One Lavender Ribbon (17 page)

“Are you cold?” Will asked, pressing his arm to hers. They’d finished a lovely three-course dinner and now sat quietly as the night water rolled beside them, its soothing sound all but lost in the atmosphere where a string quartet wafted to them from farther in the restaurant.

“I’m comfortable.” She smiled. She’d done a lot of that tonight. Smiling at his stories about Pops, his confessions about having an insatiable sweet tooth, everything.

“Would you like to walk out on the pier?”

Rushing for the first time that evening, Adrienne dabbed her mouth a final time, folded her napkin, and was on her feet before she answered.

Will chuckled. “Whoa.” But he followed her lead. “Either I’m a really boring date and you can’t wait to get out of here, or—”

But her gaze was fastened on the long wooden pier ahead of them that jutted out into the deep abyss. “Do you think they’re catching anything? It’s hard to tell from so far away. What kind of fish did I catch when we were on the boat?”

“Snook.”

“Right. I read somewhere you can catch shark at night.
Shark.
Have you caught a shark before, Will? Has Pops? What’s that like?”

“Slow down. I’m only one person. I can answer all your questions, but you’ve got to take a breath so I can catch up.”

Adrienne stopped dead at the edge where salt-worn planks met the concrete of the restaurant’s patio.

“What’s wrong?”

She stared down at the boards and chewed her bottom lip.

“What is it, Adrienne—?” But then he saw. She tilted her foot, revealing the dangerous spike of her stiletto heel. He took in the multiple cracks along the pier and understood. “Ah. Tripping hazard.”

He disappeared in a forward bow. She drew a sharp breath when his hand closed around her ankle and tugged ever so gently.

“Here, let me take them.” And out her foot slipped from the first sandal, causing her view of the world to rise four inches above where it had been. The same warm hand closed over her other ankle and slipped her foot from its tall prison. “Better?”

Words formed but didn’t escape her mouth.

Instead of letting go of her ankle, his hand closed a bit more. “What’s this?” His finger grazed over the band-aid on her heel.

The sensation sent dizzying spikes up her leg. “Just a . . . ” Really, she couldn’t think with his fingers stroking her like that. “I caught my foot on a nail the other day.”

He tilted up and studied her, a little frown creasing his forehead. “A rusty nail?”

“I’ve had a tetanus shot,” she assured him, then rolled her eyes at herself. She really knew how to take an intimate moment and spoil it.

From the indentations that appeared on his cheeks, she had to assume Will was biting back a smile. “That’s good. Glad you’ve had your shots. Does it hurt?”

“No.” She reached for the shoes.

“Nah, I got them.” And he slipped his hand through the straps, then tucked his fingers in his front pocket, letting the sparkly sandals dangle at his wrist.

Adrienne didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or touched. She opted for embarrassingly touched as he held out his other arm for her to take. They strolled toward the end of the pier, where the sea crashed against the pilings and sprayed the deck with fine salty mist.

“Tell me about the canoe.” Will didn’t offer much transition from one subject to the next. They were either quietly comfortable, or he was diving in face first. The honesty and lack of scheming was something she’d have to get used to. With Eric, everything from his mouth had had an ulterior motive, and she’d had to choose her words carefully, sure she’d have to eat them at some distant date.

“It was a canoe trip set up by a hospital where he’d applied for residency. They were taking all their—as Eric liked to say—all the people that mattered”—Adrienne made air quotes and rolled her eyes—“on this get-in-touch-with-nature excursion.”

She paused at the end of the pier and rested her elbows on the worn railing. “Eric, of course, weaseled his way in, even though they hadn’t accepted his residency. He’d schmoozed the chief of surgery with expensive dinners we couldn’t afford and secured us a spot on the canoe trip.”

Will came to rest beside her and used his index finger to trace one of the grooves in the rail—just like she’d seen him do on the porch swing. Adrienne smiled.

“To make a long story short, our canoe tipped in the freezing cold water. We were both hung up on a massive tree branch, most of our bodies submerged in the water, and someone from another canoe tossed a life raft to us and was yelling at Eric to secure it to the branch so they could get to us. They yelled for me to start getting in the raft first while Eric steadied me. But
he
climbed in the raft first, and when it started to tip, he yelled for me to keep hanging on to the branch and the others would come get me. Later he said it was an accident, that I’d slipped from him, but everyone knew the truth.”

Her hands flattened on the railing and closed, a firm reminder that she was on level ground. But to her surprise, Will slipped his fingers beneath hers, having to wiggle a bit to get below her grip. His touch was steady. Soothing.

“Water was rushing around my head. I wasn’t under it, but the force was intense, and I felt like I was breathing more water with every breath. My feet could barely touch the rocks at the bottom of the river. Each time I thought I might be able to stand and get myself unhooked, the rocks rolled away in the fierce water.”

“No wonder you were so scared on the boat.” His hand rolled beneath hers, naturally threading their fingers together. Is that why he’d slid his hand under hers rather than on top? Or maybe he wanted her to know that all men weren’t like her ex-husband. Some wouldn’t let you go. Some you could hold and they wouldn’t push you away.

“Well, everyone saw his act of
bravery
. The chief of surgery scolded him in front of the entire staff. Actually used him as an example of who they
don’t
want at their facility. Eric blamed me.”

“There had to be a bit of satisfaction for you. He got what he deserved. Showing his true colors in front of the very people he tried to impress.”

Adrienne shook her head. “I suppose there should have been. Vindication and all. But it just made me sad. Once again I was reminded that the man I chose couldn’t protect me. Wouldn’t.”

