Chapters 19-21 Beautiful Mine

CHAPTER 19

Connor

Well, what can I say? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been “bad impulsive” and there’s no going back now. We’re both pretending we didn’t just blindly jump off a cliff together. I’m enjoying the fall enough to almost forget for real anyway.

Whitney makes me feel like… I don’t know… like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The longer I’m with her, the more I feel myself sinking into her. In the back of my head, I think I might be in serious trouble because I’m already in deeper than I was in Spain.

Deep enough, maybe, to change things.

After spending the night trying to appease this woman’s sexual appetite (which, by the way, earns her a big gold star in my book), we go to the game together and I get to meet Nadim and his parents. The way Whitney followed the action and cheered him on, you’d think we were watching the World Series. When he hit a fly out of left field, helping his team score two points, she jumped up and down and cheered in the cutest damn way. I was cheering right along with her.

Best Saturday morning I’ve had in a long time.

There’s a food shack across the street from the field, so we walk over after the game to get Philly cheesesteaks. We’re sitting on the grass, under a Monterey Pine, talking about the game. Well, partly about the game. She’s mostly focusing on Nadim.

“I can see why you like him so much,” I say. “That kid’s damn funny. He’s got personality coming out of his ears.”

“Doesn’t he? I’m so glad you got to meet him.”

“Me too.”

She takes another bite of her sandwich and smiles at the near-empty field across the way. It makes me smile just watching her. She gets a glow on her face when she thinks about “her kids.” But there’s something else I wonder about.

“So how are you doing with work these days?” It’s the third time I’ve asked this question. The first was during the tour, but she was too distracted by the resort to want to talk about much else. The second time was during dinner last night and she was holding back, licking her wounds. But I’ve been concerned about her, and I want to know how she really is. The look on her face tells me I may have been right to worry.

“I’m… about the same, I guess.”

She looks at me to see if I’m going to accept that as an answer. I raise my eyebrows as if to say, Try again.

She sighs. “It was better at first. I was doing really good when I first got back, trying to be more balanced, you know. That sort of helped. But, then again, not really. Back in March, two kids attempted suicide, within a week of each other.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Marcel is doing a lot better now. He just needed some counseling I think and seems to be okay. We’re still worried about Ophelya though. She just struggles. They have her on antidepressants, but now the doctors are wondering if she has bipolar disorder.” She sighs and picks at her sandwich. “Stuff like that… it’s almost more than I can handle. I’ve come close to quitting a couple of times.”

I’m surprised, but not. This girl is really torn.

“Then I feel bad because here these kids have real problems and I’m just over here whining.”

“You’re not whining.”

“It feels like it.”

“You’re an empath with compassion fatigue.”

She blinks at me. “What?”

“Empaths are people who kind of absorb the emotions of people around them. Or even just people they hear about. Do you have trouble watching the news?”

She just nods, watching me, thinking.

“My mom did, too. Dad would have to keep her up-to-date on the important stuff because it was too much for her to watch all the other crap. Like, she’d keep thinking about the family who died in a house fire or would have a hard time getting to sleep because there’s a little girl who went missing.”

“Me too! I can’t watch the news either.”

I nod. “You people are like sponges. You have to be careful.”

“What’s compassion fatigue?” She tucks her long hair behind her ear. “I think I can guess, but I’ve never heard of that.”

“I hadn’t either until last year. It’s just the term they use for what you have. I once had a conversation with a woman who left a career in nursing because she wore herself out. I guess it’s pretty common in fields like that and we talked about it awhile. She said most people try to manage it by making sure they’re taking care of themselves and stuff, but some end up finding different work and that’s what she decided to do.”

“What did she end up doing instead?”

“She’s an accountant.”

Whitney’s eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding? That’s a big change. Did she like it?”

“She said she did. Sounds boring as hell to me, but to each their own.”

“Hmm.” Whitney takes a bite of her sandwich and looks out at the field thoughtfully. There’s a congregation of soccer kids and their parents gathering. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can leave my kids, but it’s been really hard this year. I need to figure something out though, because I can feel it coming to a head. I can’t go on like this forever, you know?”

