran down Christy's spine. “Because of the cat in Alice in Wonderland?” she asked. She recalled Alice owning a white cat named Dinah, and given all the ways her life seemed to echo the story lately, this seemed like too big of a coincidence. Talk about falling down the rabbit hole.

But Polly just shook her head, looking a little bewildered. “No, because she's always tryin' to get into the kitchen. So we named her from that old song—­“I've Been Working on the Railroad”—­because of the part about someone bein' in the kitchen with Dinah.”

And as if to prove that Polly's answer was the more logical one, just then the cat took off like a bullet toward the swinging door that led into the kitchen. After which Polly yelled in that direction, “Cat coming!” and Christy heard a ­couple of the cooks begin to sing the line from the song.

“They'll grab her and put her out back with some scraps,” Polly said, returning her attention to Christy. “Please don't tell ­people we let a cat in our kitchen. Business is slack enough as it is.”

“Oh, I wouldn't,” Christy said. “And it's nice of you to feed her.”

Though Polly looked doubtful. “Keeps her hangin' around is what it does. But I don't have the heart to throw away food when she's hungry. I tried to get Reece over at the Happy Crab to take her, but he claims cats and iguanas don't mix.”

“Well, Fifi seems like a lot to manage.”

“Agreed. For the life of me, I don't know what he sees in that creature. A cat'd be a heck of a lot easier if you ask me.” Then Polly got a scheming look in her eye, narrowing her gaze on Christy. “Wouldn't
you
like a nice cat?”

And Christy drew back slightly. “Who, me? I'm just here on vacation.”

Yet Polly tilted her head. “Nothin' says the cat can't travel. Probably been through worse than a little trip.”

Christy still balked, though. “The thing is—­I'm broke. I can barely provide for myself, let alone a cat.” And even if she was suddenly making unexpected money from her jewelry, she had a million other things to spend it on—­like Grandpa Charlie for one. And for another, a better life for herself.

Even if . . . the idea of having a cat around suddenly sounded kind of nice. She still didn't think a cat could ever complete her, but she couldn't help thinking of Amy back in Destiny—­who would be pressing Christy to give the cat a loving home if she were here. If she ever got a cat, though, she wanted to be in a better, more stable position in life, where she could be a good cat mom, but . . . maybe someday.

“Well, you keep an ear out for anyone who might want a nice cat,” Polly said, and Christy promised she would.

C
HRISTY
shoved her key into her door at the Happy Crab, turned the knob, and realized how happy it made her every single time it opened with ease—­unlike her apartment door at home. Sometimes it really was the little things in life.

Or . . . maybe she was happy about more than the simple turn of a lock. She suddenly had a lot more to be happy about these days than she had in quite a while. She couldn't help her Grandpa financially yet, but seeing so much of him lately was good for her soul—­and his, too, she thought. And she wasn't making a living from her jewelry, but achieving that dream seemed way less far-­fetched than it had just a week ago. And she might have gone through a lot of pain and embarrassment with Jack, but . . . maybe that was over now.

“Hey, Alice—­how was your day?” Jack greeted her with a friendly grin as she stepped in the room.

She knew he was hoping to encounter the gentler, kinder Christy she'd been with him until the last few days. And, well, she was going to give him his wish, put the recent unpleasantness behind them. She smiled back—­and then couldn't contain her enthusiasm. “It was pretty great. Some of my jewelry sold already! Like—­hundreds of dollars' worth! And both shops were happy to get more.”

He stood up, his own smile widening. “Wow—­that's absolutely fantastic, honey!” And as he stepped forward to give her a warm hug, she realized how naturally he'd done it, that they knew each other so well now that a hug at a moment like this made total sense.

So she let herself hug him back, let herself feel how good and warm it was to be in his supportive embrace. The fact that her whole body tingled—­that was just a perk. She still wasn't sure where things would go with Jack now, but she instinctively knew they'd be . . . better.

After that, she told him more about her day. He said he hadn't made it to Sunnymeade for lunch, but had instead ended up hanging out with Fletcher, the tightrope walker. Then he suggested they pick up the chicken salad sandwich for Grandpa Charlie, along with something for themselves as well, and go there for dinner instead. “Thought maybe we could take him out to one of the tables on the grounds, make kind of a picnic out of it.”

