Read Snowflake Bay Online

Authors: Donna Kauffman

Snowflake Bay (19 page)

Now she raised an eyebrow.
He laughed and lifted a hand. “My folks like to keep me up to date with local news and you guys are like extended family to them. I think they feel almost as proud of what you and your sisters accomplished away from the Cove, and what Logan has done with his career here in the Cove, as they do of me.”
“That's a very sweet thing to know,” she said, honest affection shining in her eyes now. “Thank you for telling me that. It means a lot. Are they really doing okay down south? Logan alluded to things with your dad being perhaps a bit more complex than you mentioned.” She lifted her hand now. “He didn't go into particulars. You know you can trust him, and I won't nudge if it's truly none of my business. Other than to say I'm very sorry if you're juggling that emotional juggernaut on top of everything else. It puts a slightly different slant on your decisions regarding the family farm.”
“It does, yes. And thanks.” He didn't even pause to debate whether or not to tell her. “My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's. Early stages, not really impaired by it yet. They're hoping by moving south now to a far less demanding and stressful lifestyle, that they can maybe slow down the progress of the disease.”
She reached out and took his arm. “Ben, I'm so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I know. They really don't want anyone to know. Folks in the Bay and here in the Cove are like one big extended family to them, and while I know they'd appreciate the kind thoughts—”
“They don't want the busybody side of it to nudge in and get in the way,” she finished. “No, I completely understand that. I won't speak of it, except to you and Logan.” She squeezed his arm. “I haven't had anything quite like that in my family, but we have suffered our losses and faced our own obstacles. If you need someone to talk to—regardless of this,” she added, motioning between their still half-undressed bodies, “you know I'm here, right?”
The honest answer to that was that while he might have known the McCraes as a family would always be there for him, it wasn't until this recent shift between him and Fiona that he'd have thought of her as someone he could turn to one-on-one. Now he thought he couldn't really imagine wanting to turn to anyone else. She knew him. Knew his folks. It was surprising how important that was, how reassuring.
He covered her hand. “Thanks, Fi. That means more to me than you might realize.”
She smiled. “Good. Because I mean it.”
He moved in closer again, but took her arms in his hands when she went to lean back again, keeping her in close. “How did we get from a talk about birth control, to you discussing my folks?”
“I don't know,” she said, smiling easily up into his eyes.
He realized that the nervous tension between them, more specifically what was coming from her, was gone now. It wasn't that they'd reverted back to the familiar patterns of old friendship as much as it was a step forward into a new relationship. One that was still comforting and familiar, but didn't lessen one bit the desire he still had to carry her to bed and keep her there until neither one had enough energy left to talk.
“Were you ever close?” he asked. “To the white picket fence and 2.4 golden retrievers.”
She giggled. “I think you mean kids.”
“I think I'd rather have four-tenths of a dog than four-tenths of a kid.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
“Right?” He tugged her closer. “So . . . were you ever close to planning your own wedding?”
She shook her head. “Not even the long-term gig like you had. Building my business in a place like New York took everything I had. I tried to date occasionally—did date occasionally—but when it came to juggling work and a personal life, the work was always more interesting to me.”
“Ouch,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I always thought if someone came along that even made it a contest, then I might have made the time, but . . . I don't know. City guys, at least in a city the size of New York, were way too intense for me.”
His eyes widened. “Because you're such a mellow, laid-back sort yourself.”
She smiled even as she playfully nudged him again. “I'm . . . assertive, yes. About business. But the men I met were pretty much exhausting, and that was just dinner conversation. I couldn't imagine being around that kind of driven focus 24/7.”
“Says the workaholic who moved from Nowhere, Maine, to Manhattan and, by all accounts and measures, took it by storm.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. “Guilty as charged. So maybe I needed a little balance. Someone to even me out. All I know is the men I met mostly left me feeling either agitated or exhausted. Or like a complete slacker, when I know I'm anything but.”
“What are you going to do with all that workaholic energy once you get things up and running?”
“Easy. Get a life.”
“So, white picket fence, the whole nine?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, at some point. I don't feel the clock ticking if that's what you mean. I can't let myself go there. Life is hard enough. I just want balance. Then whatever happens, happens. You know?”
“No,” he said, with a laugh. “I'm still at the no-time-for-a-personal-life stage.”
“Except for that one relationship you had for years.”
“I don't know what I'd call that, but it didn't feel much like a personal life, not like what you're describing. Even in the good times.”
“What did it feel like?”
“Work.”
She made a face. “Yeah, that sort of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?”
“You'd think I'd have figured that out sooner.”
“We learn how we learn. Don't be too hard on yourself.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I will call you up when I need a shoulder.”
She did that half shrug thing again. “Like I said, I'm there for you.” Her smile twisted into something a bit drier. “Just don't forget that part where you like me for my directness and honesty. You ask me for my opinion, you'll get it.”
“Consider me forewarned.”
“I guess this will be the awkward part—”
“And just when things were going so smoothly,” he quipped, but he didn't try to divert her again.
“Given where we were ten minutes ago, this might seem—don't take it the wrong way, but . . . I think I should go. I . . . am oddly more confused now than I was before. I do know I'm glad we didn't do anything rash. Risk and reward, risk and consequence. I still have more sorting out to do than I'd like to admit.” She smiled. “Rain check?”
“Rain check, snow check, middle-of-the-day check.” He did put his hands over her thighs when she went to shift back away from him. “You never told me why you stormed up here in the first place.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Oh yeah, that.”