Uh, yeah. I can relate.

“If you were to quit, have you thought about what you would do instead?”

She takes a drink of her soda, then puts the cup back on the grass. “Yeah, but everything else I think of would lead to the same problem eventually.”

“Why? What else have you thought of?”

“I don’t know. I did think about something like nursing. I don’t know.”

“You just want to help people,” I say, then take a bit of my sandwich.

“I really do.”

I think about the possibilities as I finish my bite. “Maybe something that’s more administrative and less hands on.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s tempting to think about her making a career change that would, conveniently, bring her to Swan Pointe. There are plenty of people here she could help. But Whitney’s problem is, well, her. Her greatest strength is also her greatest weakness.

The other problem is, well, me. Even if she came here, could I stay?

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Chapter 20

Whitney

After lunch, Connor gives me a whole list of things we could do. Some of them are activities the resort provides, and which he now oversees. The resort is partially known for its adventures—zip lining, scuba diving, kayaking. Some of his other suggestions are things we could do in Swan Pointe.

What I really wanted to do though was go out on his boat, so we end up spending the afternoon lazily heading up the coast. We’re on the upper bridge, caressed by the soothing ocean breeze. The weather’s been perfect. There’s a rear bench seat for passengers up here, but I’m sitting in the co-pilot chair and Connor’s in the captain’s chair next to me, his hands casually on the wheel. He’s answered my many questions about the control panel—which is far less extensive than the one in the pilothouse downstairs—and even let me steer the boat for a while. That was fun, but I’m content to let him be in charge.

We’ve talked about anything and everything under the sun, it seems. He’s entertaining me now by naming his many injuries and scars. I don’t have a single broken bone to my name, but he got his first fracture when he was just six years old, from jumping off the top bunk at a cousin’s house. Since then he’s broken an arm cliff diving, the same arm again during an extreme kayaking trip that included taking his kayak down a series of actual waterfalls, and his left shin bone from a “dumb ass move” that involved a trampoline and a roof. He’s had a torn rotator cuff and six stitches from a skateboarding accident.

“Geez,” I say, eyes wide. “It’s amazing you’re still in one piece.”

“Eh,” he says lightly, “I’ve got crazy good luck.”

“How do you figure?”

“I got bucked off a horse once, in Australia. Walked away without a scratch on me.”

I laugh. “Well, I guess that settles it, then.”

Our conversation takes a few more leisurely turns, and soon I’m telling him about the dreadful listlessness I felt in college. I changed my major twice before making myself stick with something, anything (Sociology won out purely by default). “I had the same problem in high school. I took graphic design, speech, drama, even metalworking. It’d be fun at first, but by the time the semester got over, I’d be bored with it. The only thing I’ve ever found I’m passionate about is helping these kids.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a wandering spirit of your own. Too many things interest you to settle for just one.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

But none of those things made me feel alive, and that’s something Connor does. It’s like some of his adventurous spirit comes inside me and makes me feel ready for anything. Maybe that’s the ‘empath’ in me, just absorbing his emotions, but it doesn’t seem like it. It’s more like Connor reminds me of who I really am, things I’ve forgotten about myself. Like the dancing last night. How long had it been since I’d gone dancing, even though I love it so much?

“I wonder if we should head back,” he says. “By the time we get to Swan Pointe, it’ll be time for dinner.”

“Or we could just eat dinner at a port somewhere.”

He gives me a big grin, a little fire in his eyes. There’s that wandering boy. “Now that’s the spirit. I know a good place in Redwood City.”

I grin, suddenly reminded that I’ll be on a flight to San Francisco tomorrow. It’s not the first time today this unpleasant fact has rudely intruded on my otherwise pleasant thoughts. We have another goodbye coming. Already.

Only it doesn’t feel inevitable this time. This time, it feels like we have a choice. San Francisco isn’t that far. This doesn’t have to be the end, does it?

But I fear that’s not what he wants. When he kissed me in the labyrinth, he was worried about making the next goodbye too hard. Does that mean he sees our goodbye as inevitable? For all I know, his inability, or unwillingness, to make promises is no different than it’s always been and he just won’t want to go there.

