Clara

I’m surprised when I see a familiar face.

“Clara?”

The warm tones of Cruise’s voice cover me like a blanket. My eyes stay focused above Toby’s head to where Cruise stands nearby, seemingly unsure whether he should smile or something else undecipherable. “Um, hi,” I reply, glancing to my family. My mom and Vaughn stare at him, Vaughn with narrowed eyes.

“I saw you over here and thought I’d say hi. Hi.”

“Hi,” I repeat, glancing between him and my mom.

When he turns to her, I can tell he’s about to introduce himself and that means an introduction in return. I bolt out of the booth. “Mom, Vaughn, this is Cruise. A friend of mine.” Before they can reply, I add, “I’ll speak to him in private if you don’t mind.”

She laughs lightly. “We don’t mind. Maybe he can escort you to the shops. I can go down to the water with your brothers.”

“Great idea.” I’m talking too fast to come off as anything but panicked. They’ve never seen me with anyone before. I’ve never brought a name up even in passing. The questions are forming in their eyes, so I slink my arm around Cruise’s and spin him toward the exit. “See you in a bit.”

As we walk to the door, he says, “That’s impressive.”

“What?”

“You got me out of there in record time. Am I that embarrassing?”

“Speaking of embarrassing, you’re lucky I’m even talking to you after the last time I saw you.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed by. I’m the one who fucked things up.” Grabbing my wrist, he stops us just as we walk down the steps of the restaurant. “I’m sorry, Clara. It truly was me, not you. I wanted you.”

Looking around to make sure no one can hear us, when I turn back to him, I whisper, “Then you should have had me.”

“It wasn’t right.”

“It felt exactly right to me. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel the same.”

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes closed. With his hands in his hair, he reopens those pools of emotions, and says, “I’m fucking this up.”

“At least you’re fucking something.” My knees lower and my hands come together, but I reclaim them with my strength in the moment, restraining myself from a bad habit.

His gaze darts to the door as a couple walks out of the restaurant. “Come on.” He takes me by the hand and leads me across the parking lot. What is it with the handholding? He said he didn’t hold hands. It’s like he’s protecting me. From what, I have no idea. Maybe the world?

Picking up my pace, I find myself tugging him with me. He asks, “Where are you taking me?”

“The bookstore.”

“Ah. I should have figured.”

“Why should you have figured?”

“Because girls love bookstores. Is it the musty scent or the endless ways to lose yourself for hours?”

“The musty scent. It’s sexy like mothballs,” I deadpan.

I’m yanked back by his sudden stop. Turning to him, he has a wide grin that makes his eyes even brighter. “I like when you make jokes.”

Smiling, I feel pride that I made him laugh. “You think they’re funny?”

“No. They’re not funny at all, but I like that you think they are.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does, Dove.”

Dove . . . Damn him and that nickname. I have no idea if that is his norm, but I have to admit it feels so cute coming from a guy so . . . well . . . so Cruise. He’s tall and gorgeous and . . . This is terrifying falling for a guy so fast, but he calls me Dove. He has given me a nickname, and that makes me feel a lot of everything all at once for him.

He adds, “I understand you better than you think I do.”

We start walking again, slower this time. “What do you know about me, Cruise?”

“You have moments where you let yourself say what you feel. In those moments, a spark hits your eyes like lightning and you come alive. Then you hide just as fast. A shield seems to go around your heart and the cold sneaks in.”

“You think I’m cold?”

“I think you’re warm, and sexy, and have more to give than you allow yourself, but you’re protecting something.”

“My heart.” What? Why did I say that?

“You were offering me your body with no strings attached. Don’t you know the damage I’ll do? With your body, I’ll weasel my way into your heart, and eventually you know what will happen?”

“What?” My chest rises and falls, heavy as I watch his mouth and hear the promises he’s making.

“I’ll claim your soul as mine and keep it forever.”

“You sound like the devil.”

“I never claimed to be an angel.” We stop at the bottom of the bookstore’s front porch. “I may not make claims, but I still try to be good. I stopped because I didn’t want to fuck you and leave. I wanted to take it slow and stay.”

“And you claim to be a bad guy.”

“I have my moments in the sun.”

My voice is so low I barely register the sound. “You could have.”

“Could have what?”

“Taken it slow with me and stayed. I would have let you.”

He’s shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t have. Trust me on that.”

