CHAPTER SIX
Standing behind the bar at Tucker’s, I study the few new faces that are becoming regulars. There are three women: two brunettes and a blonde. They stand out because their faces are so made up it has to take them at least an hour to apply their makeup. And the blonde’s hair is beautifully highlighted. She definitely didn’t get her color treatment here. So why all the glam to sit in a fisherman’s watering hole? My curiosity, which is much like a cat’s, finally gets the better of me and I saunter over to their table.
“Can I get you another round?”
“Yes, please,” the blonde, maybe in her late thirties, replies as she stops her conversation to look at me.
I feel compelled to say something, since she’s continuing to stare at me rather intently. “Are you enjoying your stay in Harrington?”
No answer except for a nonverbal one that passes between the ladies in reaction to my question.
“Actually, are you familiar with David Cambre?” she asks.
“He’s that famous guy, an artist or something.”
“A sculptor. We were just discussing him and his work. He’s a genius.”
I have to take their word for it, since I have never seen a David Cambre sculpture.
“He would feel at home here, all the inspiration and the solitude.” The woman hesitates a moment before she takes out a black-and-white photo of a man. My God, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen: short, spiky hair and a face that even Adonis would envy. But the eyes hold my attention—there’s an arrogance about them that is both wickedly sexy and oddly familiar.
“Wait, isn’t he the one who modeled that line for Armani a few years back?” How could I forget that face or body? Not only was he splashed over all the fashion magazines but every tabloid wanted a piece of him. A bit of a playboy, that one. I think I taped one of his spreads on my wall for a time.
“Yeah, have you seen him?”
“Here, in Harrington? No. Believe me, if that man was here, we would know.”
The woman’s shoulders slump, which I understand completely, before she slips the photo back in her bag. “That’s what I thought. Oh well. We’ll take the next round and then the check.”
“Sure. Can I ask why you’re looking for him?"
She regards me as if I’ve started to drool as I speak. “Well, he’s gorgeous, single, and aloof, and the combination is too great a challenge for us.”
I’m tempted to point out that they are acting very much like stalkers—having tested my feet in the waters as a stalker that night at Logan’s house, I know what I’m talking about—but instead I smile despite my disgust. Poor David.
A few hours later the door opens, and in walks Logan. I haven’t seen him in over a week and, I have to say, he is a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed him, my Bigfoot. His facial hair is shaggy again, which means that while he paints, he clearly doesn’t groom. He walks to his spot at the bar, catches my eye, and winks. Tommy is there to take his order and calls to me from down the bar, “Saffron, can you get Logan a Guinness?”
“Sure thing.” I build the Guinness and bring it to him. He isn’t chatting with anyone. His focus is solely on me. After I place his beer down, he reaches for my hand to press a kiss in my palm.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. My hand tingles where his lips touched.
“I’ve missed you. How’s the painting?”
“I finished it.”
“That’s exciting. Are you happy with it?”
“I am, but it’s the opinion of the one I painted it for that matters to me.”
“Oh. Like a special order?”
“Something like that. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up around half past six?”
“Okay.” Before we can continue our conversation someone calls an order to me.
“I better get back to work. Enjoy your beer.”
“I’ll enjoy watching you more.” In response, I nearly fumble over my own feet as I turn to walk down the bar, the sound of his chuckle following me.
As I fix the drink, my thoughts remain on Logan. I love his grin and how the subtle movement of his lips transforms his face and causes that sparkle to flash in his emerald eyes. I love how he can do something as casual as glance at me from over the rim of his glass and it causes my pulse to soar. I love how incredibly sexy he looks in his flannel and faded jeans and how my name rolls off his tongue with that deep intonation that is so Logan. Standing there thinking about the man that stirs these reflections has me realizing that I am dangerously close to falling in love with him. The bottle of gin I’m holding slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor.
“Ah hell.”
“Saffron, are you all right?” Tommy’s at my side in an instant. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”
It takes me a minute to find my voice because I’m still in mild shock. It’s too soon, I know very little about Logan, but my heart doesn’t seem to care. “I’m fine, I just think I need a bit of air.”
Before he can object, I move from around the bar and step outside into the cool night. I’m not alone for long when Logan appears before me. “What happened in there?”
No way I am sharing. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.” There’s curiosity in his expression, but there’s also tenderness. He touches a lock of my hair before his finger brushes lightly against my cheek. His voice is very soft when he asks, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Oh, how easy it would be to fall completely for him. I answer almost without thought, “I’ve missed you.”
