Ready to Fall (14 page)

“Sounds like a plan.” With a final pat to Babe’s belly, she attempted to get off the couch and stumbled. I held out my hand and pulled her up to standing.

“I’m going to hug you, John, but wanted to warn you first. You don’t seem like the hugging type.” She wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my shirt. I pulled her closer and crossed my arms behind her back.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered to the top of her head.

She nodded, then peered up at me. “We both are.”

We drove north up the island until we hit Oak Harbor. And then kept going.

“What about Deception Pass?” I asked after we figured out we’d explored most of the island already.

“Deception Past?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “What a weird name for a place, but all sorts of appropriate for today.”

“Pass, not past.” I laughed at her switching of words and how she was right about it being the perfect place.

“Deception Pass? Haven’t gone there.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” We drove past the air base and up ahead I spied a small shingled building on the side of the road. After pulling over and stopping, I told her to wait in the truck.

Inside, I bought a selection of smoked fish and snacks. Because of the whiskey this morning, I figured Diane needed something in her stomach. The sky had cleared, and while it wasn’t balmy, it was warm enough for a picnic and a short hike.

I carried the sack of food back to the truck. Babe wagged his tail in Diane’s face when he greeted me from his spot in the middle.

“Ack! Dog butt!” she screeched, swatting at his tail.

“Babe, sit,” I said and he did.

“What did you get in there?”

“Food for a picnic.”

“You’re the best. Next stop, Deceptions Past!”

Her deliberate word play and arms waving caused me to chuckle again. If her humor returned, there was hope her sadness would pass and we could resume normalcy.

During the rest of the drive, I explained how the narrow body of water earned the name when early explorers mistook it for an inlet rather than the tip of the island. The single span bridge we drove over was breathtaking for the view and the long drop down to the churning water below.

Once on Fidalgo Island, I took a left leading down to a parking lot and narrow beach. We were close, but hadn’t arrived at our final destination. I parked and loaded up my backpack with everything we needed.

“What’s wrong with the picnic tables?” Diane asked, pointing to the flat lawn with park regulation grills and picnic tables beyond the smooth sand and calm water of the bay.

“We’re going someplace better.”

“Will we be sitting on the ground?” She gazed longingly at the tables and benches.

“We will. On a blanket.” I patted my backpack, then swung it over my shoulder. “Like a proper picnic. Come on,” I said, before wandering toward the pier and the trailhead off to the left.

Babe ran ahead down the beach and into the trees. Following behind, we left the beach for the shadows of the woods and the smell of old growth Douglas firs. Behind me, I could hear Diane inhale and exhale, then sigh.

“Smell good?” I asked.

“Smells like you. This is you.”

I inhaled the scent of sea, pine, and earth. Not a bad smell to be compared to, but internally I still rolled my eyes at her.

“Come on, sniffy. Quit huffing the woods.”

“It’s either the woods or you.”

Her words caused me to turn. Was she flirting or only being silly? Her face confirmed nothing.

“You only have to ask. Happy to share my pheromones with you.”

“Good to know, Day. Good to know. Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see. Tide’s out so we should have no problem getting there.” The path led us along a salt marsh, the grasses still golden and dry with winter. A bend brought the trail back into the woods before we found ourselves in the sunlight again.

I pointed to a short trail splitting off to the left, across a narrow spit of sand, and up a rocky incline. “We’re headed up there.”

Diane raised an eyebrow. “Short hike is one thing, straight up rock climbing is another.”

“Come on, it’s worth it. I can either give you a push from behind or pull you up. You decide.”

Her face scrunched up while she weighed her options. “Pull.”

I scrambled up the rocks and turned to offer her my hand. Her hand felt warm and I didn’t let go once she found her footing at the top. Instead, I led her up and over the top of the small island, which revealed itself to be more of an outcropping of meadow covered rock crested with a small stand of trees. Below the rocky cliff, dark, slate blue water swirled in eddies, creating circles on the surface demonstrating the ruthless current.

She smiled and stared at the view of the arched bridge span and water.

“Worth it?”

“Definitely worth it. It’s our own private island.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s eat.”

Babe trotted down the hill and joined us. His fur dripping water and dirty from his explorations. Rather than plopping down, he shook and sprayed us with bits of sand and droplets of water.

“Ugh!” Diane turned her body to escape.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I swear he does it on purpose.” I attempted to shield her from the spray with my body.

Babe gave a self-satisfied ‘humph’ and flopped down in the dead grass.

From my backpack I pulled out the bag of food and a blanket.

Once we settled on the blanket, I opened the various spreads and smoked fish along with some crackers and two containers of chowder.

“Good thing I like fish,” she said, smelling the steam from her cup of soup.