Two sighs are released and float together into the breeze as we walk up the steps. I stop at the top and look back—eye level with him. “I do trust you, Cruise. That’s why I invited you into my house.”

“You should be more careful with devils in disguise.”

“I may have asked you home because I knew you were trouble, but I also knew you weren’t all bad.”

Tucking some hair behind my ear, he says, “I don’t know what to think about you, but I know I can’t stop.”

“Can’t stop?”

Fingers with pads that have managed a hard day’s work scrape across my skin, fading scars seen as his hand runs from my elbow to my fingertips and back up. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dove.”

I feel the same.

“You say that as if you’re free to do so.” I step out of his reach because his touch feels too good to think clearly. “You said you left me because you couldn’t be gentle. That you couldn’t go slow. I’m not breakable. Trust me when I say that. If I were, I would have broken a long time ago.” I try my best to not let my thoughts fall into that memory mind trap, but I lose.

The pain of being held down against my will, the pressure on my chest with a hand at my throat, the scars on my wrists when he started to tie me to the rails of my bed frame to keep me from fighting back.

He didn’t break me.

. . . Rubbing my temples, I take a deep breath and look into worried eyes. I don’t want his questions, or his concern. I want answers. “I wanted to have fun. I wanted to . . .” I don’t finish that because he won’t understand. I’m wise enough to know that much, even if I’m not wise when it comes to how normal relationships work. “I don’t know you, so maybe you’re lying. Maybe you’re seeing someone. I’ll ask once and then I’m going to trust you. Are you free, Cruise?”

Dressed in all black, he’s a dark angel on a cloudy day devouring my words as if they’re spirits. The brown of his eyes are darker at sunset, an intensity filling them as he studies me. “Free?” he repeats the word quietly as if to himself. “Running into you is not a coincidence.”

“Are you following me?”

“No.” He looks at the door as it opens and people walk out of the bookstore. “But I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“So you think we were brought together for a reason?”

“Do you?”

“The way you avoid topics that make you uncomfortable is a honed skill.” I walk to the railing and lean against it. As much as I long to go inside, the golden glow of the little store to warm me, Cruise and I have unfinished business. My heart is still stinging from last week, but now it bleeds begging for more time with him. Why? Why does he feel so right? What continues to bring me closer when I should be walking away? An invisible thread is pulling us together. I hope it’s not pain that binds us. “Why would you have to hone that skill?” Peeking at him, he stands so still, barely blinking.

“Have I?”

My hands fist, my nails pressing into the pad of my palm, but not breaking the skin. “I hate that.”

“What?”

“Questions answered with questions.”

“What else do you hate?” he asks, his interest seeming genuine as he shifts around me so I can’t turn away from him. I think he knows I won’t, but I don’t like being in the spotlight of his heated stare. “I hate how much you look at me. Like you can read my mind and see things I don’t want anyone to see.”

“I can’t. I wish I could, but I only have what you give me. Why do you not want me looking at you?”

I struggle to stare into his eyes when he offers up so much so easily, every emotion he feels visible in his irises.

“I can’t tell if you’re fascinated, infatuated, or disgusted.”

“Never disgusted. Definitely fascinated tipping into infatuated. I want to know you, Clara.”

“Why didn’t you call or knock on my door if you want to know me so badly?”

“I did, but you weren’t home. So I left the flowers. I also knew you were mad. But here we are with another chance to make things right. And to answer your question, it’s not just your beauty that attracts me.”

“What is it?” I ask, my voice fighting for sound with so much sweetness corrupting the pain. Some of the fight leaves my body. Although he still hasn’t answered the question if he is free.

He reaches over and lays his hand flat on my upper chest. “I’ve experienced things I don’t want to talk about.”

“I understand.” My heart rate picks up and I know he can feel it beating against his hand. I want to be embarrassed, but I’m not, not with him. Not in this moment we’re sharing.

“You understand because you’ve experienced things you don’t want to talk about either.” He doesn’t sound like himself. Agony coats his words, but he steadies himself. “I see the pain you try to hide with games.”

“I don’t play games.” He sees through me. I never intentionally meant to toy with him, but I thought that’s what girls do to get a man’s attention. And I can admit, I wanted his attention. My cheeks heat and I back away. Opening the door to the bookstore, I walk inside letting the smell comfort me. Books were my salvation. I could travel wherever I wanted in a story, live out a fantasy between the pages, and trade this world for another inside a book. When no one was there to save me, the words freed my mind temporarily from the hell I was living.

