Chapter Fourteen
Micah sat on the lounge chair in the sunshine, pretending to read a book. Since he’d stolen the only seat that supported the occupant’s feet, Darcy had pulled up her chair close to him, crossed her ankles, and used his legs as her own footstool.
Her flirty skirt lifted in the breeze, giving him the odd glimpse of the inner thigh he’d had his hands on yesterday. His fingers remembered the softness of her skin, the firm tone of her muscles, aching with the desire to explore every curve of her.
She appeared to be engrossed in the John Grisham novel she’d borrowed from his small library. The sun turned her hair golden on top, and the smattering of freckles on her cheeks appeared darker. Her brow creased at whatever mystery the book world had drawn her in to. Television had never held much interest for him, but he could have watched her all day and not grown tired.
A comfortable silence had descended upon them over an hour ago. It gave him too much time to consider everything he’d said to her earlier. If she wasn’t lying, and the way she blended so easily into his life was real, what was happening between them? It wasn’t infatuation—he knew what that felt like, a desire to possess and control that went beyond reason.
But if it wasn’t infatuation, what the hell had him so tied up in knots in one moment, and feeling like he could rocket around the moon the next? She affected him like a drug that fell somewhere between heroin and Valium. Even the ever-present pain in his arm had dulled to an ache he barely noticed since the moment she’d burst into his office. With her, he simply wanted to be near her. Soak in her energy, feel her warmth, be himself, whoever that was.
Fucking hell.
Not that it changed anything. He’d brought her here to free him from the paparazzi, so his time and energy would have nowhere to go but the foundation, and to entertain himself for a while. Now, all he wanted was to entertain her. The last time he’d considered someone else’s happiness, his mother had been alive.
Was she really the good woman she was selling to him? One with an old soul who was holding on to a shred of hope for humanity’s redemption? And—despite her insistence that she wasn’t—secretly hoping for her nightingale to appear and whisk her away into a forever-after romance like her grandparents had? Like his parents had before they went into the next life together?
He was so far gone today, he almost wished he could be what she needed. They were both damaged, both suffering at the hands of their ghosts and trying to find footings in their new lives. But she hadn’t seen the worst of his demons yet, and given what she stood for, it would put an end to any potential they might have had. Besides, she was a reporter, and he could never fully trust her. Hell, he never fully trusted anyone since his teenage life fell apart.
He picked a kernel of popcorn out of the bowl they’d devoured as a snack and tossed it at her, returning his attention quickly to his book, hoping it was right side up and that his grin remained internal.
Only her sparkling blue eyes moved, pinning him with a glare over top of her novel before they went back to the words. The crinkled skin at the corner of her smiling eyes made him want to lean over and kiss her there. He tossed another kernel, and that time, he earned one of her heart-stopping smiles as she dropped the book low enough for him to see it.
“Would you stop that?” she said between bouts of giggles.
Yes, that was all he needed. That alone was more effective therapy than all of the shrinks he’d been to after his parents passed.
His heart clenched.
He’d have to tell her the whole truth soon, or at least a sugar-coated version of it. Tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe he’d wait until Saturday, the day she’d leave him.
Acid took a hot slide down his throat at the thought of going back to his empty condo and empty office, alone. He’d forgotten what it was like to have good company for more than the few minutes most of his other friends could stand with him.
He wouldn’t waste a second of this, even though it was most likely a lie. Infected by her energy even in stillness, Micah snatched her book and gave her a quick peck on the nose to stall the tongue-lashing she was about to deliver. “Let’s go out on the water.”
“Where?” She squinted at him with suspicion.
“Wherever the current takes us.” There was a place he hadn’t been to since he was a teenager. Hopefully he could find it again.
“You’re making me nervous.” Taking his hand tentatively, she pulled on her sandals and let him tug her by the hand toward the path to the kayaks, her skirt fluttering in the breeze. “You’re not going to throw me into the lake, are you? Because if you do, you’re going to get it big time.”
“Mmm, promises, promises.”
She shoved at him, laughing. “Dirty mind.”
“Guilty.”
Muttering something he didn’t catch, she rushed along with him, until they made it to the dock. After a short grumble about making her paddle in a skirt, Darcy gave in and mounted her kayak. They paddled southeast until they reached a small bay dipping into the mainland.
“Look at that nest up there.” Darcy pointed to a bulky mess of branches at the top of a giant dead tree, nearly toppling out of the kayak with her excitement. “It looks big enough for a pterodactyl.”
He laughed, not only at what she’d said, but that same sense of wonder she pointed at everything. “Someone’s been watching Jurassic Park.”
She suffered a visible shudder. “Oh, no, I don’t do horror movies. I end up watching the backside of a pillow and not sleeping for a week. What is it really?”
If she didn’t do horror, then why was she so comfortable with him? “It’s an osprey nest. And we’ll soon get to explore a pond made possible by the beavers.”
“Seriously? I love beavers. They’re surprisingly cute, considering they’re giant rodents.” A flick of her paddle doused him with water.
“Hey, what was that for?” He wiped his arm off, balancing the paddle across the kayak.
“To cool off the beaver jokes floating around your aforementioned dirty mind.”
