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A tiny annoying voice buzzed in the back of Jonathan’s mind. This is a bad idea. It wasn’t enough to make him stop. With only a sheet between him and Bailey, her every shift ground into him, sending desire racing across his skin. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his chest. Whiskey and ginger ale flooded his senses and danced with their tongues.
She’s drunk.
I don’t do one-night stands.
I’ll never see her again after this week.
I wanted my friend back. This isn’t the way to go about it.
Fucking logic. Fortunately, he was drunk too, which made it easier to ignore everything but the warm weight pressing into his cock, tempting him.
“The Jack was a brilliant find,” she said, and tilted her head back with a sigh when he drew his lips down her throat. “Best way to remove our reservations.” Her words tugged harder at the protests in his head.
It didn’t make him pull away. He kissed along her jaw, up to her ear. “Until we wake up tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re leaving as soon as the roads open. It’s not like you’ll have to look me in the eye ever again.” The lust and teasing in her voice didn’t cover the disdain. She ducked her head. “I didn’t mean... I don’t know.”
He pulled back as far as was possible, with her still in his lap, and watched her, unsure if he was grateful or disappointed that she wouldn’t meet his gaze. The dryer buzzed, making them both jump but not shredding the blanket of tension filling the room. He moved his hands to her hips, shifted her aside, and untangled himself enough to stand. “I’m going to grab at least another layer of clothing. Then we’ll talk.”
“I’d rather not.” She flopped back on the couch like a rag doll, gaze pointed at the ceiling.
“I’ll be back in less than two minutes. Promise you won’t to do something stupid, like head out into that storm to avoid me.”
“I promise.”
Jonathan headed to the laundry room. His boxers and T-shirt weren’t much better than the sheet, especially if he couldn’t keep his dick from poking out. Bailey’s words killed his arousal though, and as long as he kept his mind on that instead of the moments leading up to it, he’d be fine. If he grabbed a throw and draped it over his lap, while sitting as far from her as possible and still staying in the same room, that would help too.
He took a little more time to wrap his thoughts in resolution, then returned to the living room. Bailey was curled up on the couch, breathing steadily, her eyes closed. He approached with hesitation. She didn’t stir. Figures.
He was grateful for the reprieve. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she batted away his hand but never opened her eyes. This was better. They could talk in the morning, with cooler heads. He tugged the crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and draped it over her, then made himself comfortable in the recliner across from her.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He stared at the clock on the far wall, watching minutes tick away. The click of the second hand drilled into his jumbled thoughts. Now he remembered why he didn’t drink. There was no order in his head when he let things get out of control. The patterns vanished, and he couldn’t find structure.
A growl tore through him. He pushed from the chair and wandered to the bookshelf, to find something to read until his mind shut up and let him sleep. He traced the bindings with his fingers, but instead of grabbing one of the novels, he plucked a photo album from the shelf.
He settled back into the chair and flipped open to a random page. He wasn’t sure when the faded photos were taken, until he turned to one of himself at five. Shaggy hair, horrible khaki shorts. He turned to another set. Nana wasn’t in any of them. She kept the photos of her in boxes in the attic. Said she already remembered herself; she wanted memories of the people around her instead. The book was filled with photos of families, houses, local stores, pets, and so much more.
It gnawed at his chest, while dust and loose flakes of dried adhesive stung his eyes until his vision blurred. Bailey said no one saw Nana’s death coming. Jonathan didn’t believe that. Someone must have known. Healthy people didn’t just pass away in the middle of the night. She took care of everyone in this fucking town, and she still died without—
He shoved the thought aside but couldn’t bury the grief anymore. It mingled with bitterness. Guilt, that he was as responsible as anyone. An empty pit that threatened to devour him from the inside out.
* * * *
JONATHAN’S FACE WAS hot, and his eyes ached. He pried them open, and then clenched them shut again when the sunlight jammed into his vision. The rest of his senses prickled his consciousness. A jab in his neck, from falling asleep in the chair. A rancid taste coating his tongue. The alluring scent of fresh coffee. The clock said it was almost nine. He hadn’t slept that late in... he didn’t know how long.
As he forced himself to sit and stretch, he realized the couch was empty. He strained his ears, but didn’t hear movement anywhere in the house. Last night’s wind had died down, so it didn’t interfere. The awkward scene with Bailey rushed back, as well as his looking through pictures after. He rubbed his eyes, to drive away more of the discomfort, stood, and put the album back its place on the shelf.
“Bailey?” he called out. No answer. Maybe she was in the attic, but he’d hear her overhead in that case.
He wandered into the kitchen and found note on the table, scrawled in familiar block-letter handwriting.
I’m sorry about last night. I have to check off some to-dos this morning. Be back at noon. Hope you’ll stick around. We can have that talk. - Bailey
PS - coffee’s fresh.
The conversation still needed to happen, but a little time to recover from his hangover and change into something that covered him a little more was a good thing. Coffee first. He opened the fridge, to grab the milk, and the stench threatened to evict the contents of his stomach.
Coffee second. He grabbed a couple of trash bags and proceeded to throw away everything but the milk, then deposited the garbage in the can by the side of the house.
By the time he finished his work and had a little caffeine running through his system, it was almost ten. Still plenty of time to get back to the hotel, change, and return before Bailey. He left her a note in return, saying he went to get fresh clothes and would be back, then pulled on his slacks, cringing at the dirt that flaked off and the stiff legs. When he reached the front door, Lucifer tried to dart between his legs, but this time Jonathan was ready. He kept her at bay, and managed to maneuver her inside and still step outside. “Stay,” he said.
