Love on a Spring Morning (9 page)

She watched, speechless, as he disappeared inside, leaving her standing on his porch all alone.

— —
 

Ryan didn’t sleep well that night, unable to get the look on Holly’s face out of his mind. The next night was even worse. He’d been a complete asshole to her. He’d known what he was saying, but it had been like he was watching himself push her away. The worst part was that he still wasn’t sure he was wrong to do it, which made him feel shitty all over again.

Proof he wasn’t in the right headspace to have a casual flirtation or anything else. He’d thought Holly was a safe choice to start taking some little moments here and there for himself, but he’d forgotten there was still another person involved there.

On Saturday, he took to the muddy trail again with the kids, happy for the excuse to pass the cottages, but the big one was locked up tight. She’d said she was going away for a few days, but he regretted that he hadn’t had a chance to apologize again before she left.
Again
? He’d done a piss-poor job of it on Thursday night.

He kept telling himself it was for the best that he realized it was going too fast before it actually went anywhere. If he couldn’t handle a hug and some pretty basic questions, he had no right to keep flirting with her. There was no such thing as an uncomplicated crush with his emotional baggage.
 

On Sunday night, a dark SUV rolled past his house, and he went outside, watching through the trees as a light flicked on in the lake house.

She didn’t come over.

He ignored the ugly slide of emotions through his gut as he realized that signalled the end of his doomed infatuation with Holly Cresinski.
It’s fine
, he told himself.
Bound to happen eventually
.
Just a matter of time. Better now than later.

None of the platitudes worked, and when he went back inside, he kicked a kitchen chair across the room. It was what he’d asked her for. What the hell was his problem?

Swearing under his breath, he returned the chair to its rightful spot at the table, and went to the cupboard.
No
. He didn’t need a drink tonight. He needed…

He couldn’t put what he
wanted
into words, not even in his head. As he turned out the lights and locked the doors, climbed the stairs and slowly undressed, he fought against the whispers in his head.
You want her. You missed a chance to kiss her and hold her and
take
her, like you’ve wanted for weeks. And you’re mad at yourself
.

Yeah, he was mad at himself. Because while yes, he wanted those things, that barely scratched the surface. Would kissing Holly make anything better?

Or would it just be an escape? Would he be using her to forget about his life the way that Jack used his tablet?

But he couldn’t dig deeper than that. He could feel a headache coming on and he leaned his forehead against the tiles.
 

Cranking on the shower, he stepped under the steamy spray, and without thinking about it, he took himself in hand.

Jerking off in the shower used to be an almost daily thing for him. He’d maybe done it once or twice since Lynn’s death, and it had made him cry—there was something fucked up there, but he wasn’t going to bring up masturbating to the counsellor, so it just sat in the back of his head as something that triggered feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

His poor balls. It had been a long five months.

But this was different. As he stroked himself, it certainly brought up feelings. Frustration. Desire. Anger. But not sadness. He could feel guilt niggling on the edges, but right now, alone in the shower, he blocked that out and focused on letting himself have just this moment.

One fantasy. He pressed away the ache and let himself imagine.

Holly, spread out on a blanket somewhere. Not here. Outside, under a setting sun. Naked, turned on, and ready for him. He wanted to cover her body with his and lose himself in her for a night.

He couldn’t have her. Not now, definitely, but not even before. He wasn’t ready. But he could have that fantasy. And maybe in time…

Maybe there will be someone else
. He’d thought he’d love one woman for the rest of his life, and fate had other plans. So Holly couldn’t be it for him, either. In time, there would be other crushes.

If there was one lesson Ryan had learned over the winter, it was that whether he liked it or not, life went on.

She’d be gone in a few months.

Until then, he’d watch her from afar. The long swing of her hair, a dozen shades of blonde from the palest white to golden sunshine. Her expressive mouth, pouty and wanting in one moment, wry and whip-smart in the next. Her long legs, toned and taut.