Sitting on my front step the following night, I’m waiting for Logan. My thoughts are on Frank’s request that I make myself happy. He’ll be happy to learn that I am happy, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Logan makes me happy. I’ve a bit of regret that we wasted six months, but then our six months of observing is probably why we’re so comfortable with each other now.
The sound of a motorcycle coming down the street catches my attention seconds before Logan appears. Logan straddling a motorcycle; that is a picture. He shuts off the engine and climbs off to greet me as I walk down the path.
His perusal is both thorough and arousing because I know exactly what’s going on in his head. He likes the dress on me, would like it even more off me.
“Beautiful.”
Hearing that word from him about me makes me feel beautiful.
Logan is taking me to dinner at The Harbor, which is where Mitch works. When we arrive, a quiet table in a corner has been reserved for us. Wine is served, meals are ordered, and then Logan’s focus narrows to me.
“The chef here is married to your friend?”
I don’t remember mentioning that. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“When I called to make the reservations, the receptionist turned very chatty.”
“More so because it was you on the line, I’m sure.”
His grin is his only response.
“Mitch is the chef and, yes, he’s married to Gwen.”
“You, Gwen, and Tommy have been friends a long time.”
“And Josh, you can’t forget Josh. We’re all only children, and found what we didn’t have from siblings with each other. What about you? Any longtime childhood friends you left when you moved here?”
“No, but I have two brothers who live in Manhattan.”
“Are you close?”
“Very.”
“Older or younger?”
“One of each.”
“Are they like you?”
“Meaning?”
“Hot.”
Speaking of hot, I’m nearly scorched from the heat of his pointed stare. “I’m hardly the judge as to whether my brothers are hot, but we all look very much alike.”
“So that’s a yes. Your poor parents. Do they live in Manhattan too?”
“No, they’re in Scotland.”
“Really? Moved there or are they from there originally?”
“Originally, lived here for a time, but they prefer home.”
“And you, when did you come here?”
“A long time ago. What about you? You never mention your parents.”
The change of subject isn’t lost on me, but I move on. “We aren’t close. That sounds so generic. The truth is my parents didn’t want kids. I happened and they dealt, but not well. For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me that kept them at a distance. It was Frank who finally got through to me that my parents’ indifference stems from something missing in them.
“I’d watch my friends with their families, the closeness, the desire to be together and I can’t lie, it hurt that I never had that until Frank. And even with Frank, there were just some things I didn’t get to experience.”
“Like what?”
“It’s silly but I always wanted to go on a family vacation. I didn’t need Europe or South America, but somewhere that wasn’t home, where we could be tourists together. Even watching movies in our room, in a place that wasn’t home, would have been fun.”
“Did you ever tell them that?”
“I did, once. Halloween was coming up and as it was my favorite holiday, I had this wonderful idea that we could go to Salem. What better place to experience Halloween than Salem, Massachusetts? I even did some research, finding bed-and-breakfasts, attractions we could see. I had the whole trip planned.”
“What happened?” The tenderness I had heard only minutes before had an edge to it, a hardness.
My gaze met his. “Nothing. They said Halloween was a school night and that we couldn’t afford to take a vacation. And that was the last time I asked about taking a vacation.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven.”
The mood definitely takes a nosedive. The waiter arrives at that moment with our food, Mitch following behind him.
“Hi, Mitch. Logan, do you remember Mitch from our funtastic time cleaning up dead swordfish on Main?”
Logan stands to shake Mitch’s hand. “Yes, nice to see you again.”
“Likewise. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
The crab imperial smells divine. “Always do.”
Logan had ordered the surf and turf. The smell of his steak gives me a temporary case of ordering envy.
Mitch presses a kiss to my head. “Have fun.”
“Thanks, Mitch.” But my eyes stay on Logan’s dinner, because, damn, that really looks good.
“Would you like some?” This question catches me by surprise.
“Seriously? You’re okay with sharing? Most of my dates hate when I ask to taste their food.”
“Saffron.” His tone has grown rather severe.
“Yes?”
“First, I don’t want to hear about your other dates, it’ll only piss me off. You are here with me.”
Possessive much? And yet that declaration has my tummy flip-flopping in pleasure.
“Fair. What’s two?”
“If I don’t share then I won’t be getting any of that and I really want to try that.”
“Oh, Logan, yes you do. This is like crack.”