I deliberately shove these thoughts away. It’s what I’ve done all day, any time I remember the situation we’re in. I don’t want to obsess and ruin things. I just want to be here, with Connor and the wind, and enjoy how good it feels to be alive.

I slide off my chair and stand close to him, my arms around his shoulders. Still hanging onto the wheel, he pulls me in close. “Sounds perfect.” I lean in to give him a kiss. Our lips are soft on one another, our breaths warm and steady. It’s a short kiss, but when I pull back he keeps me close. He lowers the throttle, slowing us down, then brings his hand off the wheel and to my face and kisses me again. We linger this time, and I feel the heat rising inside myself. I can’t tell if it’s my body feeling it, or something deeper.

He returns to the wheel out of necessity, giving me a smile. I stay close, arm still around him, and allow myself the luxury of enjoying the view.

Connor, I mean. Because he’s just so lovely to look at.

He catches me doing it and grins at me. “What are you thinking, missy?”

Dirty, dirty things. I lean over to whisper in his ear, my breasts gently pressing against his arm. “If you knew, it’d distract you from driving the boat.”

I peek at his profile, pleased to I got the reaction I’d hoped for, then gently take his earlobe between my teeth.

He exhales deeply, then tightens his arm around my waist. “Well now. I’d hate for you to distract me.”

He doesn’t sound like he’d hate it at all. In fact, I think I could get him to beg if I really wanted to be naughty. I slowly kiss his neck, rubbing my hand along his firm chest. I lower my hand to his stomach. My mouth to his shoulders. I bend my knees and slide down his body as my hand goes to his growing bulge.

“Uh…” he says, as I start to undo his pants.

“Eyes on the water, baby.”

When this guy gets hard, he doesn’t mess around. He’s already taut and ready for me, springing loose as I open his fly wide.

“I need a drink,” I say, as I take it into both hands.

“Jesus, Whitney,” he says thickly, but he angles himself to give me more room. When I take the warm tip into my mouth and slowly start working my way down, he exhales deeply and angles himself even more.

Can I say, his cock is just as glorious in my mouth as it is between my legs. Which, by the way, is dripping wet as I work him into a state of tortured agitation. Soon he’s clutching the back of my head and groaning deeply, his hips moving toward my mouth hungrily. I’m hungry too, tasting him greedily while I pump the base of his shaft with my hands. When he finally releases, I’m throbbing so much myself I know it wouldn’t take much to get me off.

“Damn,” he says afterward, panting and tucking himself back in with one hand, still steering the boat with his other.

He looks weakened and glowing and is having a hard time catching his breath. I grin.

Cock ninja. That’s me.

I sink into the co-pilot seat and cross my legs alluringly. He gives me a hungry look. “I wish I could fucking drop anchor right here and return the favor.”

I only lick my lips and smile, confident he’ll find a way sooner rather than later. I’m not wrong.

We finally get to Redwood City and he finds a space in the marina, but hauls me down to the main saloon and eats me out right there on the couch before I even get off the boat.

By the time we’ve had dinner and are heading back, the temperature has dropped considerably, so he’s driving from the interior wheelhouse instead. There’s no copilot chair here, so I’m stretched out on my side on the soft bench seat that runs along the back. I’m feeling the effects of an afternoon of sun, too little sleep, and perhaps too much wine. The Moscato at the restaurant was amazing, so I had three glasses.

“You look ready to crash.” He winks at me and turns the wheel ever so slightly as he keeps us on course.

“I only got four hours of sleep.”

“That’s not my fault,” he says, laughing.

I grin, getting warm at the memory of what we were doing last night instead of sleeping. “Aren’t you getting tired?” I feel badly that he still has to get us home.

“Nope.”

“That’s good. I could fall asleep right here.” I settle in deeper.

He smiles at me. “Go ahead.”

I close my eyes and sigh, still smiling. How does he make me feel so content and so alive at the same time? “Maybe when I wake up, we’ll be in China.”