The way she ran like she was being chased by the devil. Like she was all alone in a fight against something.

Damnit
. His erection faded. Wow, he really was an asshole.

He didn’t know why Holly pushed herself so hard, but for all that he’d liked sitting next to her and talking, had he really found out anything about her? He’d been too distracted by the softness of her skin against his fingertips and the scent of her hair, brown sugar and the beach, to really get to know her.

He’d used her.

For escape and fantasy.

All because he knew she’d be leaving.

He had to make it right. Even if it was just as a friend or because he wanted to maintain his record as a decent human being, but mostly because she’d given him a tiny bit of hope that life would eventually return to normal and he’d smashed it to pieces because he wasn’t ready.

In the process, he’d smashed her, too.

— —

Faith found him in Mac’s on Tuesday morning, where he’d been sitting and drinking coffee for almost an hour. Dean Foster, a local provincial police officer and a fellow Army reservist—and the oldest of the Foster brothers, all friends of Ryan—sat with him for the first fifteen minutes before thumping him on the shoulder and making a wisecrack about Ryan talking his ear off.

He wasn’t really in a talking mood, which meant accepting Faith’s offer of another coffee date had been silly, but somehow in their emailing back and forth, she hadn’t taken no for an answer.

And now she was in front of him, wearing a t-shirt with the
Periodic Table of Beer
on it.

“Beer?” He nodded at her chest.

She grinned. “And I don’t really drink it.”

“You’re interesting, Faith Davidson.”

“And you’re grumpy. What’s up?”

“Bad weekend.”

“Yeah, me too. Do they have good coffee here?”

He waved at the waitress and leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms. “You don’t look like you had a bad weekend.”

“Well, I did. My son has figured out that I don’t know everything, and he’s translated that to doubting most of what comes out of my mouth.”

“Ah.” Ryan knew that feeling well. “It’s just a phase.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say
really? Tell me something I don’t already know
.

“And it only gets worse,” he grumbled.

She threw a sugar packet at him.

“What made your weekend sucktastic?” she asked, changing the subject slightly as the waitress arrived with the coffee pot, and Ryan took the interruption to really look at this woman. Funny, pretty, and slightly geeky.

For whom he felt nothing but kinship.

Why couldn’t he have a crush on Faith? That would be convenient.

She lifted the steaming cup to her lips and paused, breathing in deeply.

“It’s not
that
good,” he grumbled.

She took a sip and set the cup down, her eyes twinkling. “Does it bother you that I took a bit of pleasure in a hot cup of coffee?”

“Yes.” She just nodded as he processed his unexpected answer. “I mean…”

“You meant exactly that,” she said softly. “You’re still at the point of being pissed that other people are happy, or even just chill. Because you think you’ve lost that forever, and it’s not fair.”

Ryan stared across the diner booth. “How do you—that’s a super-creepy psychic ability you’ve got going on there, Faith.”

“Because it was true for me. And most people I’ve met. Some linger in that
phase
longer than others.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, pausing before she added, “And you’re super grumpy. Put two and two together…”

Ryan rubbed his jaw. “Damn. I don’t want to be like that, you know? I don’t want to set that example for my kids.”

“Grief is selfish. It’s gotta be that way. But it can also be like quicksand, and that’s when you need to reach out and get help.”

“And move on?” Just saying the words made his skin feel tight.

She shook her head. “Not necessarily. I haven’t moved on, not really. But finding some peace is a good first step.”

“No offence, but you look pretty Zen right now. I’d kill for some of that.”

She laughed as he realized the ironic inappropriateness of that statement. “It comes with time, and in layers. I’m still not over a lot of things. I haven’t started dating yet, for example.”

The still-fresh memory of holding Holly close slammed into him, and he squirmed on the vinyl cushion. Faith kept talking, oblivious to his discomfort.
 

And finally, he couldn’t hold back the question on the top of his mind any longer. “Is there a timeframe that’s too soon for dating?”

She blinked at him. “Too soon? That would be different for each person.”

