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Jonathan alternated his attention between his laptop, his cell phone—which was currently on speaker, sitting on the desk in his hotel room—and the muted Weather Channel. He only meant to return a couple of calls, but one follow-up led to another and created yet more issues. Now the clock crept up on four. The National Weather Service upgraded the incoming tropical storm to a hurricane, and the roads to the Keys would close again soon. Ride this out in his hotel room and piss Bailey off, or potentially lose a multi-million-dollar connection with the vendor they were talking to? He wanted to call her, but only had Nana’s landline number. Bailey might answer, but it would be hard to call while he was still on the phone. Fuck.
“With the supply issues, we can’t offer delivery for three more weeks,” someone said, catching his attention.
Jonathan turned back to the phone conversation. “The deadline was last Thursday.” He let an edge of warning slide into his words.
“I get that, but sometimes things like weather have an unforeseen impact.”
That was an understatement. He glanced at the TV and the large swirl of satellite imaging over the southern part of the peninsula. The digital radar image filled him with a dread he couldn’t shake. A lingering ill-ease from when he was younger. Why the fuck did there have to be a hurricane now? Out of season? While he was here?
His Skype chimed, pulling his gaze back to his computer.
I thought you hung up. Why are you still online? Liz asked.
He typed out a response. I have to handle this first.
I’ve got it covered, she said. Go, or I’ll kick you off the conference line.
He smiled. You’re not the moderator.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Liz seized a pause in the conversation. “Jonathan needs to drop off the call.”
Don’t you dare. He clacked the keys harder than he intended, grinding his teeth the whole time.
She kept talking. “He’s dealing with his grandmother’s estate and needs to tie up some loose ends this week.”
A chorus of sympathy chimed through his speaker, and he sighed. You set me up. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, but it didn’t stave off his tension. Ten more minutes—that was all he needed to wrap this up. But he couldn’t stay on the call after a sendoff like that.
Liz replied, You’re welcome. Go. Don’t call back until you’re officially on the clock again.
As if there was any way he’d keep his distance for that long. He’d make sure she couldn’t cock block him next time. He wished everyone a good afternoon and hung up. He hated the idea of leaving any issue unresolved, but he had to walk away for the evening, after what Liz said.
He could make it back to the Keys before the storm warning went into effect. He swallowed the discomfort that churned inside at the thought of being stranded out there during a hurricane. Nothing to do for it, and he needed to move past the old memories anyway. He grabbed a change of clothes and moments later was on the road again. Getting out of town was easy. Everyone headed in the opposite direction, so he had no traffic to contend with. He made a quick stop for groceries, and was on his way again.
The several miles of highway running over the water gave his mind a chance to wander. His mother hated this part of the drive in the summers. It was part of the reason his parents said they weren’t vacationing out here anymore when Jonathan was fourteen. He refused to dwell on the fact he almost drowned the year before, or acknowledge that had anything to do with their decision. The larger part was that his father and Nana didn’t get along.
On top of that, fourteen years old was when Jonathan advised his father to pull out most of his clients’ investments, as they related to the dot-com bubble. Dad didn’t think a kid knew anything about the market, and months later, lost millions as the crash spread and consumed more and more tech startups. Which was about the time Jonathan took the money he’d saved, bought himself a bus ticket to Florida, and ran away to live with Nana.
He shook the memories aside. The reminder of bad business deals made him itch to dial back into the conference call. He restrained himself with the decision to check in tonight, once Bailey left for the evening. There was a ninety-nine percent chance the storm would pass around them, leaving nothing more than light rain in its wake, and tomorrow they’d be done with this damn road-closure business.
He cranked the stereo, to drown out any more mental rambling, and let the shock of metal guitar rattle his skull. It was almost five when he parked in front of the house. Clattering and banging from above greeted him when he stepped inside. At least Bailey was still here. Something crashed into the floor overhead, shaking the room. “Bailey?” He dropped the groceries and sprinted upstairs, pulse hammering in his ears when she didn’t answer.
Another house-rumbling boom greeted him. “Bailey?” He climbed the attic ladder as quickly as he could. Why wasn’t she answering? Had she hurt herself? Did something fall on top of her? A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows around the room and blending with the evening light.