I open my eyes to grin at him. He’s watching me. I see I should be careful what I say to my impulsive captain over there.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says seriously, and goes back to watching ahead.

I’m surprised to realize that part of me wasn’t kidding. How exciting it would be to just take off and go somewhere? Anywhere. Part of me wants to do that with him. Part of me thinks I could do that with him forever.

But could I?

As much as I love being out on this boat with him, I think about the fact that this was his only home for four years, with no end in sight. When I really think about what it would be like if this were my home… only this? For life?

It’s unsettling.

I honestly don’t know how Connor did it.

It’s dark by the time we pull into the marina and are tying the boat to the slip. Connor shows me how to tie the knot so it doesn’t come undone, then lets me try. He’s crouching right beside me, guiding me when I forget the next step. When the knot’s done, I ask if we can undo it so I can practice once more.

He smiles and undoes the knot, the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves with speed and precision. “Here you go.” He hands me the rope.

This time I remember all the steps, and when the rope’s secure I grin at him. “Hooray!”

He laughs and puts his hand behind my neck so he can pull me in for a kiss. “Good job,” he says as we come apart, but he keeps his hand there and I stay close. I raise my eyebrow at him as if to say, wanna have some fun? He gives me that slow smile that heats up my insides.

We kiss again, going deeper, slowly coming to a stand so we can pull each other into an embrace. We stand right there, arms and hands roaming, tongues moving together, and the heat rising and rising until we break, panting slightly. He leads me inside.

When we get to the master stateroom, he brings me into his arms and kisses me again, but it’s not hurried. His hands move from my face, to my back, to my hair, then to my face again. He’s steadily backing me up, kissing and caressing me. It’s so slow and intimate and deep. He’s so tender with me, I’m melting right here in his arms.

My hands slowly explore him too: his firm chest, his broad shoulders, the hint of stubble on his jaw, his strong arms, his hard back. When I feel the wall behind me, and he presses gently against me, I slip my hand over his rear and squeeze.

We’re fully clothed, standing up, and already I feel like Connor is making love to me. Oh god, I can’t fight this. I don’t want to. I want to know what it’s like to have Connor make love to me, just once. I kiss him with all the feeling in my heart, longing for him even though he’s right here.

He pulls away just slightly, holding my face with both his hands, holding my eyes with his. Our breaths are hot and shallow. We’re just looking at one another, and our gaze deepens. I look at him, and slide right in.

Still holding each other’s eyes, we slowly start removing our clothing. When we’re both completely nude, he brings me to him, my bare chest against his. I’m falling.

We move to the bed and he sinks on top of me. His hard desire presses against my throbbing folds. I want him. Not just him inside me, but him. My heart starts to ache.

He kisses me and caresses me so lovingly. I’m doing it right back. We don’t stop kissing as he reaches for the drawer next to the bed. I hear the crinkling of the little package as he pulls out a condom, the soft pant of our breaths, and we don’t stop.

We roll over, me on top now. He opens the package, and we break our kiss just for a moment as he finishes the job and rolls it on. I watch his face, then dip down and kiss his jaw.

I tug on him indicating I want to go back to the way we were. He rolls us back over. I sigh with satisfaction as his weight settles on me. I run my hand into his hair and slowly wrap my legs around his waist. Cupping my jaw with one hand, he takes hold of himself with the other and gradually slides inside me. I exhale softly and tilt my head back, unable to maintain our kiss as he stretches and fills me.

He kisses my neck and tucks his arm under my shoulders to embrace me. My grip tightens in his hair and around his waist. I bring my eyes to his. Holding my gaze, his parted lips just brushing against my slightly open mouth, he rocks inside me.

My heart is aching, but I don’t pull back. No one’s ever made love to me the way Connor is right now. We move as one, kissing and caressing, our hot breaths blending together.

I feel him in the core of my being. His soul is brushing against mine, feather light and on fire.

As our pace quickens and our kisses alternate with shallow gasps for breath, our eyes never leave the other. I watch the pleasure climbing on his face. I allow him to watch mine as well. When the pleasure peaks so much that I can’t keep from closing my eyes and whimpering before looking at him again, his eyes never lose their heat or tenderness. This is how it goes on. Connor strokes me and our mouths come together and away, eyes close then open, searching for one another.

