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 WAShot, 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 JONATHANin 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.