“What?” Her irritated question came from behind him.
He spun and found her standing in the middle of stacks of boxes. Strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail and flew in wisps around her face, and dirt smudged her cheeks. His hammering heart slammed into his ribs. Despite the pursed lips and pink flush of exertion, she looked—
Furious. Nothing more. He cut off all other notions. “I heard a series of crashes. I was worried.”
“I’m surprised you made it back to hear anything. I figured you’d hole up until the storm blew over, rather than risk getting stuck here again.”
“I got held up. Things happen. I don’t have to be here.” He clenched his jaw. This wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go.
She scrubbed her face and moved closer. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m glad you made it.”
“That was almost an apology. Are you feeling all right?” He held his hand to her forehead, and she swatted it away, a smile peeking through her scowl.
“Bozo.”
He grabbed her fingers, and a jolt raced through him, sliding along his skin and lighting up his nerve endings. He pushed the reaction aside and tugged her toward the ladder. “I brought iced tea. Come downstairs, cool off, and we’ll talk.”
“No.” Despite the protest, she didn’t pull away. “I let you talk me into that last night, though I’ll admit I wanted to be convinced. But I’m a day behind because of it. So now you’re going to grab one of these boxes, and then another, and help me sift through everything, while I apologize.”
He studied her face—her crystal blue eyes, staring back; dirt-smeared freckles; full lips, half-pouting in the middle of her smile. Not furious. Simply beautiful. Letting his gaze drift lower—over a tank-top that hugged perky breasts, and faded jeans that followed the curve of her legs—would be a mistake. “Don’t do that.”
*
BAILEY LET HER FURY grow for hours, while she sifted through contents of the room. Heat and dust amplified her irritation, as countless minutes ticked away and Jonathan still didn’t show. When the stack of boxes tumbled down on her, slamming her square between the shoulders, she snapped and kicked the lot of them. She cursed him from here to hell for being too... something to come back.
Then he had to rush up here, concern etched on his face, and be worried about her well-being. It disrupted her anger and knocked her off balance.
“Don’t do what?” she asked.
He took one of the boxes nearby, slid it between them, and crouched next to it. “Don’t apologize.” The flaps scraped against each other when he pulled them apart.
“But—”
“There’s bottled water downstairs. It’s still cold. Go grab one, so you don’t get a heatstroke or dehydration.”
Controlling. Arrogant. Despite his annoying command, his distress over her well-being made her insides flutter. “I’m not—”
“Go.” He looked up from the contents of his box.
She huffed but didn’t have a reasonable argument. And water did sound good. She brushed past him. When she got downstairs, she found two plastic bags of groceries spilled across the entryway. He really had been worried. She smiled in spite of herself, stashed the food, and grabbed two bottles to take upstairs. When she moved behind Jonathan, mischief and the tiniest hint of spite snaked through her.
He was focused on a collection of trinkets in front of him. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” She dragged the chilled bottle along the back of his neck.
He let out a long groan that blended into a laugh and reached back for the water. “So mean.”
“Maybe. But you’re bossy.”
“Yup. And you love it.”
She strolled back to where she’d been working, twisted the top off the drink, and took a long swallow. She finished half of it before she was ready to admit he was right. She needed that. She realized he was watching her, a smile playing on his face. “I do not,” she said.
“You have a system in place. How is this all arranged?”
She nodded at the different sections of the room she’d already organized. “Trash goes to the left, stuff to keep to the right, and sellables in the middle. And why shouldn’t I apologize?” She refused to be distracted from the original point of the conversation.
“Because you don’t mean it.” He moved the box to her sellable location, then grabbed another one.
Measure her response or bite back? “What I didn’t mean were the things I said last night.”
“You did.” His even, infuriating tone was one she recognized after all these years. He was working hard to keep his thought and emotion in check. “We both know the liquor doesn’t make up anything except the notion that what’s already there is okay to say.”
She wasn’t interested in being analyzed. “Your note said you wanted to talk. Was that simply to berate me?”