He stared at this near stranger and told himself to keep quiet. He didn’t know her from Adam. But he couldn’t talk to anyone else about this…and while he didn’t know her, she didn’t know him. She didn’t carry the weight of the community’s judgement for his lustful thoughts. “It’s not really dating, exactly. There’s someone who has come into my life, and won’t be around for long, and I’m…attracted to her.”

That was such a weak way of explaining how he couldn’t stop looking for Holly every time he was outside. That his pulse had picked up at the thought of her coming over each night, and how gutted he was now that she wouldn’t be doing that anymore.
 

A curious look came over her face, and she bit the side of her lip before quietly saying, “It’s not me, right?”

He laughed. “No. Although it would be easier if it was.”

“Good, ‘cause I’d have to tell you to lock that shit down.” She grinned. “It would make the whole support group thing too awkward.”

He grimaced, then finished the last bit of his coffee. “I guess I should come out to that, eh?”

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that you missed our April meeting last week. So you’ll come to the May meeting, right? Or else…”

He shook his head. “You’re kind of scary, you know that?”

She nodded. “That’s the thing about loss, Ryan. Out the other side of it? You discover just how tough you really are.”

— EIGHT —

W
HEN Holly headed back to the cottage for a few hours in the middle of the day, and they took the slow turn onto Blue Heron Lane, she couldn’t keep herself from looking through the tinted windows at Ryan’s house.

His truck was gone.

It shouldn’t matter—she wasn’t going over there. Their ill-fated connection had ended maybe before she wanted it to, but it had to end—better that he hurt her than she hurt him.

Her heart didn’t agree, but then it rarely got a say in how things went for her. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back against the seat, stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Do you want a massage? I can arrange for an RMT to come over.” Emmett asked from the driver’s seat. Sometimes they used drivers when they filmed on location, but with all the breaks, Emmett had rented an SUV so she could come and go at will.

“No, I just want a nap.” They would be shooting into the night, a difficult confrontation scene between Kathleen, her character, and Cameron, Joshua’s character.
 

“Do you need anything from town? There weren’t any greens in our grocery delivery, so I thought I’d go shopping. I’ll be back in plenty of time to get you back to the set.”

She’d kill for a pint of ice cream. “Maybe popsicles?”

“Sure thing.”

Emmett pulled up in front of the house and she wearily climbed out. Instead of heading inside right away, she walked across the deck and looked out at the lake. She wasn’t one of those actors who could channel her own feelings into a character. It was exhausting keeping Kathleen’s sadness and sense of betrayal separate from Holly’s regret over Ryan. For one thing, they weren’t the same, at all—and she needed Kathleen to be
angry
.

Let him go
. If only it was that easy. She didn’t even know what she was clinging to—a fleeting connection? A fantasy flirtation?

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something,” the object of her thoughts said from behind her, his voice rough and deep.

“Ryan,” she gasped, whirling around.

He stood at the top of the steps, taking up far too much space for her comfort. He was larger than life and getting bigger by the second, it felt like, filling up her world. He wore a plaid shirt loose over a t-shirt that stretched tight over his chest, dark jeans and work boots. He looked big and burly, and her arms ached to wrap around him. A part of her fantasized that he felt the same way, because his thumbs were looped into his pockets and his hands clenched in fists.
Don’t hold back
, she wished she could say, but that would be heading in completely the wrong direction. So she pressed her lips together instead. Silence being golden and all that.

“I owe you an apology,” he started to say, his shoulders hitching up a little more with each word. “I didn’t have a great hold on my emotions last week.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t want to make excuses. There’s no justification for yelling at you. I’m sorry.”

He stepped a bit closer and pulled something from his back pocket. “I wrote you a note saying as much. I was going to leave it for you. I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Oh.” Of course not. He wasn’t here to see her. She straightened her back and held her head high as she glided across the porch. Holly Cresinksi couldn’t handle this, but Hope Creswell could. She pasted on a smile. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”