His smile comes in a flash. “Then hand me your bread plate.”
It’s Wednesday, so I’m getting ready for my date with Frank. Thinking about turning thirty next week has me questioning my life choices. I’m not suddenly agreeing with my parents regarding my choice of vocations, but after my dinner with Logan, I haven’t been able to get it from my head that I have never traveled outside of Harrington, except for school. But even then I was still in Maine. That’s crazy.
There’s a great big world out there and it’s time for me to get out there and see some of it. New York City isn’t that far, and though I’d love nothing more than to see it with Logan, he seems to want to keep that part of his life separate from the life he’s making in Maine. I say this because though he knows I’m now dying to see New York City, dying to travel, he has never offered to take me. I’m forced to accept that for whatever reason, he doesn’t want his two worlds colliding. Josh and Gwen would go to New York with me. We could take Josh’s car so Derek and Mitch could join us. Gwen’s parents would be thrilled to have the kids for a few days. I’ll have to ask them if we can swing it.
After getting dressed, I hurry out the door. I’m about to climb into my car when I notice the one tire is flat. Hunching down, I see it isn’t just flat. It looks like I tore it up on something. I don’t have a spare. My cell is once again dead, so I head back inside and call Logan’s cell.
“Saffron, hey. I thought you had dinner with Frank tonight.”
“I do, but I’ve got a flat. Any chance you could give me a lift?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I’m waiting on my porch, looking at my pretty flowers, when the sexiest black car pulls up in front of my house. It’s a Porsche; I know this only because I see the unmistakable emblem on the front. The driver’s side door opens and Logan unfolds himself from it. Starving artist, he is not. I thought I’d be riding on his motorcycle, but I have to say, getting a chance to ride in a Porsche is sweet.
“Nice car.”
He grins. “This old thing.”
“Cute.”
He starts up the path to me, but takes a moment to look at my car. He hunches down, and my eyes move over him as he studies my tire. I’m about to say something provocative, but when he stands, the strange expression on his face stops me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you going to call Jake?”
“I have to, I don’t have a spare yet.”
That earns me a look. “You need a spare tire in your car, Saffron.”
“I know. I just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“I’ll have one delivered.”
“Sweet, but not necessary.”
“I’m going to do it anyway, so just say thank you.”
“Pushy.”
“You ready?” He grins.
“Yeah, and thanks for the ride.”
He opens the car door for me. “Anytime.”
I’m told that Frank isn’t quite ready for me when I arrive and I’m asked to wait in the community room where the dancing is usually held. I make my way down the hall hoping that whatever is keeping Frank isn’t anything serious. The room I’m instructed to wait in is dark, but as soon as I open the door, the lights glow to life followed by, “Surprise!”
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and for my brain to catch up. And then I see everyone, most of my friends wearing silly hats and carrying noise makers, grinning at me like lunatics. A surprise birthday party—I never had one. Josh, Tommy, and Gwen come immediately to my side, but I take a moment to look around the room filled with most of the residents of Harrington.
“You didn’t know, did you?” Josh asks as he draws me into a hug.
“I didn’t. I had no idea.”
Gwen is laughing when she hugs me. “I thought that you might be suspecting something, but Josh and Tommy were certain that you were clueless.”
“How long have you three been planning this?” I ask.
“Three months,” Tommy says.
Three months, that’s a long time. I look into the faces of the crowd that have come to celebrate my birth, finding two noticeably absent.
“We invited them, but they declined,” Josh offers, knowing I am wondering why my parents are not in attendance.
“Yes, well, I’m sure they had better things to do than come to their only child’s thirtieth birthday.”
Gwen reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”
I smile back at her. “Please. This is wonderful. Thank you so much.”
Frank comes up to me then and, leaning over, I kiss his pale cheek.
“Happy birthday, Saffron.”
“I was a little curious when I arrived for our dinner and you weren’t ready. When has that ever happened?”
He chuckles as his frail hand touches my arm. “Save me a dance.”
“I will.”
Making my way through the crowd, I’m showered with kisses and hugs and wished countless birthday greetings. The feeling of belonging that moves through me as I greet each and every person in the room renders me something akin to drunk. Finally, I stop in front of the tall, silent man in the corner. He draws me near and brushes his lips over my ear. “Happy birthday.”
It’s all a bit overwhelming, the outpouring from my friends, that it has the back of my eyes burning. “You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll stay, right?”
“All night if you’ll have me.”