When our movements become more intense, he grips the back of my head. I tuck my nose into the crook of his neck. I’m stretching more and more open and he’s getting harder and harder and I almost can’t breathe. I gasp and press my forehead against his neck. He grips my shoulder, grips my hair, sucks on my neck, increases his speed, and I cry out once, twice, as my impending orgasm grips my entire body. “Yes,” I gasp, hanging on to his back, his muscles hardening as he climbs too. “Ye—” I gasp for breath, stretching open hard. “Yes,” I bite out.

His hand grips my head and he pushes me to a shuddering peak. I let out a long cry of release as he works himself even faster. When he stiffens and moans himself, the waves of pleasure are pumping through me so hard I hear the blood pulsing in my ears.

And still I hang on to him. And he hangs on to me. Our holds on one another stay firm as we ride it out together. It goes on and on, and when I come down, I come down slowly, throbbing with pleasure.

And pulsing with shock. Because this makes things different now.

As we gradually relax and slow, our grip on one another softens, but we’re still tucked into one another. His hand still cradles the back of my head. He strokes my hair lovingly, and puts a tender kiss on my shoulder.

I become more his than I’ve ever been.

By the time we get back to his place, I’m shaken. We walk into the living room, but instead of going up the stairs, I sink onto the couch, rubbing my forearms.

“Are you okay?” He sits next to me. “You’ve been really quiet.”

I’m looking at the floral vase on the table next to the chair, the satin throw pillow, the ornate lamp. I’m scared to tell him what I’m thinking.

“What’s wrong?”

“This stuff doesn’t really seem your style,” I say, stalling.

“Well, that’s because it’s not. It’s Lizzy’s style. This is her place.”

I look at him full on, my mood getting even more serious. “Because you’re only here temporarily?”

He’s watching me carefully, trying to figure me out. “I don’t want to get a place until I know what I’m doing.”

Now it’s all starting to sink in. “So all this furniture is hers?”

He nods. “What’s wrong?” he asks again, concerned but still trying to work out what’s going on.

“Is there anything you own you couldn’t pack on your boat and take with you if you left?”

He hesitates. The look on his face tells me he understands what this conversation is about now. “Does the car count?”

I don’t know if that counts. He would have to buy a car to use here regardless of his ultimate decision, right? “Did you buy it, or are you borrowing it?”

He sighs and takes my hand into his. “Neither. I inherited it.”

“So you haven’t done anything to put down roots here?”

“I’ve… spent the last eight months working here. That’s something.”

I nod. “Yes. It is. But you don’t know if you’re staying or not.”

“No. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” I try to ask like it’s no big deal, but my voice betrays my emotions and I’m starting to tear up. Shit. I didn’t want to do this. I turn my head away, blinking back the tears and trying to get myself under control.

“Whitney…” he says softly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this difficult.”

“You’re not…”

“It’s just that I… I think I—” I abruptly stop myself from saying what I was going to say and just as quickly change tracks. “I know you said we shouldn’t start again because it would be too hard so I shouldn’t complain but I think I’m falling for you.” And there it is. The thing I wasn’t going to say just two seconds ago. I close my eyes and fall back against the couch. I press my palms to my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“No I….” He gently pulls my hands down from my face and holds my eyes. “I’m pretty fucking fond of you, too,” he says thickly. My heart starts to pound. “More than fond.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye again.” I hate the pleading sound in my voice.

“I don’t either.”

I exhale in frustration. We didn’t want to say goodbye last time, but that’s not what I mean. “I mean, I really, really don’t want to say goodbye.”

He puts his hands on either side of my face and hold my eyes. “I know what you mean. I don’t either.”

He has my attention now. Does he mean what I think he means? “What are you saying?” I’m afraid to hope, but of course doing it anyway.

“I’m saying… things are different now.” His thumb strokes my jaw. “Would you be open to a long distance relationship?”