Before we reach the self-help section, I stop and turn around. Cruise stops a few feet behind me. I never heard him follow me inside, but he’s here and my heart leaps from the sight of him. “I’m sorry about not telling you my name. That was a game that I took too far. I’m not used to people actually wanting to get to know me.”

“I was hitting on you. You had every right not to share personal details with a guy who had nothing but bad intentions.”

“You came with me to the bookstore. What are your intentions?”

“To get to know you so the next time I’m in bed with you and we’re about to make love, I know what your favorite food is, what day of the week you do laundry, what book has made you cry, and if you like going out on a Saturday night to party or staying in to watch movies.”

My breath catches as I listen to this handsome man win me over with his words and sincerity. I drag my sweating hands over my hips, and summon some of my drunken bravado, though I’ve not had a drop of alcohol today, to ask, “You’re fairly confident that we’ll end up in bed together, aren’t you?”

“Not fairly.” He moves in, closer, so close that his peppermint breath warms my cheeks. Or maybe that’s me blushing under his soulful eyes. “I want that second chance to do things right, but I have a confession.” This time his voice returns to normal, lush like a rainforest—secrets and mystery embedded deep into the dulcet tone.

Standing at the edge of the paranormal section, I become nervous that I’ve pushed him too hard, so hard that he walks away despite wanting to learn all of those things about me. “What is it?” I don’t even sound like myself around him. My voice is pitchy, my throat closing making it hard to swallow.

He leans his hands on the end of the bookcases on either side of me. Lowering his head and his voice, he says, “You captivate me. I never know what you’re going to say and I can’t tell what you’re thinking. It’s fucking frustrating, and such a turn-on.”

I can’t feel my body, his proximity turning my bones to jelly. Wanting to say everything and not able to say anything, I stare into his eyes.

Standing upright, he tilts his head to the side while studying me. “You seem surprised.”

“I’ve never had anyone say anything like that to me before.”

“You must have had a million guys dying to date you.”

“No, I haven’t.”

My answer confuses him and his gaze drops to my lips before returning up to my eyes. “Then I’ll move to the front of the line. I don’t want someone predictable unless we’re being predictable together. I like your twisted thoughts and your requests for kisses and your odd obsession with all things French.” He sighs, looking at me like he has no idea what to do with me. “Regarding your other question, I’m free to see whoever I want, when I want, and I want to see more of you, Dove.”

I twirl back to the books before I melt into a mushy mess in front of him. He sure knows how to make a girl fall apart in the most romantic of ways. Running my fingers along the spines, I stroll down the aisle. This time he makes his presence known—heavy footfalls, a low whistle, and the gentlest of touches when he runs a finger down my spine sending goose bumps across my back.

With all the romance and hearts swirling around us, it’s the sorrow he carries inside that reaches me in a consuming embrace. Just when I’m emerging from my own shadows, finding long-awaited light in my own life . . . along comes Cruise with the potential to shroud me in his darkness. I must tread carefully. I whisper as I walk, “I’ve experienced stuff I don’t want to talk about. Things that threaten to bury me daily.” I turn back and he stops. “I see your struggles. You try to hide them like I do, but I recognize the pain you carry in your eyes.” Taking a step back, I look down. “I should walk away. I should keep my distance from you because I’m not strong enough for the both of us.”

Touching my cheek, he strokes his thumb over my skin. I lean into his caress just as he says, “I don’t need you to be strong enough. I just need you to be you.”

“I can accept you as you are. That’s not too much to ask, but I ask you to return the favor.”

“I’ll accept the broken pieces of you. Your shards aren’t so sharp that I fear getting close.”

“So maybe together we can feel whole just for a little while?”

Just when I thought we were bonding on a heavy level of sad events, a smile on his face threatens to ruin this depressing conversation, making me smile too. “If you’ll have me a little broken, a lot damaged, but present, living life day by day like you, then I’d like to see you again, Dove.”

Moving even closer, I dare to reach up and touch his cheek like he so fondly touches mine. My heart beats heavier as if it recognizes the something deeper between us. “Who are you, Cruise?”

I watch his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath and leans down. Exhaling long and slow, he then presses his lips against the shell of my ear, and whispers, “I’m the one who wants you to be mine, but I’ll be your biggest regret.”