Take a Chance on Me(76)
What a fool he’d been, and he’d known it even then. But being in love with Claire was a little like being in love with a saint. Just a little unseemly. Because then she’d see him, know him . . . and of course there was Felicity. It was easier, somehow, to flirt with her, tease her back. Mostly because Felicity’s rejection wouldn’t have torn him apart.
Because he hadn’t really loved her. Not the way he loved Claire. And in fact, he had a terrible suspicion that he’d always been a tool for Felicity to get who she really wanted—Darek.
All the same, his words to Claire felt a little like he’d taken a piece of his heart and pinned it to the outside of his body. Thank you. For being my friend.
She shivered as a sudden gust of wind shook the trees.
And because she hadn’t rejected him, because she hadn’t looked at him like he didn’t deserve a moment of her presence, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her to his chest. Wrapping his arms around her. Like a miracle, she tucked herself against him, her arms around his waist.
So maybe they could forget the past, just like she said.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to leave Deep Haven to start over. “Claire . . .”
She looked up at him. And in the light of the rising moon, the smell of summer lingering in the air—in the way her mouth tilted slightly—he felt young again, taking pretty Claire Gibson to her senior prom and wishing she was his girl.
His gaze roamed her face just for a moment. Without waiting to think, to hear the warnings in his head, he bent down and kissed her.
He expected something of hesitation. Even feared that he’d gone too far, that she’d push him away, the old sense of guilt rising up to paralyze him.
But she kissed him back. Lifted her face to his, curled her arms around his shoulders, and molded herself to him. He had his arms around her back and pulled her close, deepening his kiss, tasting the lemonade on her tongue, feeling the whisper touch of her hair against his cheek.
She was delicate and perfect, and why hadn’t he done this years ago?
In truth, she was the reason he’d returned every summer. Claire.
She made the softest sound of enjoyment, as if no, he hadn’t just blown it with her. Not at all. So he lifted his head, found her eyes. “I might have a lot to apologize for, but I’m not going to apologize for that. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded and then, fueled by the smile that lit her face, lowered his mouth again to hers.
Yes, he was kissing Claire Gibson. On his deck, with the beauty of the forest around him, the call of the loons as serenade, the wind rushing through the trees as if in cosmic approval.
Maybe, indeed, this was the definition of grace.
Us. Darek let that word hover in his mind, over the growl of the chain saw in his hand.
He and Felicity had never been an us. A them, perhaps, but . . .
Yeah, that had been his fault too. How many times had she said she wanted a real marriage, the kind in which they actually meant their vows?
Us.
He stepped back from the tree, nearly six inches in diameter, and gave it a push. It went crashing down into the forest, taking out poplar branches and the furry arms of evergreens. He revved the chain saw, then began to dice the trunk into stackable pieces. Wood shavings splattered into the air, the smell rich with freshly hewn sawdust, mingling with a tinge of the far-off wildfire.
Too far to be a worry, but it never hurt to clean up the property.
He turned off the chain saw, removed his goggles, and reached for the logs, tossing them toward the wheelbarrow.
“Casper! Bring me the stump grinder!”
Casper, dressed similarly in a pair of leather logging chaps and gloves, an orange hard hat and goggles, hiked over with the tree stump grinder. “Next time you decide to fireproof the grounds, please send me an e-mail, and I’ll remember not to come home.”
“Go take out those saplings I marked.”
Casper lifted the chain saw. “Yes, chief. Anything else, Your Fire Highness?”
The finest prickles of sawdust layered Casper’s chin, feathered into his dark hair. He smelled like a swamp and wore a fireman’s tan.
“Hard work is good for you. All that archaeology is going to make you soft. Digging in the soil with a toothbrush. Whatever.”
Casper pulled down his goggles as he fired up the saw. “The Swan Lake fire is still twenty miles away. You heard Jed—they’ll put it out long before it gets to Deep Haven.”
Darek ignored him, began to grind down the stump, listening to the replay of his conversation this morning with Jed.
He’d come into the lodge just after dawn and found Jed and Conner Young, the new Jude County communications guru, huddled over a map. His father stood at the head of the table, cradling a cup of coffee, his face knotted in concern as Jed pointed out the fire’s growth over the last week.