My heart lifts and my lips part as I exhale softly in relief, but I’m still holding back on the reins. My brain is spinning. What does he mean things are different? “So, the thing about not being able to make promises. You feel you can now?”

He hesitates. I hold my breath. He takes my hands inside of his and looks at them.

“I want to say yes, but the honest answer is I don’t know.”

My heart falls. “So how are things different?”

“They’re different,” he looks at me, “because before I would’ve said I definitely can’t make promises. But now… I don’t know. Maybe I can. Look, we don’t have to talk major commitments right now. But,” he looks at me earnestly, “I want to at least try things. Don’t you? No, I can’t make promises, but I don’t know if anyone could make promises at this early stage. Not even normal people.”

I let out a small laugh. “Normal people, not hopeless wanderers?”

He smiles. “Right. I mean, are you in a place where you could make the ultimate promise to me?”

I don’t know. Maybe. But I see his point.

“But I do know this.” He takes my face in his hands again. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever. This—” He strokes my cheek so tenderly I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know this kind of feeling really existed. I can’t let you go, Whitney. Not again.”

My heart lifts right out of my chest and I don’t want to stop it this time. “So it’s not goodbye?” I start to smile.

He shakes his head, smiling too.

I’m so relieved, I don’t just kiss him. I kiss him over and over and crawl onto his lap and give him a full body hug. He laughs and hugs me too, and when I pull back to look in his face, his eyes have a spark in them that I feel in my heart. We’re both past smiling. We’re beaming at each other.

“This makes me so happy,” I say.

“Me too.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t live too far.”

“It doesn’t matter how far away you are. I’d cross the globe for you.”

I’m still grinning at him. “You’d cross the globe for a hat.”

He laughs, then holds my face again and gets that serious look in his eyes. “You’re worth far more than a hat.”

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Chapter 21

Connor

I really hope I don’t fuck this up. But things are to the point where I have to at least try. The thought of Whitney leaving and that being the end of things was driving me crazy. Her actually leaving wasn’t great either, but we’ve made plans to see one another again next weekend, so that helps. Today’s Monday, so I only have four more days before I get to see her again. I’m taking off early on Friday and flying up there.

I’m seriously considering buying a plane. Hell, the resort needs one anyway, doesn’t it? Okay, maybe not. We’ve survived this long without one, true. But if we had a private plane I could see Whitney anytime I wanted. I could send the plane for her anytime she wanted to come down.

Back when I was living on the boat, I’d thought about buying a plane then too. It would definitely make overland travel a lot easier.

But I’m not going to think about my wandering days. I’m going to see if I can do the roots thing.

Even if the thought of a permanent commitment here is just as unsettling as it’s ever been.

I don’t know why. I do like the work here, and it’s no small part of me that wants to stay. Rayce and Lizzy want me to stay. Whitney wants me to stay. So I’m going to try.

Rayce comes into my office, holding a folded up newspaper in his hand and looking cross. Here’s a step I haven’t taken: I haven’t said anything about this to Rayce. All he’s wanted from me is a decision, or at least an indication of which way I’m leaning. I finally have something I can give him… but I don’t feel ready to tell him yet. I don’t know why.

It might be because there’s still something restless inside me, gnawing at me. I hope not. Maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow.

“Do you have the Haven Group report?” he asks. It’s not late. He’s just obsessing. He’s in one of his grouchy moods again. He didn’t use to be this way, but ever since Mom and Dad died…

“I’m finishing it up now.” I glance at him. My hands don’t stop on the keyboard as I continue a sentence I’m writing. “I’ll send it over soon.”

“Can you give me an ETA?”

“Yes. The estimated time of arrival is five minutes after I finish it.” I can’t help it. It irks me when he acts like this.

He huffs and plops the folded up newspaper on my desk. This time I do stop what I’m doing to see what headline he’s showing me this time. It’s been awhile since there have been any articles in the local paper about the resort, or us, and I’ve been more than happy to be off the radar.

Before I even see which paper it is, I see the picture. It’s one of me and Whitney dancing on Friday night. It’s pretty hot, actually, and it’d make for a hell of a picture if it weren’t in the stupid paper.