Off to the right, commotion drew her attention. The zing of a fishing pole and the murmurs of onlookers around an old fisherman erased Adrienne’s train of thought. The man wrestled with whatever bent the pole nearly in two. Excitement crackled down the pier, drawing more attention. Soon, a crowd had gathered as the man tipped the pole up and back as he worked to get the prize out of the water.

A flash of white broke the surface and Adrienne squealed. It was big. The word
shark
was whispered through the crowd of onlookers, and people made way while a few stepped in to help land the beast. Adrienne’s hand ached, and she looked down and realized Will’s fingers had turned bone white. She released her squeeze on him and tried to keep her grip slack. But when the shark came up over the railing and onto the deck, her fingers clenched in a death grip again.

“How big is he?” she whispered reverently.

“Probably four feet.”

“What will the guy do with him? Is it safe for him to be up here with all these people?”

“It’s not safe for the shark. He’s dinner.”

Adrienne stared at the meaty gray beast with the wide mouth. “Are they good eating?”

Good eatin’
was a term she’d heard from fishermen since moving to the Gulf. But she still had trouble dropping the “g”. Will smiled down at her. “Yep. They’re good eatin’. Especially for kids.”

Her attention snapped from the gray beast to Will. “Why for kids?”

“No bones. You know, people always worry about giving fish to kids because of the bones. Sharks don’t have any. No choking hazard.”

For a long time she watched his face. Somehow the excitement of a moment ago melted like the spray of saltwater dissolving into the pier. Adrienne considered Will as a father, taking his son or daughter out on the boat. Teaching him or her about what fish are
good eatin’
and which ones should be thrown back. She could see him in that job. Daddy. It fit.

And that—that right there—was where she backed off. Emotionally, but also physically. Adrienne took a step backward, bare feet shuffling on the smooth, moist wood.

Will quirked a frown. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Just getting tired. You know, Cinderella and the stroke of midnight.”

With her sandals still dangling on his wrist and a hint of understanding in his eyes, he said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

They rode to her house in silence, with just the purr of the car engine to keep them company. It wasn’t a strange or forced silence, but an easy one, even though Adrienne had nearly ruined a nice evening by thinking about things she shouldn’t. Like how a man she barely knew would fit into the role of daddy to tanned, dark-headed children with sparkling green eyes.

Will walked with her up the steps and onto her porch, where she used an ancient key to unlock her door. “You like going barefoot, don’t you?”

She frowned. “Huh?” Then she noticed her sandals dangling from his outstretched finger. “Oh.”

When she moved to take them, he drew them out of her reach.

Adrienne’s head tilted. “We’re a bit too old for games, Mr. Bryant.”

His green eyes darkened in the soft pool of light from a porch sconce. “And a bit too young to be too serious.” He slid the shoes behind his back, where she’d have to nearly bear-hug him to reach them.

She bit into her lower lip, hiding a smile. Her chin rose, nose tilting into the air. “For your information, I do like to go barefoot.”

“What else?”

He moved a millimeter closer, but the nearness seemed much more monumental than a tiny gesture. He literally absorbed the air around her.

She needed to step back but instead stood firm. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His mouth tipped dangerously close to hers. “What else do you like, Adrienne?” The words were a low rumble against her skin, sending sparks from her chest down into the deepest part of her stomach.

And in that white-hot flash, everything she wanted from a man, from a partner, rushed through her system and scorched her from the inside out. “I . . . I . . . ” She’d never been asked that. Never even felt comfortable wondering about that. Pressure from within pushed her backward until she rested firmly against the front door. She felt leveled, naked, but also unashamed to find that she did indeed have an answer to the question.

Adrienne blinked, mind searching for the truth hidden in his words. She had a right to want. She had a right to need. Her eyes found Will’s. But something had changed, shifted there in his gaze. Gone was the desire from his eyes, replaced by a solemn look of protection.

He set her shoes on the nearby railing, ran a hand through his dark hair, and pulled in a breath. For a long few seconds, he stared at her, a soft—and if she wasn’t mistaking—apologetic smile forming on that delicious mouth of his. But he was also creating distance, much-needed distance if she read him right. Will squared his shoulders and moved toward her. Warm hands closed on her upper arms and his face tilted down until their cheeks met. There, he pressed his face against hers and whispered, “Goodnight, Cinderella.” The tiniest peck of a kiss brushed her ear. Will stepped away, leaving her dizzy and glad she was leaning on a solid mahogany door. Whatever that was, whatever had passed between them, was gone. She should be thankful he was such a gentleman. But a tiny part of her wished he hadn’t been.

August 1944

Dear Sara,

I asked Grace to give you this letter. My mind has been on you lately. I imagine you’ve grown in the time I’ve been away. Are you still playing ball? Sometimes, some of the guys here get together, and we attempt to play baseball. For a bunch of soldiers, they aren’t half bad. And to tell you the truth, they aren’t half honest, either. My team hasn’t lost a game since we started. And with our victories, the opposing team seems dead-set on rewriting the rules. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’d laugh if you could see them. But I’m glad you can’t. It’s a tough place to be, knowing you might play a game with a friend one day and dig his grave the next. But I won’t dwell on that. I didn’t write to you to tell you about the hardships. Though they are plentiful, I suspect they will forever remind me to be thankful for every day I have.

How’s the fishing? Are the snapper biting? I know Joseph Wilmer offered to take you night fishing. Grace told me. But don’t you go, Sara. I don’t trust that boy. Something in his eyes, like he’s always scheming. ’Course, I know it’s none of my business, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t go. I worry about you enough, sweet Sara. When I get home, we’ll borrow Old Man Orlin’s boat, and we’ll fish all night if you want. But just . . . please don’t go till then.