A Walk Along the Beach(92)

This kiss was real. So real it made me weak in the knees. It was the kind of kiss that made me curl my toes and lean in more, opening to him like a flower in the sun, reveling in the taste, the feel, the scent of this man I had come to love. It was as though he were starving for the taste of me. The kiss went on for several moments, neither of us willing to bring it to an end.

When we broke apart, Sean leaned his forehead against mine and breathed in heavily. My breathing wasn’t any less labored.

“I needed that,” he whispered, his hands twined through the hair at the back of my head, as if he needed to keep hold of me, for fear I’d escape him.

“I needed that, too.”

He pulled away enough to meet my eyes. “Are we back, Willa? Tell me we’re back and that you are willing to be part of my life.”

Hugging him, my arms around his waist, I pressed my head against his chest. “We’re getting there,” I whispered.

“Good. Come home with me.”

“Now?”

“Now,” he reiterated. “I don’t want to be away from you a minute longer than necessary.”

“But don’t you need to unpack and—”

“Yes, but it can wait. What I need more than anything right now is time with you.”

“All right.” I found it impossible to refuse him.

To refuse myself.





CHAPTER 35





Willa


As I had so often in the last few weeks, I sat on the bench Sean had built and spoke to my sister. I knew Harper wasn’t really there to hear me; nevertheless, this was where I came to be with her, to share and chat the way we once had.

We’d always been close. Harper was more than my sister—she’d been my best friend, and the hole left in my life wouldn’t easily be filled. Time, I knew, was the great healer, and while she was gone, Harper would always remain a large part of who I am as a woman. I was learning to live with a new normal, like an amputee navigating life with a lost limb.

“It’s Sean again,” I whispered. “He’s away on another assignment, doing a shoot for an L.L.Bean catalog.” I missed him when he was away. In the last month we’d gotten close, even closer than before Harper had gotten sick. It had all started with the bench he’d built and then his help with my insomnia. Now we spent part of every day together, unless he was away on a shoot. Even then we talked and texted, so it hardly seemed that he was gone.

    I’d been staying at his home when he was traveling, on the excuse that someone needed to be there for Bandit. What I readily admitted was how much I enjoyed sleeping in Sean’s bed. For the most part my insomnia had passed, and I rarely needed to wake Sean in the middle of the night any longer. Although I should confess that I rather enjoyed him sweet-talking me back to sleep. How patient he’d been, caring and concerned, willing to do what he could to help.

He traveled a great deal, but if we were going to be a couple, then it was something I would need to adjust to, and for the most part I had. At least this time he wasn’t shooting in a third-world country and I didn’t need to worry about him picking up some rare disease. I suppose I should be concerned with him being around all those gorgeous models with their perfect bodies. I wasn’t, though. Sean was mine, and I knew it. He’d worked hard to prove he loved me.

“I love him,” I told Harper. “I tried hard not to; it was by far the safer bet for me.

“I’ve been afraid to love him, afraid I’d always be second place behind his camera and career,” I told my sister. “Afraid he would take too many chances with his life and health. I wouldn’t survive another loss.”

I didn’t like to think of myself as fragile and looking to protect myself, protect my heart. There was no protection against Sean, though. He was determined to win me over, and eventually I succumbed.

“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked, not expecting a reply but knowing she had one. “The first time you saw him, you knew Sean was the one for me.” My sister had known intuitively long before I had.

That wasn’t all Harper knew, I suspected. When I’d shared my worries for her with my brother all those months ago, some inner warning, some deep-seated fear, told me Harper was unconsciously aware her time was short. It was all so very clear to me now.

    “Dad is doing well,” I continued, updating her on our lives. “You’d be proud of the turnaround he’s made. He faithfully attends his AA meetings and is making new friends. He loves his job and has already gotten a raise. He’s working full-time now. It’s good for him. He’s happier now than at any other time since Mom died.”

Although I hated to move out of the apartment, it had been for the best. There were far too many memories of Harper tied up there, so Dad and I made the big move to the rental house. It was small but adequate. Dad loved the garage and had turned it into a woodworking shop. When I asked him what he was building, his reply was always the same: sawdust.

I enjoyed how he lavished love on Snowball, who was often found in his lap while he watched television. Growing up, we’d never had a cat, as Mom was allergic. It seemed my dad was a real cat person. Snowball didn’t have much to do with me these days, and I had the feeling it was because of Bandit, whom she chose to ignore whenever he was around.