Just The Way You Are (20 page)

"It's cold," he said, turning to her. "You should put something on."

"It wasn't cold a minute ago."

Sam sat down on the couch next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her to his chest, which was now covered by his T-shirt, she thought with disappointment. But still she rested her face against his shoulder and took a deep breath of him, evoking the scent to memory. She never wanted to forget the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he felt.

Sam kissed the top of her head. "You're beautiful, Alli."

His compliment brought another tear to her eye, another ache to her heart. "You're beautiful, too," she said huskily.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, a silence that gradually began to turn tense as they struggled to find something to say to each other. This had always been the hard part, the moments after they made love, moments when they should have felt closer than ever, yet somehow didn't.

Finally, she raised her body away from him and put on her clothes, fumbling with the hooks and zippers. When she was done, she stood up. "We better go home. I think the rain has lessened." In fact, she could barely hear the wind that had sounded like a freight train only a few minutes earlier.

"Home," he said heavily as he stood up. "Where is that exactly, Alli?"

"What do you mean?" she countered somewhat warily, hearing a note in his voice she didn't like.

"Our home or your home?"

She hesitated. "Do you think things have changed?"

"Do you?"

"We've made love before. Making love has never been our problem, Sam. It's the one thing we do really, really well together."

"But—"

"But you still used a—a condom," she said. "And you still can't say you love me. And I'm not sure you can even say you really wanted this, that if we hadn't come out in the storm we would have even made love."

"I used a condom because the last thing we need to do right now is make a baby."

She turned away, but he put a hand on her shoulder and swung her back to face him.

"You're my wife, Alli. Of course I love you," he said somewhat awkwardly. "Didn't I just make love to you?"

"So you care about me because I share your name and your bank account? Is that what you mean by 'You're my wife'? That's not the same as 'I love you. I don't think I can go on breathing without you, because without you I'm only half a man, and if you leave me I would probably die from a broken heart.'"

He sighed.

"Oh, forget it," she said. "I'm not scripting it for you."

"That's exactly what you're doing."

"Actually, what I'm doing is going home." She moved out of the office and into the shop. She picked her slicker off the floor and handed him his. Then she opened the door and saw that the rain was still coming down, although not with as much ferocity as before. "Can you help me push a couple of sandbags up against the door?" she asked as they stepped out onto the porch.

The task took only a few moments and they were ready to leave.

"I wonder what would really be enough for you," Sam said somewhat cryptically as they got into the car.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, would you even believe me if I told you exactly what you wanted to hear? Because I don't think you would, Alli. I think you believe deep down that no one can love you that way, especially me, because I'll always love Tessa."

Her heart thudded against her chest at his words. "Is that the truth, Sam? That you'll always love Tessa?"

"You think it's the truth."

"Can you deny it?"

He shrugged. "If I say yes, will you believe me?"

She hesitated for a split second too long. "That's what I thought," he said.

Chapter 18

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T
he morning after the storm dawned bright and sunny, as crisp as a new dollar, as fresh as an ocean breeze, but filled with more regrets than Sam would ever have imagined. Besides the regrets, he had a bear of a headache, the result of downing half a bottle of Scotch in the early hours of the morning when sleep had eluded him.

He sat back in his car and stared at his house, at Alli's house, he reminded himself, where his wife—make that his almost-ex-wife—had retreated the night before. He could still see the glimpse of light, of warmth in the house, teasing him just before she'd shut the door in his face—because he didn't love her and he never would.

Damn, he was sick of those words that she wanted so desperately to hear. He didn't remember his father telling his mother he loved her, although everyone had known that was the case. He didn't remember his mother making a big deal out of things like anniversaries and birthdays. There had been a few cakes over the years, a present here and there, but no one had called for a divorce because of a forgotten holiday or a pile of photographs. No one but Alli.

He knew that she was insecure, that she didn't believe in herself. But he couldn't fix what was wrong with her. She had to do that on her own. And maybe he needed to do some fixing within himself.

He would have liked a little time to regroup, but low tide waited for no man, and they needed to be down at the tidal flats by eleven A.M. so they could retrieve the oysters and find the pearl for Phoebe's necklace. He forced himself out of the truck and across the wet grass to Alli's front door.

There was nothing about the day that overtly spelled disaster. The powerful storm had swerved away from the coast just before midnight, returning them to beautiful summer weather. The flowers glistened with lingering raindrops and the wind chimes on the porch played a melody in the soft breeze, but still Sam felt a wave of uneasiness as he applied his finger to the doorbell.