Christy smiled at his thoughtfulness, and despite trying to be cool-­headed about her change in attitude, it made her fall even a little more deeply in love with him. “I'm sure he would love that,” she said. “And so would I.”

“And after that,” he went on, “maybe I can show you the beach I found today. It's near the one you like, but it's beyond where the shoreline twists away from the road. It's private and kind of . . . romantic. I thought we could take a sunset walk there. If you want.”

Okay, wow. Jack was suddenly using words like
romantic
? As if romance weren't something to be feared and avoided at all costs lest someone get attached? Maybe things had changed even more than she knew. And . . . well, maybe she should even, realistically, be a little afraid of that herself now, afraid to trust in it, afraid he'd pull back on it again in the end.

But at the moment, it was hard to look into those beautiful blue eyes and do anything but . . . believe. She was learning to have courage, right?

And so, that easily, one more time, she did it—­she chose to be brave and have faith. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto her own personal tightrope as she said, softly, “Yeah. I want.”

 

“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk.

Along the briny beach . . .”

Lewis Carroll,
Through the Looking Glass

Chapter 15

T
HE SKY
over Coral Cove Beach blazed orange and pink with streaks of purple shot through like threads in a brightly colored fabric. Christy and Jack had walked from the Happy Crab, both in upbeat moods after a pleasant dinner with Grandpa Charlie and the short drive back to the motel. And Christy felt better than she had in a long time. Trusting in her talent, and in her boldness, was making her dreams start to come true—­she could feel it in her heart. And maybe trusting in Jack would pay off in the same way.

He truly seemed different tonight—­more like the relaxed Jack she'd first met, but also . . . new in a way. The man who walked up the beach beside her now seemed . . . unafraid to let his affection for her show. And it shone in his eyes every time their gazes met—­something sweet and wonderful that hadn't ever been there before, or at least not in such an open way.

They walked barefoot at the water's edge, letting the cool gulf surf wash up over their toes before it rushed back out again. They both carried their shoes, and with the same hand that held her beaded sandals, Christy bunched the gauzy fabric of her long skirt to keep the breeze from blowing it too high.

When they came upon the nightly celebration at the pier, they wordlessly bypassed it, staying near the water, walking beneath the wooden structure to continue on their way. Though in the distance Christy spotted a silhouette of Fletcher McCloud balanced atop his tightrope and Tom Petty could be heard singing “Learning to Fly” from a radio somewhere.

“I think you'd like Fletcher's house,” Jack said as they ventured onto the more windswept stretch of sand beyond the pier. Christy had always liked walking this part of the beach when she was younger—­but with Jack, she already loved it even more. They'd left the small Coral Cove crowds behind that fast and this stretch of sand instantly felt like their own private little piece of the coastline.

“I'm sure I would,” she said, peering out over the serene view before her. “His little cottage sounds perfect.” Jack had already described it to her earlier.

“I can't decide what I think about Fletcher, though,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when he bought that bracelet for his wife?”

“Of course,” she answered.

“Well, today at his house I found out she left him two years ago.”

Christy pulled up short in the sand, stunned. “What?”

“I know—­crazy, right?” he said. “And there's a whole pile of things he's bought for her since she's been gone. Because he's absolutely sure she's coming back. And . . . not, like, just
hoping
she is. But he's positive. In this calm way that almost made
me
think she was, too.”

Christy tried to wrap her head around this new information. Indeed, there was a quiet sense of insight about the man—­it seemed to vibrate out of him. In her brief encounters with him, he'd struck her as someone who had life all figured out and she'd almost envied him. And when he'd bought the bracelet, she'd envisioned him and his wife sharing an easy, fulfilling existence together.

“What do you think?” Jack asked. “Could a guy who seems so . . . at peace with everything around him be wrong about this? Is he just deluding himself?”

“I don't know,” Christy replied, “but it makes me sad. That even a guy like him, who seemed so together, has such big problems.”

“Guess everybody does,” Jack said with a shrug. “Or they've at least come through some.”

And Christy turned to look at him. “Have
you
ever . . . had anyone leave you?” she asked. She knew she was prying, but surely they knew each other well enough by now that she could pry a little.