Laughter caught him again, filling all corners of him with a potent sense of joy. “Never crossed my mind.”
Shaking her head, she took in the scenery again, her smile fading into a more contemplative one. “Can you imagine living here all the time? I bet you’d see amazing things if you had the patience. It makes me wish I could fly. Do you ever wish you could fly?”
“I feel like I’m flying right now,” he said quietly, mildly horrified at the strange things that kept tumbling out of his mouth around Darcy.
“What?”
“Nothing, I didn’t say anything. We’re going down there, by that sandy spot between those two rock cliffs. The first one there gets a free question.” Had he lost his damn mind? Knowing he should turn them around and go back didn’t make the words come out of his mouth.
A devious glint entered those bright eyes, her lashes falling low and her lips curling up. “So, if I win, I get to ask you a question without having to answer one for you?”
He swallowed, cursing himself silently. “Yes.”
“You are so on.” And she was gone, slicing through the water like a blade. He raced after her, keeping the front his kayak even with hers. Even with the dread riding his veins, being with her was a rush, a high. And like all highs, the low would follow soon after. If only time had a pause button.
The urge to get Darcy to his secret garden sang through his arms, and he dug his paddle in deeper. The clearing around it would be thick with wildflowers this time of year, the way it was when his mother used to bring him and Cynthia by canoe to catch frogs.
Familiar landmarks caused an emotional landslide in him. He lost sight of the present and slipped into the past, during a time he wished he could go back to, grab his younger self by the shoulders, and shake sense into him. Darcy would have liked the boy he’d been, and maybe even the man he should have been. Too bad he’d never know that guy.
Realizing he was close to the beach, Micah withdrew his paddle from the water, smiling as she hit sand and thrust her paddle into the air with both hands.
“Cheater,” he said to cover the ruse.
“Pfft, please. I owned you the last few lengths.” Her gaze fell, probably stealing herself for the answers she’d soon demand from him, but he couldn’t think about that now.
He beached the kayak and got out, dragging it up higher on the sand before helping Darcy with hers. Slipping his hand along the side of her throat, he kissed her forehead. “Don’t be sad now, lucerito. You can collect later.” He’d make sure of it.
Giving what sounded like a nervous laugh, she searched his face, the fear growing instead of fading from her eyes, her palms sliding up his chest. “It’s not that, I just… What is this place?” She stepped back, staring at the path through the trees and back at him. “You seem sort of anxious or something. This isn’t just any old place. Are you sure you want to take me there? I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but—”
“I’m sure. You gave me your word that I get final approval of what goes in the story—you meant that, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. This is your story, not mine. Besides, I have a feeling the reason you want dirt on me is so you’ll have something to hold over me if I screw you over.”
She’d pegged him again and still didn’t seem fazed by his tactics. Then again, his lie detector didn’t work on her, but it was too late now—they were here, and he wanted to see his old stomping grounds. “This place is just for you and you alone.” It was a destination he’d sworn never to bring another soul to until today. He had no idea why he’d brought her here of all places, but he felt compelled to for some reason.
He gripped her hand, squeezing it tight. A short walk through the trees brought them to the pond. A dewy perfume hung in the air, the colors spreading through the grass surrounding the water even more magnificent than he remembered.
“It’s so quiet here, like a soundproof room,” Darcy said, her gaze sweeping the clearing. “I can’t even hear the boats out on the lake. The ecosystem seems really different from the shore back where the kayaks are. Oh, is that the beaver dam?” She rushed over to the wall of sticks, the tops grown over with moss and low-growing ground cover. “Do you think the beavers are in there now?”
“They’re probably sleeping.” Micah sat on a boulder behind a thicket of raspberry bushes, watching her explore and answering the questions she fired off one after the other, confused by the tightness growing in his chest.
“There aren’t bears here, are there?” Darcy had stopped among the cattails at the edge of the water, running her hand along one of the fuzzy tips.
“From time to time, but you don’t need to worry when I’m with you.”
When something rustled on the far side of the water, she sped to him, ending up half hidden behind his back, peering around his shoulder. “What is that?” she whispered.
“Shhh.” He stood and tucked her under his arm.
It wasn’t long before a mother deer appeared out of the trees, followed closely by a tiny spotted fawn with a deep red coat. There had been only a few times Micah had been here without seeing some sort of wildlife, especially at this time of day.
A quiet inhale drew his gaze around to his company, who snuggled closer to his body, her eyes open and bright. He wondered if she was near tears or trying to contain her enjoyment. Her other palm rested over her heart, and she was practically vibrating as she watched the pair drink and depart.
She wasn’t madly jotting notes or watching him for ammunition for the article. She’d been touched by this place the same way he’d been the first time he came and every time after. A simple place full of simple pleasures. An oasis full of memories he only allowed himself to remember while here, out of sight from the rest of the world.
His mother’s laughing eyes as she flicked apple peelings at him in the kitchen, her squealing as he returned fire with a handful of flour. The sound of his father’s record player spinning their favorite songs, and his mother’s high heels clicking against the hardwood as they danced on Christmas Eve. Moments he’d banned from his mind were vivid now. They took him, and in the false safety of Darcy’s presence, he surrendered.