Fortunately, Megan opened the door after the obligatory "Who is it?" She leaped into his arms and planted a big kiss on his forehead. Thank God for small innocent children who loved unconditionally and without restraint.

"Hi, Daddy," she said in her sweet voice.

He smiled into her baby blues. "Hi, honey."

"You didn't come back last night to make the kite," she said somewhat accusingly. "Mommy and I had to sew the fabric by ourselves."

Of course he hadn't come back; he'd been sent home after daring to make love to his wife. Still, he was surprised that Alli could have concentrated on kite building when he'd spent the better part of the evening in turmoil.

"We painted a picture, and now we just have to attach the material to the sticks," Megan continued.

Sam started, realizing he'd missed some of what she'd said. "What?"

"Aren't you listening, Daddy?"

"Of course I am. I'm glad you and Mommy worked on the kite."

"Can we finish it today after we get back from pearl hunting?"

"We'll see."

"That means no," she said with a sigh.

"That means we'll see." He set her down and followed her into the house.

Alli was in the kitchen, standing at the stove and stirring what could only be her favorite apple cinnamon oatmeal. She wore faded blue jeans that clung to her hips, and a short cropped lime-green T-shirt that allowed a glimpse of skin. Her feet were bare and her hair was still damp from a shower. Sam had to make himself keep breathing. He'd seen her like this a thousand times, but he didn't think she'd ever looked sexier. He just wished she'd turn around so he could see her face, assess her mood, but she seemed intent on stirring, determined to ignore him.

"Morning," he said shortly.

"Morning," she mumbled.

Megan sent him a funny look, then sat down at the table to finish her cereal. "Are you having oatmeal, Daddy?"

"If there's enough," he said, his gaze fixed on Alli's back.

She turned her head slightly at that, still not giving him a look into her eyes. "There's enough."

"Great."

She moved over to the cabinet and pulled out two bowls. After filling one with oatmeal, she held it out to him. He didn't take it. He wanted her to look at him, dammit, to show that she remembered every kiss, every touch, every second of their being together.

Finally, she did look at him, and for a split second there was that same sense of awareness, intimacy, desire—then her brown eyes turned defiant, belligerent. Her armor was back on.

"Take it," she said, pushing the bowl at him.

"Thanks."

So they were back to being angry, distant strangers. He should have figured. He sat down at the table and began to eat, listening to Megan talk about her evening at the neighbor's house, about the brownie she'd saved him, and how many oysters they were going to get and what were the odds that they'd find a pearl. And all the while she talked, he barely listened, instead watching Alli take her oatmeal to the kitchen sink, eating while she cleaned up, anything to avoid sitting down at the table with him.

Finally, Megan finished her cereal and at Alli's request took it to the sink. Then she disappeared upstairs to finish getting dressed. Taking his own empty bowl over to the counter, he set it down while Alli busied herself with loading the dishwasher.

He leaned against the counter and watched her. It was all so normal, the way they ate breakfast, the dishwashing soap Alli poured into the machine, the way she loaded each plate, each glass. He remembered when they'd first married, how they'd argued about how to load the dishwasher.

So many fights … they'd had so many arguments about nothing—who was going to pay the bills, who would clean the toilet, who would refill the paper towel dispenser. They'd fought over his drinking milk out of the carton, over Alli's forgetting to get the oil in the car checked, over who got control of the remote control, over whether or not they would buy a new washing machine or keep the old one for one more year—all the little things in their lives. But the big stuff, most of the big stuff, they'd agreed on—how to raise Megan, how to build their businesses, how to support their community. They'd never fought over those things.

"What are you looking at?" she asked in exasperation, tossing the dish towel down on the sink. "You're staring at me like you've never seen me before."

Maybe he hadn't. He'd seen her, sure, but
looked
at her—really looked at her—maybe not.

"I'm going to put my shoes on," she said when he didn't reply. "Did you confirm with Tessa what time we'll meet?"

Tessa. Bring up Tessa, it was the last line of defense between them.

"She'll meet us at the parking lot about a half hour from now. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"Are you?"

"Can we just forget what happened last night? Chalk it up to one more bad decision we made."

"So, you think you can forget it?"

"I don't want to do this right now, Sam. Megan is upstairs. She doesn't need to hear us fighting or see us throwing pots and pans at each other."

"She'd probably rather see us kissing."

"And that would confuse her even more."

"We're all confused. She can join the club."

"You don't mean that."

He slammed his fist down on the counter. "No, I don't mean that. I don't want to hurt Megan, but don't you see, Alli,
this
is hurting Megan."

