DIANE BLEW ON her cup of hot chocolate as we stood on the deck of the ferry to Port Townsend. A warm Chinook wind blew away the cold temperatures, giving us an early taste of spring. The sun shone for the first time in a week, brightening not only the sky but everyone’s mood. The crossing lasted longer than the trip to Mukilteo, but what awaited on the other side was less of a culture shock.
I had left my truck parked along the road near the ferry. We’d be exploring town on foot, so the good weather was a relief.
Sipping my black coffee, I stared out at the water, absorbed in my own thoughts.
“It’s a gorgeous view,” Diane said, gesturing at the far coast. From this vantage point the mountains loomed to the southwest. Their sharp peaks whitened with winter snow above deep evergreen forests.
“That it is. If you look back, you can see the Admiralty Lighthouse.” I turned her shoulders to face Whidbey and Ebey’s Landing.
“What are all those buildings and bunker things?”
“Fort Casey. Those bunker things are gun batteries.”
“Gun batteries?”
“First line of defense against a sea attack.”
She squinted at the retreating shore, trying to make out the details. “It all looks so Officer and a Gentleman.”
I had to laugh. “You have a thing for young Richard Gere?”
“Who doesn’t? Bad boy turned good guy with a heart of gold. Plus, the buzzed haircut and uniform? It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies. I grew up loving him.” Her sigh and swoon let me know she was serious.
“Girls and their bad boys.”
“You’re kind of a bad boy, so don’t knock it.”
“You think? How many bad boys take pity on their lonely neighbors and offer to show them the local sites?”
“Hmmm.” She scrunched up her face. “This’s true, but you’re still trouble.”
“If you say so.” I tugged the ball on the top of her hat. “Officer and a Gentleman was filmed around here. We could do a tour if you want.”
“Can we recreate the wet pushups scene?”
I searched my brain for what she was talking about.
“You know. Richard Gere in a wet T-shirt doing pushups. All kinds of hot.”
“You’re weird.”
“That isn’t a no.” She winked. “We can wait for warmer weather so you don’t catch cold.”
“Thanks. Ogling your friend should be an amendment to the pact.”
“Unspoken rule, my friend.”
“Then it goes both ways, friend.” I let my eyes wander down her body, unfortunately hidden by her coat.
“Nothing to ogle here,” she said, patting her puffy covered torso.
“Spring will come soon enough.” I gave her my sexy grin.
“Thank goodness. I don’t think my feet have been warm since I got here.”
“Welcome to the Pacific Northwest.”
“No kidding. Tell me more about today’s adventure.”
While the ferry made its way across the water, I told her about the town and nearby fort which mirrored Fort Casey.
Wandering around the streets lined with Victorian era storefronts was more amusing than I imagined. My ulterior motive for going to Port Townsend was pizza, but Diane’s delight over the used bookstore trumped even that. She dragged me through the musty stacks despite my protests I didn’t read. Ignoring my grumbling, she bought me a vintage copy of The Story of Paul Bunyan. Something told me it was to get me back for all my teasing, but she insisted it was an act of kindness.
“You, the beard, the axe, the dog named Babe. Come on, it all fits!”
“Babe is a dog,” I grumbled. “Not a blue ox.”
“Okay, besides that detail. You work in timber. You’re tall. How tall are you anyway?” She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to touch the top of my beanie covered head.
“Six-four,” I said, straightening up to my full height.
“That’s tall.” She continued with her inventory and comparisons. “You have broad shoulders, wear plaid and boots all the time. And you smell of wet pine and something earthy.”
“Are you saying I smell like a tree?” I cocked my head and stared down at her.
Again she stood up on her toes and leaned closer, but this time she sniffed my neck.
“Did you sniff me?” My voice broke into laughter.
“I did. Hold still while I decide what you smell like.” Placing a palm on my jacket, she leaned closer. Her own fragrance filled my nose. The scent of something citrus and floral mixed with warm wool when I leaned down to inhale more of her.
