Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(57)

"I always cry at weddings," she said apologetically, making light of her tears. They fell unrestrained down her face. And yet she wasn't actually a woman prone to tears. Not until that moment, at any rate. Lowering her head, she wiped them from her cheeks, furious with herself. "Sorry."

Without a word, Nate took her in his arms. He didn't say anything, didn't make soothing sounds. All he did was hold her. It'd been so long since a man had touched her with such gentleness, such kindness, that she wasn't sure how to respond.

Looking up at him was a mistake because she discovered that he was staring at her. Then they were kissing. Rachel had no idea who kissed whom first. One thing quickly became evident: What Nate lacked in years he made up for in experience. The man knew how to kiss. His mouth moved seductively over hers in a way that sent goose bumps shooting down her arms. He kissed her as if she were the sweetest thing he'd ever known; he savored her, relished her.

When he lifted his mouth from hers, Rachel's knees were so weak she felt she might collapse in a puddle at his feet. Caught in the sheer wonder of their kiss, she kept her eyes closed.

Thankfully he didn't apologize or make excuses, nor did he seem inclined to explain.

When she felt her composure returning, Rachel opened her eyes. "That was... very nice."

"Yes, it was," Nate whispered, then cleared his throat. "I'll walk you to your car now."

She nodded. One again she'd been wrong; she hadn't wasted her money. His kiss was worth every penny of the three hundred dollars she'd paid for this evening's date.

All the way back to the restaurant, Nate remained speechless. So did she. The truth was, Rachel didn't know what to say.

She led him to her car and got out her keys. "I had a lovely evening, Nate. Thank you."

He placed his palm against her cheek. "I did, too. But I don't think it's a good idea to see each other again."

"I understand."

"The thing is, I want to."

Rachel was careful not to meet his eyes, otherwise he'd be able to tell how badly she wanted to see him, too. "Life is like that sometimes."

"I know." His words were filled with regret.

She climbed into her car and backed out of her parking spot, hands a little shaky on the steering wheel. Driving off, she saw Nate in her rearview mirror. He stood in the lot, just stood there, watching her. Rachel felt a sense of melancholy as she pulled onto the street and headed home.

Apparently romance just wasn't for her. Damn, damn, damn!

Twenty-Eight

Maryellen's assistant, Lois Habbersmith, arrived at the Harbor Street Gallery shortly before noon. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Maryellen grabbed the unopened letter and stuffed it in her skirt pocket.

"Lois, I'm going for a walk."

The other woman glanced at her in surprise. Maryellen almost always ate at her desk, grabbing a bite here and there between customers. With the summer half over, tourist traffic was at its peak and the gallery staff was often swamped.

"I won't be long," Maryellen promised. All she needed was a few uninterrupted minutes to read the letter. The moment she'd seen the return address, she'd known. The older couple who'd visited two weeks earlier and asked so many questions about Jon were his father and stepmother. Maryellen had suspected it then. Now she was sure.

As soon as she could, Maryellen left the gallery and walked down to the waterfront park. She slipped onto a picnic bench at the gazebo, removing the envelope from her pocket. For a long moment she stared at it, deciding that the sharply slanted handwriting was more likely a man's than a woman's.

Maryellen's hand trembled as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single typed sheet. Glancing at the first paragraph, she could see she'd been correct; his father was the one who'd written.

Dear Maryellen,

I imagine it must be a shock to receive this letter. When Marion and I got your very welcome note regarding Jon and your marriage, we were thrilled to have some way of reaching our son. You see, Jon is all we have left in the world that matters. My wife and I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but we've paid for our sins many times over. Your letter, informing us of your marriage to Jon and the birth of our granddaughter, gave us hope. In all these years, Jon hasn't once acknowledged our letters. He's made it very clear that he desires no contact with his family.

Once we learned that he'd moved onto the piece of land inherited from his grandfather, I drove to Cedar Cove, hoping to talk to him. Marion doesn't know this, but my son threw me off the property. He refused to speak to me. Seeing the hate in him unnerved me, and I decided then that I would bide my time. I prayed that somehow, some way, he'd find his way to forgiveness. Until your letter, I'd almost given up hope.

As you probably guessed, Marion and I were the people who stopped by the art gallery a couple of weeks back. We couldn't get over our good fortune when we met you. In your previous letter, you'd failed to mention that you worked at the gallery.

Your love for Jon is unmistakable. We thank God he found you and thank God you cared enough to contact us.

Marion and I have often talked about this and are at our wits' end. We have tried every way we know to reach our son, to beg his forgiveness and to bridge this gap of pain and bitterness. You are our only hope. Would you act as a mediator? It would mean the world to us if you'd talk to Jon on our behalf. He won't listen to us but I know he'll listen to you.