“What’s your favorite music?” I asked.
“Bach’s cello suites,” he said. “Well, that and ‘Purple Rain.’”
“God, I love that song! And I used to listen to Bach’s cello suites when I was pulling an all-nighter in med school,” I said, smiling. “It was supposed to help with studying.”
“I guess it worked,” he said.
When he smiled, I could see that his incisors were just a little more pointed than average, giving him a vampiric look. I pictured those teeth on my neck and my girl parts gave a mighty throb.
“So why did you come back here, Nora Stuart? You, who haven’t been back in all this time?”
It was his voice. His soft, deep voice, and I hoped he could hear it, because it was so delicious, that voice, the timbre and hint of roughness in it, like the stones on the shore tumbling over each other after a hard ocean wave.
I cleared my throat. “What was the question again?”
Another wicked smile. A dastardly, bad-boy smile on this ultimate dad. “Why’d you come back to Scupper?”
“Oh. Yeah. I was hit by a pest control van. Beantown Bug Killers. My life flashed before my eyes.”
“Did it?”
“No, actually. But I...I wanted to spend some time with my mom. And my niece.”
“Scared you good, did it?”
I nodded.
“And that thing...that not-good thing that happened to you. The thing you mentioned the night you almost shot me. Was that being hit by pest control?”
I picked up a sweet potato fry and broke it in half. “No.”
He waited.
“A man broke into my house and beat me up and tried to rape me, and then when that didn’t work out, he, uh, he tried to kill me. With a knife. But I got away, and they never caught him, and that was last year, and please don’t tell my mother.”
I sucked in a breath and grabbed my mojito and drained it. Didn’t quite mean to dump the worst night of my life in his lap, but there it was.
“How is everything?” Brian asked, appearing with a huge smile. “Gotta love that lobster, am I right? We buy it right off the—”
“Not now,” Sullivan said.
“Got it!” Brian said. “Call when you need me!”
He left, and the quiet floated down around us again.
Sullivan didn’t say anything.
“Freaky story, huh?” I said. I wished I’d ordered another drink.
“How’d you get away?”
I sighed. “I just...went. I was lucky. I ran. I didn’t... I didn’t even know what he was planning.”
“Yes, you did. You knew.”
He was right. I had known. Lizard Brain hadn’t said the word knife or killed, but it had said the word now.
“You were more than lucky. Jesus.” He took a deep breath. “Good for you, Nora. Good for you.”
I looked down at the table. “Thank you.”
Sully reached across and tilted my chin up so he could see my face.
“Thank you,” I repeated.
This time, his smile was gentle. “You’re an impressive person,” he said, and I laughed. “You want dessert? Seems like you earned it.”
I suddenly wanted to be naked and in bed with the man in front of me.
“How we doing, kids?” Brian sang.
Not that man. Sullivan.
“We’ll take the check,” I said.
“You got it,” Brian said. “Back in a flash, you two!”
“I hate that guy,” Sullivan said, and I laughed so long and hard tears ran down my face.
Sully just sat back, watching me and smiling.
* * *
Unfortunately, by the time we got back to the houseboat, I was all nerves and idiocy.
Why? Because it was Sullivan Fletcher, a boy I’d known my entire life. A man now, a man whose daughter looked up to me, a man who’d been married to one of the girls who’d left scars on my adolescent soul, a man whose brother and mother hated me, etc.
Also, there was Bobby. Not Bobby, not really, but...he’d confused me again, this time by sending a very romantic email, this time detailing all the stuff we used to do before the Big Bad Event. My old life, my Perez self.
I wasn’t staying on Scupper Island forever. I wasn’t sure I should start something with Sully, no matter how many pheromones were clogging the air, and yeah, it was childish and dopey, but I wasn’t sure I could be my Perez self when Sully had known my island self. I realized that was stupid and dopey and childish, but I also knew Sully deserved me to mull that over before anything happened between us.
He was far, far too good to be someone’s summer fling.
He turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you in,” he said.
Shit. How would I tell him no? He was too delicious, too nice, that voice, those eyes, that sense of calm and granite reliability, and also, remember that hug after Audrey’s diagnosis? That. Yes.
Boomer barked sharply. “It’s me, buddy,” I said. He barked again, not happy about Sullivan (or not happy that he wasn’t being allowed to leg-hump Sullivan, more likely).
Sully and I stood outside the door, moths fluttering around the light.
I would have to reject him now. Damn. That would not feel good.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. “I had a really nice time.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
Maybe I’d let him kiss me. That would be okay, wouldn’t it? And then, once he kissed me, I was pretty sure sexy time would be inevitable.
“Good night,” he said at the same second I said, “Want to come in?”
“Excuse me?” he said, and yeah, yeah, I was glad he was hearing impaired. Sue me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Good night. Yeah. Have a safe trip home. Back to your house, I mean. Where do you live, anyway?”
“Oak Street.”
“Bon voyage, then.” Jesus, Nora. Shut up.
He looked at me another minute. Maybe the kissing idea wasn’t dead yet.
Nope, it was. He gave me the Yankee nod and walked back down the dock.
Date over.
Then again, I guess it hadn’t been a date.
Except it had felt so stinkin’ romantic.
“Sure, Nora, it was,” I said as I got the key out. “Who doesn’t want to hear about jail and home invasions? Totally romantic.”
“What was?” came a voice, and I nearly wet myself.
Luke Fletcher stood on the deck of the houseboat. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I asked. Boomer barked from inside. Shit. My one-hundred-pound dog was inside. My hands started to shake.
“Just thought I’d stop by for a drink. You know. Because we’re neighbors.”
“Your brother just left.”
“So I saw.” His voice was friendly. That scared me more, for some reason. Oh, right. Because the other guy’s voice had been friendly, too, sometimes. When he wasn’t beating the shit out of me.
I swallowed. “Well, I’m tired, Luke. Maybe another time.”
“Don’t fuck with my brother.”
“I wouldn’t. Don’t worry.”
“I wouldn’t. Don’t worry,” he mocked in a falsetto. Boomer barked again.
Then Luke jumped off the boat onto the dock next to me, and I flinched. I hated myself for it, but I did. Inside, Boomer went crazy.
But Luke just brushed past me, close enough that I had to move. He followed his brother’s path down the dock, heading left down Spruce Brook Road toward the boatyard.