“No. But I don’t want to gloss over it with false platitudes and I didn’t mean it and it was the booze speaking.” His expression cracked, and a mixture of sadness and amusement slid in.
She’d never seen him break before, but it had been a long time. “Then what’s the point?” She dug into the next crate. Stacks of clothing. She started a new pile across the room. “To donate.”
“Admit it happened, don’t hide from it, and move on.”
That was entirely too reasonable. Rain drove against the siding, rattling its agreement.
“And now that’s out of the way...” He trailed off when he looked inside a wooden crate. “Oh.” He sank back to the floor, and dust rose around him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. To sell.” He pushed the lid back on and shoved the box away. It screeched across the wood.
Curiosity piqued, she pried open the top again. Inside was corrugated cardboard and bubble wrap. She reached for a piece on top of the pile, and he grabbed her wrist. It didn’t take much effort to shake off his grip. She pulled off the wrapping, to reveal a delicate China saucer. “Pretty.”
“Put it away.” An edge lined his words.
Confused and concerned, she looked at him. “What’s up with you?”
Thunder crashed. Lightning brightened the room for a flash before the window darkened again. Drops of water splattered against the glass. “Donate it if it’s not worth anything.”
“Tell me.” She set the plate on top of the wrapped dishes. She wasn’t sure why it was important, but she needed an explanation.
The emotion vanished from his face, and the blank nothing rushed back in. “Not a big deal. Family heirloom. She was saving it for my wedding. Doesn’t hold the same meaning if she’s not here to—” He shook his head. “What’s next?”
Bailey swore she felt the grief spill from him. “I’m sorry.”
“See, now I believe you.” His smile was weak. He pushed the crate to the other side of the room, somewhere between the donate and keep piles. The storm kicked up, and gales slammed into the side of the house.
Would every other stack of belongings bring this much pain? It was going to be a long week. She nodded at the boxes that fell on her earlier. “Those attacked me. They’re probably next.”
They worked in silence for a while, raindrops against the roof taking the place of conversation.
“How long do you want us working, boss?” Jonathan’s question startled her.
With the storm, it was hard to tell what time of day it was, but if the sun hadn’t set yet, it was close. She made a show of looking around the room. “We got a lot done. I guess we can call it a night.” And she desperately wanted to wash the grime from her face and arms.
“I’m making dinner. Are you staying?” He stood and offered her a hand up. His grip was firm and warm. Enticing, in a way she refused to linger on.
She pulled away as soon as she had her footing. It was tempting to tease him about macaroni and cheese not being a real meal, but she saw the ingredients he bought—noodles, cream, mushrooms, and more. While she wasn’t sure what he was going to make, it was fancier than pre-packaged. “I’d like that. Let me clean up a little bit first, and I’ll be right down.”
In the bathroom, the cool water poured over her hands and wrists, chasing the heat away but not erasing the invisible imprints of Jonathan’s touches. She splashed her face and scrubbed at the dirt smudges. She was a mess.
“Ale?” His voice carried up the stairs.
The nickname made her growl when anyone in town used it. Coming from him, it drew a smile without her permission. “Yeah?”
“Where’s the steak?”
“There was no steak.” She dried herself off and made her way downstairs. She found him on his knees near the front door, peering under the couch.
“Fuck.” He reached for something, and seconds later pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle. One corner looked chewed on. “I guess I should be grateful that damned cat can’t fit under there.”
That must be the missing meat. “I didn’t see it.”
“I figured you didn’t leave it down there on purpose.” He smiled. He peeled the paper, sniffed, studied the contents for a moment, and then shook his head. “It might still be good, but I’m not willing to risk it in this heat and humidity. I don’t think I can make beef Stroganoff without the beef.”
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she skipped lunch in her fit of irritation. She could offer up the cold cuts in the fridge, but what he was making sounded a lot better. “I have hamburger at home. It’s not quite the same, but the rain stopped. We could walk over there.”
“Leave the ghosts of the past behind for now?”
He’d still be there. And she only owned the property because she got it in the divorce. She was worn out from shoving memories aside. “There are still ghosts. They’re just different ones.”
“I’ll take that. Besides, dinner at Bailey’s house was always one of my favorite parts of summer.”