Her hand clenched at my jacket and our faces were inches apart. The sounds of the shop faded away and electricity crackled between us. A small turn of my head would bring my lips to hers. I froze in place, waiting for her to move. Another moment passed and she released her grip, never turning her head the minuscule, yet monumental inch.
Her breath trembled when she exhaled and stepped away from me.
“Yep, wet pine needles and earth. You do smell like a tree.” She chuckled nervously and a new pink colored her cheeks as she avoided my eyes. Grabbing her bag with my gift, she turned to leave the store. I trailed behind, my head cloudy with thoughts of what happened.
Outside, we strolled in silence along the sidewalk toward the dock. I could smell pizza on the breeze and suggested we grab lunch before heading back home.
We entered the little pizzeria, more of a hole-in-the-wall, and ordered their signature sourdough crust.
The awkward silence continued after we sat at a small table in the back.
“Pizza is kind of our thing,” I said, breaking the silence.
She smiled and her shoulders relaxed. “It is our thing. We have a thing.”
“We do. It’s nice.”
“John …”
I waited for her to continue while she fiddled with her silverware and napkin.
“I have to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Okay, you have to promise to be honest.”
“Sure. Although, now you’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry, but back in the store… were you thinking about kissing me?” She peered up at me, but her eyes settled below my eyes, barely meeting my gaze.
I debated whether or not to tell her the truth. Honesty won out once I decided we were friends and friends don’t lie.
“It crossed my mind. I’m not going to lie. From the electricity between us, I’m guessing it crossed your mind too.” I tilted my head down to meet her eyes. “Yes?”
She nodded and aligned her knife with her fork.
“What would you have done if I kissed you?” she asked, not meeting my eyes this time.
“Kissed you back.” There’s no doubt in my voice.
Her eyes snapped to mine. I know she saw complete honesty in them. Hell yeah I would kiss her back.
Her full lips turned up in a smile and her eyes narrowed as she sought deception or mischief in my eyes.
“I’m not lying. I know we have the whole friend pact and we’re both members of the ‘Please Lord, no more shitty relationships club’, but I’m still a man. A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman and I’m going to want to kiss her, especially if she’s an inch away from my face.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“You are. There’s no thinking about it. It’s a fact.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“I’m not and I’ll prove it.” I flagged over our dreadlocked and Patchouli bathed waiter. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Gabriel.”
“Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I’m John and this is Diane.”
Gabriel gaped at me like I was crazy, but said hi.
“Do you think Diane is beautiful?” I asked, ignoring Diane’s embarrassed groans.
Gabriel scrutinized, his eyes lingering on her face before sliding down her curvy frame highlighted by her sweater.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, not sounding exactly enthused.
“See? A neutral and unbiased opinion. Thanks, Gabriel.”
“Sure, man,” he said before wandering back toward the kitchen.
I smiled at Diane, who looked as if she wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
“Do you really think he was going to say no to my face? That completely doesn’t count!”
“Fine. We can do a wider survey and ask everyone on the ferry too.”
“Please don’t. I get it.” Her crossed arms and defensive posture disagreed with her words of agreement.
“Somewhere in there is a confident woman. I know it. I’ve seen glimpses of her. She’s sexy and she knows it.”
“Ugh, I feel like a loser who needs self-improvement lectures. Can we drop it?” Her tone was light, but she’d closed up again same as she had in the bookstore.
“There’s only one way to prove it to you.”
She crossed her arms and stared at me. “Prove what exactly?”
“You are desirable, sexy and beautiful.”
“More surveys?”
“No.”
I leaned over the table and took her chin in my hand. Her mouth opened slightly with her surprise. I studied her eyes before leaning closer, as close as we were before. “By doing what I should have done in the bookstore.”
I kissed her. It wasn’t hard or deep. More of a soft whisper with only enough pressure I could feel her begin to return the kiss before I pulled away and slid back in my chair.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, but remained speechless.
“You’re beautiful and deserve to be kissed.”
She blinked a few times before finally closing her mouth. Opening it to say something, she was interrupted by the return of Patchouli Gabe with our pizza.
Ignoring her fish-gaping, I pulled out a slice and slid it onto her plate, then put one on mine. I grinned at her stunned silence. “Now that we have that settled, eat your pizza.”
