“Because you couldn’t take your eyes off her,” Jason pointed out.
Grady made a face of agreement.
“She was easier on the eyes than you.” Mac knew it was true; he had stared. He wanted her, but he wanted her the same way he wanted any other beautiful woman. This one happened to be convenient.
“Mac,” Jason implored.
“Jesus, Jason, some chick sings you a song of woe about a dead husband, and you’re—what did Grady say?—in your feels about it.” Mac tipped back his beer, looking Jason over as though he’d never seen the man before. Lowering the bottle, he mumbled, “The only interesting thing about her is her dog.”
And her tits. And ass. And damn, those lips. Her eyes, too, how they changed colors; the unique trait of a hazel-eyed person. He wondered what color they’d be when he sank his cock in her. When she came. He shifted in his seat, said appendage twitching at the thought.
Jason glared at him, knowing him well enough to know where his mind had gone, what the shifting meant. “Bastard.”
Mac frowned. “What? I already said I wouldn’t go after her. Does she know you’ve gone all Mother Hen over her?”
Jason glanced over at Grady, who returned his gaze evenly.
Mac looked at Grady. “What? You, too?”
Grady’s expression was equally knowing and inscrutable.
“Jesus, anyone else I’m not allowed to fuck?” Mac grumbled.
They were both quiet.
“No more book clubs for you two,” Mac declared.
Chapter seven
Cassidy
JUST NEIGHBORS
Cassidy’sovernightconversationwithJason had been surreal and heartbreaking. After he’d climbed onto the barstool, he’d told her the most tragic story of love, friendship, war, and a life in limbo.
He detailed how battles fought overseas turned into battles fought at home. The woman in his story, his cousin, hadn’t died. She existed due to life support. Jason didn’t know if it was a mercy to keep her hanging on or if she should be let go. If his family let Josie go, they risked her fiancé’s life, afraid it would be his trigger to check out. Jason mused about the irony of it: the thing keeping this man alive was someone who was barely alive herself.
Cassidy could relate. She understood the need for self-punishment, the guilt of the one left behind. Unlike him, she didn’t have a hope to cling to; she didn’t have to watch and wait for Elijah to take his final breath. For that, she was thankful.
But the conversation had prompted her to take Elijah’s notes and flash drive and go to his publisher’s local office in the city; this, she could do for Elijah. And she took Fred with her. Not to piss Mac off, she told herself, but to keep Fred from getting lonely while she was gone. Mac had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
The day after she returned, she’d been surprised to find a bright yellow doggie life preserver on her boat. She’d picked it up, knowing who had left it—the only person from whom it could have possibly come. The note attached read,Use it; dogs get fatigued, too.
She hadn’t thought about it before, but if something happened in the middle of the lake, it would be too far for Fred to swim to shore; he’d tire out like any human. She’d looked at Fred, he’d looked back, and then she’d fought him for the better part of ten minutes trying to get it on him. She would have laid bets her neighbor had watched in high amusement.
For her part, she refused to look in the direction of the cabin. There were some days when she would swear she could feel the heat of his gaze as she ordered Fred into the boat and wrestled him into this life preserver. To his credit, though, Mac didn’t try to interfere. Other than the gift, no whistles, no shouts, no visits.
His silence was more disturbing.
She’d hear him during the day, hammering away or the chainsaw going. Fred would whine and moan, eyes toward the section of woods separating them. He’d lay on his stomach and stare off. Cassidy had no idea how a man could make such an impression so quickly.
A few days into this new, strange routine, Cassidy decided to do something she and Elijah used to do together; something she hadn’t donesince. She would go to the local bookshop-slash-coffee house. She would sit on the outside patio and enjoy the spring sun. It was time. The late March weather was unseasonably cooperative.
She took Fred with her. By now, he knew to get into the boat when she walked down to the dock, even though he still wiggled and squirmed and leaped around when she tried to put his life vest on him.
She was quick to remind him, “This is your buddy’s fault if you don’t like it, so you can blame him.” With a grin and a quick hug around the unsure dog’s neck, she snapped the vest in place. She didn’t let herself question why she’d allowed Mac to dictate the use of the vest. And so easily.
A short trip across the lake later, Cassidy docked the boat and clipped Fred’s leash to his collar. As she walked toward the coffee shop, Cassidy tried to shake the feeling she was being watched. Even though this was her town, and she’d lived here for years, it was a feeling of being monitored—judged for attempting to move on. She was sure she would be called out for doing something wrong, being here without Elijah, enjoying the sun without him. Living, taking a step forward. It didn’t feel natural.