Buck's Landing (A New England Seacoast Romance) (12 page)

“You’re avoiding the question.” Mallory wasn’t relenting.

“What question is that?” he asked innocently.

“What’s going on with that woman?”

Silas picked up the beer. “We got married in Niagara Falls last night.” He helped himself a healthy swallow.

“Okay, fine,” Mallory said. “I’ll let you off the hook. For now.”

He could picture her indulgent grin. “I love you, Mallory.”

“I love you, too.”

Silas ended the call and left his phone on the arm of the chair, finishing the beer in two swallows. He grabbed Sofia’s sweater and headed next door to return it to her.

He heard Sofia before he got to the top of her stairs.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here to see it.”

“What do you mean?” Amy.

Sofia. “I never meant to stay on at the Landing for good.” A pause. “I’ve listed it with Kevin Landry’s office up in Portsmouth.”

“Listed it?” Amy. “Not for development?”

Sofia, a little angry now. “For whatever purpose the new owner sees fit, within the zoning laws.”

“Oh.” Amy.

“Did you really think I was here to stay?” A snap of fingers. “Just like that?”

“I don’t know what I thought.” Amy trying for dignified. “It’s really none of my business, anyway.”

In the uncomfortable silence which followed, Silas processed what he’d heard. Not only did she not plan on staying past the season, she was going to sell Jimmy’s legacy to god-knows-who and waltz back down to D.C. with some cash in hand and the freedom to bury her father’s memory so deep it might never surface again.

He realized he was clenching the sweater. Her casual dismissal of Hampton, and by extension what was happening between them, bothered him. She belonged more than she was willing to see.

Or did he just want her to?

When the conversation between the two women inside resumed, he felt strange about loitering. Still carrying Sofia’s sweater, he returned to the boulevard, taking a two street circular detour on his way home. He needed time to think.

EIGHT

Late Sunday afternoon Silas pulled the Jeep up outside the snack bar, waved at Gavin, and jogged up the stairs.

Sofia opened the door as he reached the landing. Her shoulders were bare, save for two slim straps, and while the deep pink of her dress covered the rest of her, it did nothing to hide the curves and hollows of her body. Her hair hung loose down her back in a curly riot. She shimmered. Her Mona Lisa smile confirmed it; she was secure in the knowledge that she had stolen his breath. He seriously considered scrapping their plans to drive up to Portsmouth in favor of tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the nearest soft surface.

The day before, he’d avoided her, pleading office work and Theo’s day off. He’d hoped for perspective and clarity. He’d ended up not really caring that she planned to run again; he’d just wanted to be with her.

“I missed you.” She was aglow. “Hold this.”

He blinked, taking her purse from her outstretched hand. She dashed into the apartment, returning a moment later with a dragonfly printed scarf trailing from her hand.

“Much better,” she said, taking her bag.

Silas nodded and gestured ahead. “Milady.”

Rolling her eyes, Sofia turned the key in the lock and led him down the stairs. She climbed into the Jeep and took a moment to tie her hair back with the scarf. She gave him a sidelong smile. “The better to enjoy going topless.”

He was helpless against the barrage of images she evoked; she giggled at his obvious distress.

When he parked the car on State Street, she tied her scarf to the rearview mirror, shook out her hair, and joined him on the sidewalk. Something about the dragonfly printed silk fluttering against his dashboard squeezed his chest.

Orionis boasted only a dozen tables in a stone basement accessed from Ceres Street. The atmosphere inside was intimate, alive with Portsmouth’s long seafaring history. Tucked into a shadowy corner under a copper lampshade, she swore she could hear the whispers of smugglers and patriots in the air. The menu was avant garde, the wine list extensive.

"May I?" Sofia took the wine list and began to peruse.

Silas wondered if she was aware that she chewed her lip when she concentrated.

"How do you feel about a bottle with dinner?” She tapped one short fingernail on a label name.

"I trust you."

Their server arrived and took their cocktail orders. He watched Sofia make short work of the menu, while he agonized over the choices.

His gin and tonic and her Moscow Mule arrived, and they traded menus for empty space. Sofia ordered the bottle of Spanish Garnacha with a knowing glance at the list. The sophisticated side of her only intrigued him more. He reached over to touch her hand on the table.

"You’re beautiful," he said. "Have I told you that in the last five minutes?"

She laughed. "Not since you parked the car." She looked around at the brick walls and low light. "How did you find this place? It’s wonderful."

"My sister found it. She and her husband had dinner up here when they brought Theo up for the summer." Silas stroked the web of soft skin between her thumb and forefinger. "She's one of those women who just find these places."

Sofia smiled smugly. "So am I."

"She’ll love you," he said. His brow wrinkled. "Or she’ll hate you."

Sofia pulled her hand away, and he instantly regretted the casual mention of his sister. Mallory would love Sofia; of that he was sure. The trick was going to be getting Sofia to stick around long enough to love Mallory. To love him.

And there it was. She was prickly, terrified, and complicated, and he was falling in love. She was like a riptide. She’d swept his feet out from under him, tumbled him over, and stolen his breath. She might still break him and toss him ashore.

The first course arrived, along with the wine, and there was no room at the table for his worries. Over dinner he told her about growing up in New Jersey, about his time at Princeton and his adventures as a law student at NYU.

“I thought it was all going to be like that,” he mused over dinner. “I lived with some guys I knew. We were all in graduate school straight out of college, and when we weren’t working or studying, it was like a buddy movie.”

He poured the last of their wine.