“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”
I swear I see my emotions reflected back at me, but then the toasts begin and we are pulled into the center of joyous chaos.
Later in the night I sit with Frank. “How are you feeling, Frank?” He looks really tired.
“I’m good. How do you like your party?”
“I love having all of my friends together in one place.”
“You are a wonderful young woman, and I know there is a part of you that is sad that those sorry excuses for parents didn’t come, but look around you. You are loved; remember that. Remember that you know what is best for you. Promise me you will always listen to your heart.”
He’s scaring me with how intense he’s being, but I can see that it’s very important to him, so I make the promise and mean it. “I will.”
“I think of you as a daughter. Family is more than blood, and sometimes blood relations can be nothing at all like you, as proven by your parents. Family is the ones who you love and who love you and based on this turnout, I would say you have a pretty big, loving family.”
Love for this man swells in me as I hold his hand to my cheek. “Thank you for that. I’ve always thought of you as my family.”
“You’ve brought great joy to an old man’s heart and gave me family when I had none.”
“Likewise, Frank.”
“I love you.”
“Ah, Frank, I love you too.”
Hugging him, I feel just how very thin he is, but before long he’s pulling back and smiling at me. “Happy birthday. I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No, you stay and celebrate.”
“Okay, good night, Frank.”
“Good night.”
Frank is wheeled from the room and my heart hurts as I watch. He was so sentimental, and while I know part of it is because of the party, I worry that there is another reason. Almost as if he knows it will be the last time we will have the chance to see each other.
Much later that night Logan takes me back to his house so he can give me my birthday gift. We walk upstairs to his studio, and there resting on the easel is a small portrait of Frank and me. We are in the dining room at Harrington Commons laughing about something. You can feel the energy of the piece.
“I don’t usually paint portraits, but when I saw you both that day I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s beautiful to watch the two of you.”
I haven’t any words; it is hands down the best gift I’ve ever received and then I open my mouth and say just that.
He brings me to him and as his mouth fuses to mine, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to his bed. Gently he lowers me onto it. The loss of his lips is countered by nimble fingers working my sandals off my feet. His hands slide up my leg, over my calf and knee, up my thigh, and I inhale sharply because it feels so good.
Fisting my dress into his hands, he pulls it up and over my head before he kisses me, right over my heart. Licking the swells of my breasts, he pops one of those aching peaks out from under my bra and sucks it into his mouth. His clever fingers dance along my stomach, his mouth following the path, until he reaches the edge of my panties. Slowly he works the silk down my legs. Grabbing the back of his shirt, he yanks it forward over his head before he steps out of his trousers. He’s magnificent and when he moves toward the bed, it’s with the sleek movements of a predator. The bed dips from his weight seconds before his warm hands are on my knees pushing me open wider. My body is almost overstimulated because I’m so eager to feel his mouth on me. He tastes me, lapping at me like I’m his favorite flavor, teasing me as he works my overly sensitive flesh with his tongue. Watching him, seeing his dark head between my legs and feeling what his tongue is doing to me turns me wanton as my hips move against his mouth. He brings me right to the brink of orgasm and then his mouth is gone.
“Look at me, Saffron.” My eyes lift to his as he slowly pushes into me. My legs spread wider and my hips lift and take him deeper. We freeze for a moment because it feels so goddamn good, and then he starts to move. Slowly at first, until he feels me coming apart, then his mouth finds mine and he moves harder and faster, and when I come, he does too.
The following afternoon I’m in the midst of pouring a glass of Cabernet when the bar phone rings. Before I can reach it, Tommy’s there. He isn’t on the phone for long, but when he walks up to me with sorrow in his expression, I know something is very wrong.
“What is it?”
“It’s Frank. He’s had a heart attack.”
The bottle I’m holding slips right out of my hand, but Tommy’s quick reflexes catch it before it falls to the floor.
“Jimmy, I’m taking Saffron to Harrington Commons. You and Sarah need to cover things until I get back.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Tommy pulls me from the bar and gets me in his car and clicks my seat belt, since I’m fairly useless from the shock, before climbing in and driving the five miles to the nursing home. When we arrive one of the nurses, Sandra, is waiting for me. I know from the look on her face that he’s gone.
“I’m so sorry, but he didn’t suffer. It was very fast.”
I’m completely and totally numb. I dread asking but I have to know: “Was he alone?”
“Some of his friends were with him.”
That’s good, that’s something. Frank must have known or sensed what was coming. I knew he wasn’t going to live forever, but now that he’s gone there is a rather large hole in my heart.