Though he hesitated, kept his eyes ahead as they walked. They'd just passed an old boat that had been pulled high up on the sand, and in the distance a small pier that had seen better days stretched out over the water.

“Yeah,” he finally replied. Then added, “Well, in a manner of speaking.”

Her next glance over at him revealed a troubled expression, a knit brow. And she didn't want to make that worse, but his answer begged the question. “A manner of speaking?”

His voice came out quieter than usual. “Well . . . she cheated on me. And so we split up. But it
felt
like being left.”

Christy nodded, absorbing the hurt in Jack's voice, the gravelly tone that let it leak through.
She'd
shared painful things with
him
before, but it struck her that this was the first truly personal thing
he'd
told
her
. She'd trusted him enough all along to let some personal things out—­but now she felt him trusting her in return. Finally.

And good Lord—­what woman in her right mind would cheat on Jack? Without weighing the move, she followed the instinct to reach out her empty hand and clasp his. “I'm sorry,” she said. “That sounds awful.”

He simply nodded, said nothing more—­but she could still feel the pain he clearly wasn't comfortable with.

And maybe that explained a lot about his actions with her. And made her feel even more forgiving. Jack just always seemed like such an easygoing guy. She'd never stopped to imagine that anything horrible had ever happened to him.

But maybe
everybody
went through bad things. And some ­people just wore their scars more invisibly than others.

“It's in the past,” he said, implying that he'd left it there. And of course she wanted to know more about what had happened—­but if he didn't want to talk about it anymore, that was okay. For now, she was touched that he'd shared even this much.

And she was holding his hand now. And he was holding hers back. She hadn't planned that but couldn't help thinking it was a happy by-product of their conversation. Especially since neither of them seemed to be letting go.

“Anybody ever leave
you
, Alice?” he asked.

“My parents,” she said—­then flinched, gasped, almost unable to believe the words had fallen from her lips. Guilt coursed through her veins as she rushed to explain. “I mean, I know they didn't leave me on purpose and it's not the same thing as being left in a romantic sense like with Fletcher's wife, but for some reason that just popped into my head. I shouldn't have said it, though,” she concluded quietly.

Yet he replied, just as softly, “It's okay.”

The beach had curved completely away from the road now, leaving Christy to feel all the more isolated with Jack. But in a safe way. And that was when it hit her.
He makes me feel safe.
And it seemed important. Because she'd felt that way so seldom since the death of her parents.

“Is it?” she asked. The surf was calmer here, the bend of the land creating a small bay, and the water lapped more gently over their feet as they walked. Then she stopped and looked over at him. “Is it okay to feel abandoned by someone who never meant to? Who never would have if they could have helped it?” She swallowed back her fears and voiced thoughts that had perhaps hung in the back of her mind for a long while now. “I mean, I know they loved me more than anything. I know it wasn't their fault. But it's hard to suddenly be left so alone in the world, and with nothing. No money to bury them with. No pictures to remember them by. No answers about why it had to happen this way.”

Oh crap. She'd just spilled her guts, big time. She'd said things she didn't even know she felt until now. She'd completely bared herself to him, only in a different way this time—­one that was possibly even more revealing.

But that was when Jack whispered, “Come here,” and she realized his arms were closing around her, pulling her into a warm, intoxicating embrace. And it felt so good that she simply let herself be swept up in it, let her arms close around his waist, let her face rest against his chest where she could hear the steady beat of his heart. “I don't want you to feel alone, honey.”

Though after a moment of comfort wrapped in Jack's arms, she still felt compelled to lift her head, look up at him, and admit, “It was still an awful thing to say, though.”

But Jack simply told her, “No. Just no. It really is okay.”

And then his eyes dropped from her eyes to her lips, and a familiar heat soared through her just before he lowered his mouth onto hers.

Christy succumbed to the kiss immediately, with her whole heart. No kiss in her life had ever been more welcome. It was at once a sweet escape from life's troubles and a perfect celebration of the things that had been going right lately. So much passion lay stored up inside her that there was no fighting it, only giving in to it and relishing it. She kissed him back with everything inside her, so thankful to be with him in this way again—­and yearning for more.