Without a word, she ate her slice, giving me sidelong glances. Eventually the pink in her cheeks faded and she spoke, “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For not letting me wallow in self-pity.”
“No problem.”
“You’re a great kisser,” she said, another blush deepening on her cheeks.
“I know.” I winked at her. I had no doubt about myself in that area. My heart may have been off limits, but I was comfortable in my skin.
“You’re cocky,” she teased me, her smile returning.
“I am.”
A wadded ball of a napkin sailed across the table and landed in the middle of my plate.
“Now, now, there’s no reason to start throwing things. I’m honest. You like that about me.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, but nodded. “I do like your honesty. Sometimes. Let’s agree not to involve Gabriel in any future debates. I think he’s stoned.”
When the waiter returned, neither of us could stop ourselves from laughing when the telltale scent of pot hung around him in a cloud.
Grabbing the pizza box, I pulled Diane up with my other hand.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” she asked when we stood close together.
“Do you need to be kissed again?” I smiled at her.
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, you let me know. Always happy to help a woman in need.” I helped her with her coat and hat before saying, “Let’s catch the ferry. There’s someplace I want to show you before it gets dark.”
My truck stood alone on the shoulder of the road when the ferry docked. Instead of heading toward it, I led Diane a short distance down the road and through a gravel parking area.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Have faith in me.”
We walked through the empty lot and into the narrow strip of sea grass, rocks, and sand before hitting the first row of driftwood. I stepped up on a large log, then turned to give her a hand up. Her glove covered hand stayed in mine as we traversed the piles of logs between the grass and the water.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“I like to call it the driftwood graveyard, but its real name is the Keystone Spit.”
“Your name is better.” She let go of my hand when we reached the rocky beach.
“It’s a great place to come and think. Or beach comb, if that’s your thing.”
Turning to peer down the beach and then back, she took in the curved strip of land. It wasn’t late in the day, but given the time of year the sun sat low on the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything.
“It’s beautiful.” Her words echoed my own thoughts.
“Thought you might like it. Let’s hike up the beach.” I opened my arm and gestured for her to follow me.
“Is this where you’re from? You said you grew up in Coupeville.”
“Yeah. Not down here at the beach, but up the road toward the highway is where I grew up. Beachfront property was too rich for my parents. They built a simple A-frame, but had a few acres.”
“Do they still live there? You mentioned Sunday dinners with family, but didn’t say what family.”
I bristled at her innocent question. Steeling myself, I resolved to be honest, despite wanting to change the topic more than anything.
“Nah, I have dinner with my aunt and uncle only. A few cousins show up now and then. They’re the only family left on the island.”
“What happened to your parents?”
It was the logical next question. The nice thing about living on the island all your life is most people already knew the answer.
“My father remarried and lives in Arizona with Joyce, his wife.” I never referred to her as my stepmother.
“And your mother?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. Diane touched my arm and said, “I’m prying, aren’t I? It’s evident you don’t want to talk about it.”
“My mom isn’t around anymore. Just my brother, me, my dad, and Joyce.” I knew I wasn’t being completely honest, but she didn’t need to know everything about my past.
“Ah. I’m sorry.” I didn’t meet her eyes, not wanting to see any signs of pity there. I had enough of that the last decade. The sympathetic looks from the various benevolent women from church, hospital, or grocery store were something I couldn’t stand then. Or now.
“No problem. Let’s change the subject.”
“Sure.” She let her hand fall from my arm, but kept pace with me.
I bent down to pick up a feather and handed it to her. “It’s an eagle feather. Won’t find one of those in New York.”
She accepted it from me and twirled it. “Can I keep it?”
I stared at her for a beat. “No way. Only Native Americans and eagles can be in possession of eagle feathers.”
She frowned and gently propped it up between two rocks near a driftwood log.
Whatever flirty tension or mood existed between us in Port Townsend had disappeared. A cloud passed in front of the sun, casting a shadow on the whole beach. Without the sun’s warmth, the chill of winter returned. Diane shivered and stuffed her hands in her pockets.
Time to call it a day.