“After school, though, the apartment broke up, I guess. We all went different ways, and I ended up living with another first-year associate from the firm. We weren’t really friends; we both worked all the time, and I forgot how to enjoy my life.”

Sofia took advantage of the pause. “When did you graduate from NYU?”

“Five years ago.”

“You know, I was in New York around the same time.” She counted back on her fingers. “My first job for DeVarona was at their midtown property. I was an assistant catering manager.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, I’d been out of school for six years.”

He did the math in his head. Three years. It was nothing, but Mallory would—quite cheerfully—never let him hear the end of it. He steered the conversation away from age.

“So, instead of slaving away for Stern & Lowe, I could have been taking you out for ridiculously overpriced sushi?”

Sofia nodded. “I do like sushi.”

The check came while they were still discussing the gustatory pleasures of Manhattan. Outside, a light wind blew down the Piscataqua River bound for the Atlantic, chilling the waterfront. Sofia produced a cardigan sweater from her bag.

“I’m impressed.” Silas eyed her bag suspiciously. It didn’t seem big enough to hold a wardrobe change. He snuck a look at her shoes peeking out from under the long hem of her dress. “Are you up to a walk?”

“Not all the way back to Hampton,” she laughed, “but around Portsmouth sounds good.”

Silas took her hand. Silent surprise flitted across her face when he led her away from the brighter, busier streets. They passed the Strawberry Banke Museum, taking a quieter, darker route.

“Are we going to the park?” she asked, after a block or two.

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She sounded curious, but unconcerned.

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll tell you, if you don’t want it to be a surprise.”

She stopped, eyes sparkling. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” She tipped her head. “But I do want to know.”

His reply was soft. “Another block or so.”

~~~

Sofia wasn’t sure where Silas was taking her, but under the teasing, she sensed something tentative in his body language. When they rounded the last corner before Portsmouth spilled out into the Harbor, she saw a faded, carved sign for Beaudette’s Marina.

“An evening cruise?” she said.

“If you like, but not exactly.” His response was pensive. He was counting the slips, looking for a particular boat. She followed him down to the docks.

He stopped in front of a shabby Boston Whaler. The small sport fishing boat looked mostly unused. Silas was watching her carefully. Sofia looked over the boat for some significance.

She almost missed it.

Stenciled along the side of the boat near the stern was a name. She wondered briefly what kind of sentimental fool named a tiny Boston Whaler, and then she read the name.

Elena Sofia.

Tears sprang up in her eyes; confusion welled in her chest. “I don’t understand.”

“She was your dad’s.” Silas pocketed his hands and looked out towards the horizon.

“I would have known about it. I’ve been through his will; the estate was in probate…” She frowned at Silas, who stayed silent, watching the Atlantic. Elena Sofia. Her father had bought a fishing boat and named it for her mother. For her. “How?”

Silas stepped aboard the Whaler and reached out for her. “You remember I told you how he talked to me about how you used to want to go fishing?”

She took the hand he offered and joined him. The boat bobbed a little on the water. Silas pulled out a flotation cushion and set it down for her to sit on. He sat facing her on the fiberglass deck.

“He asked me for help,” Silas began. “I don’t think he liked doing it, but he did. He asked me for a loan. He said that even if you never came home, he wanted to do something for you.”

“Silas, I haven’t fished since I was a kid.”

“I know.” He held up a hand to hush her. “He figured that, too, but he didn’t know what else to do. He was afraid to push you, to contact you. He didn’t want to hear you say you didn’t want him.”

Her breath caught.

Silas went on. “He talked a lot about that. How he could just pretend you had been away a long time, but you’d be back.”

She could feel her chin quiver; feel the sting of tears in her nose. Silas’s face blurred into the motion of the sea behind him.

“I bought the boat. I rented the slip.” He paused to let her process the information. “We had a gentleman’s agreement, I guess. He was going to pay me back.”

“You’d known him how long, and you bought him a boat?” Her voice was thick, conflicting emotions choking her.

“I didn’t need to know him a long time.” He picked up the hem of her skirt where it pooled around her crossed ankles, rubbing the material between finger and thumb. “I trusted him. I trust my instincts about people.”

Silas’s instincts about her were so wrong. She wasn’t at all who he thought she was. How could she tell him she was looking for a buyer?

“Why did you bring me here?” She forced down a sob. “Am I supposed to buy the boat from you to repay my father’s debt?”

Silas dropped the hem of her dress. His eyes flashed dangerously. “Damn it, Sofia! This isn’t about money, or debts, or me, for chrissake.”

She pulled her knees up, hugging them while he lost his temper.

“I brought you here to show you, to give you some kind of tangible proof that he was trying.” He raked his hair through with his hands and got awkwardly to his feet. “I brought you here because your father would have wanted me to. He would have wanted to. He would have been scared to death you’d reject him. He would have accepted it if you did. But he would have wanted you to see that he loved you.”

The scream rose up before she could temper it. “You barely knew him! How could you know that?”

The dam burst. The tears streamed, her throat closed up with sticky, hot rage. She clung to her own body to ride out the storm. The keening wails were her own, she knew, but the wild creature that was her grief became something separate. Her whole body ached when the crying jag finally began to subside. She became aware of Silas, kneeling next to her, his hands warm on her shoulders. He pressed a bandanna into her fisted hand. She imagined it wasn’t going to save her face, but she blew her nose and wiped away the worst of the dampness on her cheeks.

Very gently, Silas raised her chin and met her eyes. “I don’t have to know someone for very long to know they mean a great deal to me.”