She yawned and sauntered toward the stairs. As he locked up, he made a mental note to ask Bailey who he could hand the cat over to. Then he was on his way back to the mainland.
* * * *
BAILEY WOKE UP TO JONATHAN in the chair and a cat sleeping on her hip. The asinine things she said the night before slammed into her skull like a mallet. What the freak was wrong with her? She was surprised Jonathan stuck around, after what she did. Not that he had a lot of choice.
She owed him so many apologies. And her gratitude for him being sensible when she wasn’t. He was the friend she remembered, and she almost destroyed that because... Why? What had she been thinking? That was the one answer not coming to her.
Her morning tasks—things she couldn’t put off—needed attention, but she itched to stay here and make things right. Screw it. She hoped he’d still be here when she got back, but wouldn’t blame him for walking away as soon as the roads let him. She set up the coffee, left him a note, and then walked the half mile or so down the beach, to her own cottage. An hour later, showered and dressed, she drove into town.
Main Street on the small island was lined with wood-faced shops painted in bright colors. In the summer, they got tourists who skipped the more popular Keys in favor of that small-town feeling, but in early October, mostly locals strolled on the brick walkways. Bailey made a quick stop at the bank, for a cashier’s check. Most of the clients she acted as an agent for were fine with digital transactions, but her next stop only dealt in paper. Said the money didn’t feel real when it was numbers flowing from one screen to another.
Bailey smiled and waved at the handful of people she passed between the bank and the art gallery near the end of the block. The decor inside was a subtle array of beige and taupe. Photos and paintings decorated the walls. Pedestals and easels dotted the floor, displaying sculpture and pottery.
“I’ll be right down.” Margaret’s voice carried from the loft above.
Bailey followed the call to the open second floor and found the older woman sifting through a series of canvases stacked against the far wall. “Pay day.”
Margaret jumped and whirled, her hand flying to her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
“It’s more fun this way,” Bailey said in a teasing voice. “I found buyers for the silver and the two mirrors. I’ve got your money.” Because of her connections with various auction houses, she helped the people around town move valuables from time to time. Margaret was slowly getting rid of everything she didn’t think would move well with her to North Carolina.
“Come to the counter.” Margaret led the way downstairs.
Bailey handed over the cashier’s check when they reached their destination. Margaret examined it and furrowed her brow. “Did you take your share?”
“Of course.” Bailey didn’t hesitate to lie. She was supposed to keep a commission, but the older woman needed this money. Margaret was about to take on a huge expense, and when she was tired or having an off day, she tended to let slip how much the move was really going to cost her. Bailey made enough off her other dealings; she could afford to take a hit here and there.
“Are you sure? What kind of total minus fifteen percent equals exactly three-thousand dollars? Isn’t that an odd coincidence?”
“I suppose.” Bailey laughed, not having an excuse for the round figure. Maybe she should have thought of that and had the bank throw on a couple odd numbers at the end. “Anyway. I need to run. Working on cataloging Nana’s place.”
A shadow passed over Margaret’s face. “Of course. How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” This time the deception was more difficult.
“If you’re sure. But stop by if you need an ear.”
“Thanks.” Bailey wasn’t doing that. They exchanged a few more goodbyes, and she was gone again. She made a couple more stops in town, but her mind was already wandering to what waited for her. Not only the conversation with Jonathan, but the trip into the past. It was harder to force her smile in the grocery store and post office, and by the time she returned to Nana’s, she felt drained.
Jonathan’s car wasn’t there, but a couple new trash bags sat outside. He cleaned out the fridge. That brought a little smile to her lips.
Inside, she found a note from him on top of hers. He’d gone to his hotel to change, but he wanted to talk too. He promised to be back before she was. She glanced at the clock on her phone. Twelve-fifteen. Something must have held him up.
She stashed the groceries in the fridge, then threw together a couple of sandwiches for lunch, and set them to chill as well.
Should she start working, and risk not hearing him come in, or wait a little longer?
A knock answered the question for her. “It’s your house,” she called. “You can just walk in...” She trailed off when she opened the door and found a couple on the front porch instead of Jonathan. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for Nancy?” the man said.
Bailey’s grief slid back in. Not the steal-her-breath mourning she felt yesterday, but a gray cloud that mocked her. “Are you friends of the family?” She was pretty sure they weren’t, but didn’t know what else to ask.
He intertwined his fingers with the woman next to him. They were probably five or so years older than Bailey, and the way they stood near each other radiated affection. “Yes, and no. We vacationed here a few years ago. Separately. She introduced us, and we’ve been together since. We finally made it back this way and wanted to stop by and thank her.”
“She passed away about a week ago.” The words filled Bailey with pain. Nana was responsible for a lot of hookups in town, involving both locals and tourists. That was another thing to miss now she was gone.
“Oh.” The woman’s face fell. “We didn’t realize. I— I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Since you’re here, would you like to come in? I’d love to hear about how you met.” That was the polite thing to say.
The man shook his head. “Thank you, but we can’t intrude on your mourning. Again, our sympathies.”
“Thanks.” Bailey let the door drift shut, as they walked back to their car. The longer she stood there, the more heavily sadness weighed on her. She needed something to take her mind off this. Work. Sifting through those things upstairs she’d decided weren’t attached to memories.
She made her way back up to the attic and dove into sifting through boxes. For the next couple of hours, the mindless cataloging distracted her. Until she opened a trunk and found inside a treasure map sitting on top of an eye patch and a Jolly Roger flag. Damn it. Where was Jonathan? It was almost three. She let irritation slide in. It helped fill the hole growing in her chest and gave her a new focus. Apparently, he wasn’t as serious as he claimed about talking or helping.