“That.”
“It's all Logan's fault. And yours.”
“I'm sure it is.”
She looked at him as if trying to decide whether he was teasing. “He wants you at our house tomorrow for Thanksgiving. I was given the task of dragging you back by your shirttails if necessary.”
He stared down at his bare torso. “I guess we've made that a little challenging.” He liked the way she laughed, and the way her eyes flared as she slid her gaze over his chest. “Why you?”
She looked back up, met his gaze. “Something about the way you looked at him when you told him I shut you down.”
He'd had no idea what her response was going to be, but that was about as far from it as he could have imagined. “Him meaning Logan? What the hell—?” Then he paused, recalled the basketball game. “He told you that—?”
“You talked about me? Not the nitty-gritty, no. He grilled me, too, so don't go all Neanderthal on him.”
“Grilled you about what?”
“Not what, who. You.”
“Me? Why?”
“The kiss,” they said at the same time.
“Yeah,” Ben went on. “He might have mentioned he heard about that.”
“And you with no black eyes. Impressive restraint on both your parts, really.”
He grinned ruefully at that. “He asked, I was honest. He gave some mixed signals, but ultimately I didn't think he was exactly a proponent of my proceeding, so I'm not sure why he'd send you as emissary. Unless it was to kick my ass into never laying a hand on you again.”
“And we can see how well that worked out,” she said dryly. “What did he say? Why did you think he warned you off?”
“He told me he trusted I'd do the right thing.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly. That's what I told him. Why were you so pissed off when you got here?”
“Because I felt like some kind of pawn in a game where the rules kept changing. One second I thought Logan was warning me away, the next he was shoving me at you. Then I find out the two of you are in cahoots—”
“There was no hooting, ca or otherwise.” He raised one hand. “Boy Scout's honor.”
She snorted. “You and Logan were Boy Scouts for about five seconds. Right up until you learned that you had to do more than camp, fish, and build stuff.”
“I still stand by my belief that young boys shouldn't have to raise livestock.”
“You're just mad because Logan got to raise the cute little pygmy goat, and you got stuck with that nasty duck.”
“That, too,” he said, with an unrepentant smile. “I still have scars from that beast.”
“Be that as it may, when the two of you hook up, you are still your own troop of two, and I wasn't particularly thrilled with any part of my future being decided without me being consulted first.”
“He just wanted me to come to dinner. Unless there's something else you're not telling me.”
“No, no, that's it. Only that's never it. If he really just wanted you there, he'd have made it happen. He wouldn't have enlisted me.”
Ben ran his hands up her thighs. “So, are you saying you think we have his blessing?”
She batted his hands away. “No, I'm saying that it's not up to Logan to bless us or otherwise.”
“Well, it would be nice to know I'm not risking permanent physical scarring every time I put my hands on you.”
She very pointedly picked his hands up and removed them from her legs. “And I'm saying the only person you need to concern yourself with in regards to getting physically damaged by putting your hands on me . . . is me.”
“Yes, come to think of it, I do still have a pretty nasty scar on the back of my head where you beaned me with that piece of ice.”
“You're still holding that against me? We were what, six and ten? Besides, I didn't actually think I'd hit my target. I mean, have you met me? But the fact that I did, well . . . you deserved it. Even the fates knew it, and gave me a one-time perfect pitch.”
“I don't even remember why you threw it, but yeah,” he said, grinning, “you're probably right.”
“So, you're coming to dinner tomorrow whether you want to or not. You can use our house as home base for any organizing you're doing between the farm and tree stands. It's only for a couple of hours, and you don't officially open until Friday anyway.”
“Will you wear the Hall of Sexy Knits sweater?”
“Don't bargain with me, Ben Campbell,” she warned, but her cheeks had turned that nice shade of pink again, and her eyes were twinkling.
He didn't think he'd ever seen anything or anyone more beautiful.
Both of their phones chose that moment to go off, startling them.
“The real world beckons,” she said. “Probably Logan wondering if I followed orders. He's such a cop sometimes.”
Ben palmed his from his back jeans pocket, and frowned, then went to slide it back in his pocket, unanswered.
“It is Logan.” She didn't pick up her call either, and looked at him expectantly.
“Nothing important,” he replied, because the last thing he wanted to talk about with Fiona was why Annalise Manderville was calling him.
She stared at him a moment longer, then shifted so she could slide her legs out from between them, but he beat her to it and framed her hips to help her off the counter. Only he didn't let go of her once she was standing again.
“Why don't you go call back whoever it is you don't want to talk to in front of me, and I'll check in with Logan on my way back home? I should get out of here before the snow starts.”
“I'm not sure that's—”
He broke off when Fiona's phone rang again. “Now it's Hannah.” She looked up at him for a moment, and he could see a dawning awareness that something might be wrong.
“Take it,” he said, urging her to answer. “I'll go check the weather status.”
He reluctantly let her go as she touched the ACCEPT button, but had stepped out onto the back porch before he overheard anything that was said. He didn't even debate calling Annalise back. He had nothing more to say to her. He rubbed his arms as the frigid wind cut through the screen and right into his bare skin. He didn't need to stand out there more than a second to see where they were on the weather front. Snow was falling thick and fast. The ground already had snow on it from previous storms, but there was fresh powder twinkling in the light emanating from the spotlights nailed to tall wooden poles, helping to light the grounds between the main house and the outbuildings.
He was just thinking he was sure hoping whatever was going on back in the Cove didn't require Fiona's immediate presence as she met him in the open doorway to the porch.

Other books

The Demonists by Thomas E. Sniegoski
Unmanned by Lois Greiman
The Kills by Linda Fairstein
The Danger of Being Me by Anthony J Fuchs
The Fat Flush Cookbook by Ann Louise Gittleman
Tracks of the Tiger by Bear Grylls
Daring to Dream by Sam Bailey