I don’t even have to look to know this is Rita Becker’s gossip column in the Voice, but my eyes skip over the byline to verify it anyway. Yep, there it is. Headline: “Wild Child Living Up to the Rivers Name?” I roll my eyes. It must be a slow day in Swan Pointe for the Voice to consider my dancing at Martini Ranch to be gossip worthy.

Swan Pointe’s local Indie rag can be categorized by mostly intelligent (if sometimes scathing) editorial essays, trendy feature articles, thorough coverage of Swan Pointe’s Indie arts and music scene, and personal ads wherein local residents can find their next gardener, accountant, or masseuse willing to give them a happy ending. I’d like their publication a lot better if they didn’t pump up Rita’s ego by giving her regular print space.

“Did you see this?” Rayce asks.

“No.” I return to my report, wondering if I need to give Whitney a head’s up. I probably should. She won’t see it in San Francisco, but she should know about it anyway.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“No.”

I’ll read it later. I’m just trying to be difficult. But he’s the one who came into my office with attitude. I haven’t even done anything to him today.

“You should be more careful.” He gestures to the paper.

“We were just dancing.”

“Uh huh. At least have the common sense to go somewhere private, instead of, say, making out on the grounds for everyone to see.”

I glance up. Someone must’ve seen me kiss Whitney in the labyrinth, but I’m too irritated to ask who. Whatever’s going on with him, I wish he’d get over it already and stop taking things out on me. Maybe he’s the one who needs a girl. Who the fuck knows.

“We weren’t making out.”

“That’s not what Olivia Walsh said. She came to Lizzy crying because she saw you and that girl making out in the gardens.”

“Her name is Whitney, and why would Olivia Walsh be crying about that?”

“Because she’s secretly in love with you.”

“Good lord.” I roll my eyes. “Stop being such a drama queen. Do you want me to finish this report or not?”

“You know, you represent this resort, Connor.”

“Yes. I know.” I’ve heard this before. I’ve heard it for years, and I do know it’s important. I don’t take that lightly. But at the same time, you can’t let this kind of gossip bullshit get to you. Rayce knows this. But these days, everything gets to him. He never used to have such a short fuse.

“People are watching us now. They’re waiting for us to screw up and prove we can’t do what Mom and Dad did here. We need to be careful.”

I soften a bit at this. We’ve all felt the pressure of being handed our parents’ legacy years before we were ready. “Everything’s fine,” I say, letting go of my inclination to poke at him and really looking him in the eye. “The resort is fine. And the papers have moved on to the next story. This is just Rita getting her jollies.”

He softens too. God, the way we have to tiptoe around each other these days. I miss like hell the way it used to be.

I gesture to my computer screen. “Fifteen minutes, all right?”

He sighs and nods. “All right. Thanks.”

Ten minutes later I’ve sent Rayce the report and am on to the next thing.

I’ve been feeling restless all morning and am resisting the urge to go the Activity Manager’s office to see if there’s a zip line guide who’d like a few hours off. Not that I ever have trouble convincing someone to give me part of their shift; I don’t want to take away from anyone’s income, so they still get paid. Working the zip line is one of my go-to strategies for when things get to be too much.

You might think it’s Rayce who’s getting to me, but it isn’t. I mean, I don’t like how things are right now with us, but that’s not it. My itchy feet just get the better of me sometimes and I have to get out of the office. I’ll take a group down the zip line or run a kayaking excursion or something. Often I’ll have to work late to make up for it, but it’s worth it.

I’ve been having more problems with this over the past couple months. More and more frequently I’ll wake up, like today, feeling like I’m going to go crazy if I can’t get the hell out of dodge.

Lizzy’s called me out on it recently, too. About a week ago, we were all feeling the pressure building thanks to our upcoming meeting with George Hollister and my continued inability to make a decision about whether or not I’m here to stay. Lizzy confided something I found unsettling: “I fear one day I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

I was offended at first, even though deep down I knew her fears were valid.

She knew it too, and when I tried to protest she said, “Remember when you took your boat out?”