"But you've been hurting for nine years, Sam. And I've been hurting, too. And that doesn't make for a happy home for our daughter. Please, let's leave this alone for now. There's too much going on now. I can't think straight."

"Neither can I, especially when you're around."

"You've been living with me for so many years. How can you suddenly be this…"

"This what?" he asked, moving closer to her.

"This interested. Is it because you don't have me anymore? That now you suddenly want me? Is it to prove that you can make me love you even after everything?"

"That is not it at all. Is it so hard to believe that I'm attracted to you? Have I ever pretended otherwise?"

"Fine, you're attracted to me. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means more than you think." He grabbed her by the arm. "It means we have something to work with. We can't go on like this, Alli."

"We're not going on. We're getting a divorce."

He looked deep into her eyes. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"It's what
you
want."

"Don't make my decisions for me."

"Are you saying you don't want a divorce?"

"Maybe—maybe I am," he admitted.

"Well." She drew in a long breath, then let it out. "When you can get rid of the
maybe,
let me know."

* * *

"This is completely uncivilized," Jimmy said as Tessa pulled her grandmother's sedan into the parking lot at the top of the rocky bluff. "Tell me again why hiking is involved in this?"

Tessa turned off the engine and looked at him with a grin. "Because we're going down to the tidal flats, where the river breaks off into several strands before it hits the bay, creating estuaries, otherwise known as pockets where the fresh and salt waters mix. When the tide goes out the oysters close themselves up and just sit there in the mud waiting to be scooped up."

Jimmy made a face at her. "This involves hiking and mud?"

She laughed. "You're such a wimp."

"Oh, sure, insult me now that the thunder and lightning have stopped."

"Okay, okay. You were my hero last night, I admit it. And I do appreciate your sleeping on the couch."

"It was the best offer I got," he said dryly. "And I'll have you know that that is not a six-foot couch."

"Sorry, it looked long enough."

"Obviously your judgment where size is concerned is a bit flawed. I'm much bigger than—"

"Than what?" she interrupted, feeling decidedly wicked, but there was something about Jimmy that brought out the devil in her. "Please, do tell me exactly how big you are."

"Some things you gotta see for yourself, babe. And for you, I'll offer a private showing."

Tessa felt her cheeks grow warm. Just like that he'd turned the tables on her, taken her teasing and made it into a dare, a challenge she wasn't quite up to meeting. Although she had to admit that her sleepless night had less to do with the storm and more to do with the emotions curdling her stomach and tensing her muscles. She'd spent half the night thinking about Sam and the other half wondering about the man downstairs, the man who up until a few weeks ago had been just a photographer and a friend, but who had somehow become so much more.

She still couldn't believe she'd told him about her parents, shared her vulnerability about storms. It had taken her years to create a front for herself and in just a few moments of thunder and lightning, she'd completely caved in.

"I take it your silence means the viewing is on hold," Jimmy said.

"You weren't serious anyway. I doubt you would strip down and show me your you-know-what just like that."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Sometimes I think you need something to shock you out of this rut you've put yourself in."

"I am not in a rut," she protested. "And how would you know anyway?"

"I have eyes and a camera. And by the way, the reason I agreed to shoot a day in the life of you is because I was curious to see what your day was all about."

"Well, it certainly isn't usually about this," she said, waving her hand toward the beach. "I haven't been near the ocean since that shoot in Tahiti last year."

"And you haven't been near family since long before that."

She frowned at him. "Don't start. I've already told you far too much about me."

"What? You have a limit on the amount of information you're willing to share?"

"My personal life is private."

"Oh, so what?" he said with disgust. "You take such care to hide behind this wall of normalcy, but your cover has been blown, babe. I know you think you're in love with a married man, pretty much hate your baby sister, and are terrified that your grandmother is going to die and leave you without anyone to call family."

Her jaw dropped open at his dead-on assessment of her life. "I never told you all that."

"Your eyes did. Am I wrong?" He paused, but when she didn't say anything he moved on. "You're stuck in a rut, Tessa, a deep hole that you buried yourself in nine years ago and haven't been able to climb out of since. You can't admit that you've changed. You can't admit that Alli and Sam have changed. You see everything in this place the way it was, not the way it is. Don't you ever allow yourself to consider the possibility that moving forward isn't necessarily a bad thing?"

She opened the car door and stepped out, slamming it behind her, wanting him to shut up, wanting him to stop analyzing her, criticizing her, getting too close to her.

"You're my photographer, you're not my shrink," she said as he joined her on the edge of the bluff. "Stop trying to get into my head."