Jack's strong hands roamed her back, the curve of her waist, her hips, caressing and molding her flesh within his fingers. When Jack touched her, she somehow became every inch a hot, desirable woman—­no self-­doubt, no shyness—­and she followed the impulse to press her palms to his broad chest, digging the tips of her nails in just slightly through his T-­shirt as their kisses deepened, the want stretching hotly between them.

When Jack's palms curved over her ass and pulled that part of her closer to him, his erection connected with the juncture of her thighs and a small whimper escaped her. It broke the kiss at last, but she couldn't even begin to think about stopping—­she looped her arms around his neck and followed her body's urge to grind her hips against his. His grip on her bottom tightened and he hauled her against him harder and she heard them both panting as she sank deeper and deeper into her sexiest cravings.

His breath warmed her cheek and she found herself nibbling at his earlobe. He let out a short groan in response. After another round of fevered kisses, Jack's hands drifted upward, onto her breasts.

A soft sea breeze wafted over them just then, lifting her hair, and she could almost feel it further hardening her nipples, along with his touch. He stroked at the peaks through her tank top with his thumbs, eliciting soft moans each time he brushed across them.

“I want to kiss these,” he murmured against her hair.

Every molecule of her body tingled with excitement and lush need. “I want that, too,” she breathed. “Please.”

The sun had long since set, the sky fading from deepest purple to black, with the moon rising above. And as Jack removed her top over her head, she took in details about the moment: the sound of the rushing tide somewhere behind her, the salty breeze kissing her skin, the sense of blessed seclusion. Her feet sank into soft, dry sand—­at some point during all the kissing, they'd moved higher up onto the beach, away from the water.

And then, mmm, Jack's hands came back to her body—­one curving around the side of her breast through her lacy bra, the fingers of the other slipping beneath the bra strap on her opposite shoulder. She wanted to give herself to him more than she wanted to breathe.

But then—­oh God—­something inside her flashed back on the last time she'd gotten this heated up with Jack . . . and she pulled her palms away from where they lightly played at his chest, closing them firmly over both his hands where they touched her. “Jack,” she said, her voice coming out ragged.

“What, baby? What is it?” He sounded just as ready as she did. But she still had to be sure. She couldn't put herself at that kind of risk again.

“If . . . if we're . . .” Crap, she couldn't think how to say it. “Just please don't stop this time,” she breathed desperately.

“Oh Christy, baby—­I'm not. I won't. I swear it. Stopping's the last thing on my mind.”

“Because . . . because . . . I just can't take that again. And we don't have to . . . define this. We don't have to put some kind of label on it. We can just see how things go, take it as it comes. The main thing right now is that . . . I don't want to wait anymore. I want to be with you, Jack. I want to know what you feel like inside me.”

She heard his low intake of breath, felt his grip tighten slightly on her breast beneath her hand. “Aw honey,” he murmured, low and hot. “You're gonna find out. We're
both
gonna find out.”

And that was all the assurance Christy needed to let go with Jack one more time. Everything had truly changed now—­she could feel that with every beat of her heart. He was with her in this now, not pulling back. And it was an amazing feeling, an amazing place to be with another person.

Jack bent to kiss her again, even as he pushed the bra straps from both of her shoulders. And she wordlessly reached up behind her to undo the hook—­this time letting it fall away from her with no hesitation, dropping to the sand at their bare feet.

His eyes caressed her breasts, as potent as any touch, and they practically pulsed with pleasure and desire. “Aw damn, honey—­you're beautiful,” he said—­and no words had ever made her feel more vibrant and alive. Who needed money when you could have this instead? This man, this moment, this feeling.

She tried to form a response, but she was simply too turned on. So only one word echoed from her lips in a soft whimper. “Please.”
Please touch. Please kiss.

And he seemed to know exactly what that one word meant without her saying more because after a scintillatingly hot look into her eyes, he reached both hands up to cup her breasts. A jagged sound of pleasure left her throat as she surged with moisture in her panties.

As he bent to rake his tongue over one beaded pink tip, a moan erupted from her throat and a shiver ran the length of her body. And when his mouth closed fully over her hardened nipple, beginning to suck, her desire soared, expanding outward from her breasts like long, lush fingers, reaching, stretching all through her. The juncture of her thighs ached—­heavy, hungry, desperate to be filled. And when he pulled back, the sea breeze wafted over the moisture he'd left on her flesh, making her feel kissed by the wind, as well.