Not counting my recent outing with Whitney, I’ve taken my boat out exactly one time since I’ve been home. At first, I told myself I wasn’t going out boating because I was too busy. Those first several months, that was true. We were beyond busy. After things settled down though, it became clear I was avoiding it. I kept it stocked and maintained. I could’ve gone down to the docks and taken her out any time I wanted. But for the longest time, I didn’t.

Finally, I decided to try it. I took a weekend and went as far down the coast as I could and still be back in time for work on Monday. That trip did nothing but confirm my fears.

I still remember the moment it was time for me to turn around and come back. I sat in the captain’s chair on the upper deck, both hands gripping the wheel, the rough sea winds whipping around me. I let my gaze go soft on the horizon. In one direction Mexico, South America. In another Hawaii, or Japan. I’ve never been to Japan. They were all calling to me from over the sea. But I’m needed here too.

It was a tough battle to win.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” Lizzy said.

“Well, I did.” But she only looked more concerned. “I won’t do that to you.” I still didn’t know what my final decision was going to be, but I did know I couldn’t just abandon them on a whim like that. “I promise.”

She didn’t look at all comforted. It was disturbing.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I believe… you don’t want to.”

That was too much. I still don’t know if it’s because what she was saying wasn’t true, or because it was. “You know, I’ve been here almost eight months, Lizzy. That’s not nothing.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been here right alongside you guys, and yet that doesn’t seem to be enough.”

“No, we appreciate it. It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about? Haven’t I done enough to show I can be dependable? I think I’ve come through for you. Why does that mean nothing?”

“It means everything,” she said, her voice breaking. I can still hear the way her voice broke, and the way her face looked. When she continued, she maintained her composure, but her voice still quivered a bit. “That’s part of the problem. We love having you here and—”

“We?” I interrupted.

“Yes, we. Rayce really missed you when you were gone.”

“I think he’d be fine to get rid of me now.”

“That’s not true. I know he’s been… kind of difficult lately.” When I gave her a wry look, she said, “Hey, you’ve been feeding into it too, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo.”

“Look, this hasn’t been easy for anyone, you know. And I know we keep telling you we’d need time to find a replacement, but the truth is, it’s more than that. We’re just… trying to prepare ourselves to lose you again and it’s hard not knowing when that will be.”

That’s when I really felt like an ass. As if they haven’t lost enough already.

At the pained look on my face, she said, “Don’t feel badly. I’m not trying to guilt you. That’s why I haven’t said anything, but I really think you need to make a decision with your head before your feet make it for you. It’ll be bad timing for everyone if that happens.”

“Why do you both keep talking about it like you know I’m going to go?”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Because. We know you and we see that wildness in your eyes. You’re starting to lose it, Connor.”

Now, sitting in my office, with memories of Whitney still fresh on my skin, I’m determined not to be losing it. I have to find a way to tame my restless side. I have to find a way to make this work. Other people manage to have lives like this. I should be able to do it, too.

Right?

I get a text from Lizzy. I know she’s in for the day because her office door is open, but she must be busy elsewhere because I haven’t actually seen her yet.

Lizzy: Where are you?

See what I mean?

Me: In my office.

Lizzy: I need to talk to you about the Zurwicky wedding. Can we chat in 20?

Me: I’ll be here.

I turn back to my computer and try to focus on the email I’m drafting. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. I take a few deep breaths, and it helps a little. I haven’t felt this unsettled in a long time.

Maybe I’m struggling so much today because we took the boat out. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But I wasn’t going to tell Whitney no.

Speaking of, my phone dings and it’s a text from her.

I smile instantly.

Whitney: I miss you already.

Me: Me too. Four more days.

Whitney: I can’t wait. We get to see each other on purpose!

I laugh. I think about sending her a text back, but impulsively hit “Call” instead and get up to shut the door so we can talk privately.

“Hi,” she answers. I hear the smile on her face.

I sink back into my chair and lean back, smiling too. “Hey. I wanted to hear your voice.”

And maybe that really is all I’ve needed, because as we begin to talk, whatever’s been restless inside of me settles in deep, and grows still.

You’ve been reading Beautiful Mine.