My mouth dropped. It had never crossed my mind she wouldn’t like fish.

“How could you not like fish?”

“A lot of people don’t like seafood. Or clams. Some people have allergies.”

I stared at her in horror. “Bite your tongue.”

“It’s true. Or don’t eat shellfish for religious reasons.”

“Fishing
is
my religion.”

“Is it?”

I nodded. “Think about it. Jesus was a fisherman. What more honest hobby or profession is there?”

She blew on her spoonful of chowder. After swallowing a bite, she said, “I’m converting to your religion. This is amazing.”

“To convert, you have to go fishing with me.”

“What does that entail?”

“Sitting around in a boat mostly. And getting up early. Being cold. Sometimes being wet. It’s not glamorous.”

“Is it gross?”

“Gross?” I asked.

“Smelly. Fishy. Baity.”

“Baity? That isn’t even a word. Guess it depends on the bait. But not gross. I’d even bait your hook for you ‘cause I’m a nice guy that way.”

“Chivalry isn’t dead!” She held her cup and spoon over her heart and blinked her eyes at me.

“If hook baiting is your idea of chivalry, you need to meet some better men.” From the slump of her shoulders, I immediately knew I’d said the wrong thing and brought her mind back to the letter. Fuck. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

She cut me off before I could continue. “No, please don’t apologize. I do need better men in my life.”

“Well, I’m here. And I’ll bait your hooks, so that’s a good sign.”

“And you buy me fishy foods for lunch. Delicious, fishy foods.”

Something about her caused me to feel like a good guy because I bought her something as simple as smoked salmon pâté. Silly, but after feeling like I continually disappointed Kelly with my “island guy” lifestyle, it felt nice to be appreciated.

“We’ll go fishing.”

“We will. Jesus, you, and me. Fisherman all.” She nodded.

“Not sure my boat is big enough for the three of us.”

“It’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean.” Her giggles showed she was still loose from the earlier whiskey.

“Wait, you did not just say that. Right after talking about Jesus?”

“What?” She played innocent. “I was talking about boats. You said you had a small boat.”

“My boat is just the right size and gets the job done.”

Her eyes wandered up and down my frame before settling back on my face. “I’ve no doubt. When will I get to see this boat?”

“We’re still talking about fishing, right?”

“Of course.”

I didn’t believe her.

She set down her food and stretched out on the blanket. I played with a piece of grass as I rested my elbows on my knees and looked down at her. With her eyes closed and her hair loose from her ponytail, her typical guarded sadness disappeared. Left was her natural beauty, the softness of her cheeks, dark lashes against light skin, rose-colored lips parted and welcoming. She should be kissed. Kissed thoroughly.

Our brief kiss from Port Townsend flashed through my memory. I hadn’t given her an opportunity to respond. As strong as the urge was to give her another opportunity, I hesitated. Today wasn’t the day.

Dark eyes met mine. I’d been caught staring.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun to look at me.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

A cloud passed between us and the sun, dropping the temperature. More clouds gathered on the horizon and the breeze strengthened, bringing with it the smell of coming rain.

“We’d better head back. Rain’s coming in.” I stood up and pointed to the gray clouds west over the water.

“At least we had a little time in the sun. Thank you.”

“For the picnic? Sure.”

“For everything. For letting me be a girl and cry, for giving me the whiskey like a man, and for bringing me someplace new and perfect. There couldn’t have been a better place to be today than Deception Past. Or better company. So thank you.” After she stood up less than a foot separated us before she hugged me.

“You’re welcome,” I said into her hair.

“Two hugs in one day, you’re turning into a hugger, Day.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I have a big, mean gruff guy reputation to protect,” I grumbled, but hid my smile by ducking my face beside her head.

“I won’t. It’ll be our secret.”

The windshield wipers beat a soothing rhythm while we drove back down the island that afternoon. Something shifted between us that day at the bridge. Our worst secrets and the ugliest of our pasts laid exposed, but those truths didn’t make me want to run or shut down. Instead, they drew us closer. Wrapped in a comfortable silence in the cab of the truck, warm and dry, it felt like the three of us were a team.

T
HE
IDEA
CAME
to me when we were in Port Townsend. Diane needed cheering up, and if we were ever going to kiss again, she needed to forget about Mr. Asshole. The woman needed to be reminded other men were out there, real men, who didn’t hide behind their bank accounts and snooty families. Real men. With beards and trucks and real names, not like Kip.

I found myself leaning on the wall across from the studio where Diane worked Saturday afternoon. I still wasn’t sure what she did, but she was clearly happy to say she had a job. Through the glass doors I could see her standing next to something that appeared to be torture equipment while a woman twisted and turned, opening and closing her legs, and then bent over on all fours, thrusting her chest out.