When I Fall in Love(31)
He should have seen it coming. After all, each day he’d looked forward a little more to seeing her. And despite her antics in Chef Keoni’s class—who suggested crackers with lomi-lomi?—he couldn’t deny he longed for her under-the-breath quips.
No, he didn’t love poi either, but he wasn’t letting her know that. Still, he nearly responded to her words today.
You, however, approach cooking like it’s a competition.
Of course he did. Because he didn’t have time for second chances. In hockey, in life . . . in love.
And that declaration would lead to an exploration of why. He could just imagine her horror when he told her he never knew when his disease might kick in, what vacation might be his last.
Yeah, he’d ventured way too close to the edge with Grace today, and this was his wake-up call. Any farther and someone was going to get hurt.
“I think we should go.”
She bit her lip, then nodded. “I’m so sorry.”
He headed toward shore, not able to look at her. “You didn’t know. It’s my fault. I forgot to tell you about the riptide.”
“But I should have never followed the turtle. I wasn’t really chasing it—it was just . . . almost magical—”
“I get it. Really. Let’s just get our gear. It’s late.”
She said nothing, splashing to shore behind him. He took off his flippers in the water, then walked to shore, the sand coating his wet feet. He scooped up his towel, dried his head, draped the towel around his neck.
Grace was drying off, not looking at him. She wrapped the towel around her waist before finally turning to him. The expression on her face felt like a dagger to his chest.
“I’m so sorry I wrecked our trip.”
“You didn’t wreck our trip,” he said softly and turned away before he crumbled.
Mistake. The word roared in his head. He blew out a breath and headed up the shore without looking back.
They dropped off her gear, and she remained quiet as they washed their feet and walked to the car. She laid her towel on the seat, then donned her shirt and slid in.
He should say something. But this crazy, dark pain had bottled in his chest, and he didn’t know how to make it better, how to pull them back to safety.
How to make her understand that he hadn’t meant to let it get this far.
“Wait until Owen hears that you nearly killed me.”
Huh?
She was looking at him, tease on her face. “Yep. You’re a dead man.”
“I—”
“I mean, here you go, assigning yourself as my babysitter, and you practically drown me. He’s going to come back from Montana and take you out.”
And just like that, the tension in his chest snapped. Gone. Free. “I think he’s smart enough to know that you’re trouble.”
“Me? Trouble? I’m not the one who . . . fed me shrimp. Or showed me Diamond Head. Or introduced me to turtles.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’m not the one who tried to race a turtle.”
“I would have won had you not distracted me.” She grinned, and he wanted to kiss her.
No, not kiss her. Maybe give her a high five or a knuckle bump. Because somehow, the darkness had receded and the prospect of having to drop her off and spend the evening avoiding her died in the wake of her easy laughter.
Maybe she’d pulled them both back from the cliff, back to just friends.
“Now, if you’re a cruise director worth his salt, you’ll find me a decent hamburger and some fries. I’m in serious need of comfort food.” She leaned back and propped her bare feet on the dash, her blue toenail polish like sapphires in the sunlight.
“As you wish.” He put the car in gear, turned on the radio, and considered his demise.
A guy like him had to be on his game, because any more time with Grace Christiansen could take them into dangerous waters, and he was the one who just might find himself the goner.
Of course Pierre’s Pizza had to start delivery services with Grace in Hawaii. Because, no, they weren’t shorthanded in the kitchen, requiring Raina to arrive early for prep and stay late to clean up. And should someone call in with a rare delivery order, who had to drop everything and run it out to them? Not Ty, who knew Deep Haven better in his sleep than Raina did with a full GPS system, or Stuart, the owner, who’d raised three children in Deep Haven and probably even knew the clandestine hangouts.
No, it had to be Raina who carried the pizza box out to her gray Impala, rain or shine, and drove like an idiot around town, trying to locate the address.
Why? Because it turned out Ty didn’t own a car. And Stuart was too busy at the counter greeting guests, friends, residents of Deep Haven who came in not just for pizza but for camaraderie.