“I need to make arrangements. Um, I should go. I have a lot to do. You’ll let me know when I can . . . when he’s ready.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you, Sandra. Frank was very fond of you.” And he had been. He’d often said the staff made the place feel like a home. They loved their work and it showed in everything they did.
I move with purpose out of the building and down the street.
“Saffron, I’ll drive you home,” Tommy calls as he comes up beside me.
“No, I think I’ll walk.” But I stop and turn to him to hug him hard. “Thank you, but I need to be alone.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
I pull away from him and my throat burns. “I will.”
And then I’m walking and with each step that takes me away from Frank, the more the reality of my loss sinks in. I pass the lighthouse and see the lights on inside, remembering the night Logan and I shared, but not even Logan can heal the wound caused by Frank’s passing. I keep on walking. As soon as I reach home, I see the answering machine light blinking. I know it’ll be Gwen or Josh calling, but I can’t deal with that right now.
Curling up on my bed, I stare at the portrait Logan painted. It was a spectacular gift when it was given to me last night, but now it’s that much more. The man Frank was to me. I don’t know how much time passes before the knocking at the door starts, but after a while whoever is there gives up and the blessed silence returns. Lying there dry-eyed, I stare into the darkness at the portrait I can no longer see until exhaustion claims me.
The following morning I make arrangements with the funeral home, the florist, Tucker’s, and manage to avoid everyone else. Two days later I sit at the memorial and listen as the priest speaks the words while I stare at Logan’s beautiful portrait.
So lost in my sorrow, I don’t realize the priest has finished and, once I do notice, I can’t get myself to move. I hear the soft hum of voices around me and realize that someone is talking to me. It’s Hilde Fletcher.
“I’m sorry for your lost. Frank was a good man. He will be missed.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and I’m grateful for that, since I don’t think I have one in me.
“He was like a father to her. I can’t believe he’s gone,” Claire murmurs to Bob, who looks to me. I try for a small smile, but it’s weak. He understands, since he lost a friend too. Around me I hear people sharing stories about Frank, remembering the man and friend he had been and every one of those stories is in the past tense. The idea that Frank is gone, that any reference to him won’t be in the here and now but as a memory, a recollection of the man he had been, tightens my throat. There’s anger too, a bitterness because I feel cheated. Frank was everything to me, knew everything about me, and yet he held a piece of himself back. And now, it’s too late to know that part of him. I’ll never know what it was that put that lost look in his eyes or made the absentminded smile appear on his mouth. He was gone—my friend, my family, was gone. The weight of my grief overwhelms me, the heaviness in my chest making it difficult to breathe.
“Saffron.”
Tommy. Silently I move into him, borrowing some of his strength to help me make it through the day. He says nothing, offers no words of condolence, he just holds me close.
“We need to start over to Tucker’s,” Gwen says and thank God for her, keeping us on track, since I’m failing miserably at keeping anything on track.
“I’ll drive her over,” Tommy says and I allow him to lead me to the car, need him to, since my legs refuse to work. Tucker’s is packed, the whole town of Harrington is present. Frank told me that he didn’t want people to mourn for him, that he disliked funerals because the atmosphere was always so somber when the celebrating of a life should be joyous. Death wasn’t the end, it was another beginning, and he wanted us to celebrate that. So in keeping with his wishes, I tap my glass to get everyone’s attention.
“Frank didn’t want a funeral. He wanted everyone to have a drink to him, wanted us to remember his life and not mourn his death. I had planned to share some of my own memories of Frank but”—blinking to keep the tears from falling, I struggle for control—“it’s too painful and far too soon for me to remember and not mourn. So I will say, simply, he was for me all a person could be for another, and I hope that I was that for him too. He was truly the finest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
I lift my Scotch toward his urn in a place of pride on the bar. “To his life and the great joy he brought to mine.”
Returning my glass, my eyes collide with a pair of green ones. Logan is across the room, but he has made no move to approach me. In his expression lurks tenderness and understanding, offering me silent comfort while respecting that I may need space.
I can’t stay any longer because the tears are too close. I want to be in my house when I fall apart, so I slip from the celebration of Frank’s life and walk home with Frank cradled in my arms. There’s a knock at my door just as I finish changing, and I know who it is even before I open it. Logan walks in and embraces me. And just like that, the tears I’ve successfully held back for days come pouring out of me as I mourn my friend.