Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(66)

Alex picked up Emma’s cell phone from the kitchen island and entered his number on it. “I’ll walk with Zoë, Emma, as long as you promise not to move while we’re gone.” He went to hand the phone to her. “Any problems, you call me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Emma said with satisfaction.

Observing all this, the ghost frowned. “I don’t like this idea.”

“She’ll be fine,” Alex said, and swerved his gaze to Zoë. He made his voice gentle. “Come with me. Nothing’s going to happen to Emma.”

She was still reluctant. “You’re in the middle of your work day.”

“I can take a break.” Extending his hand, Alex gave her an expectant look.

Slowly Zoë reached out and put her hand in his.

Something as casual as the feel of her fingers in his made him hot and ravenous. He savored every small, accidental contact between them, the brush of her arm, the silky tickle of her hair against his ear as she leaned to set a plate in front of him. He noticed every detail about her, the bruise on her shin where she had bumped it against something, the flowery scent of the new soap she’d bought at the farmer’s market.

There was no word for this kind of relationship, for the way she made him feel. The clasp of their hands contained something more than shared warmth, more than skin pressed to skin … it felt as if they were holding something together, keeping it safe.

Even when he made himself let go, he could still feel the clasp of their hands and the invisible imprint of that mysterious secret something between them.

Emma settled back into the sofa to watch TV, looking more than a little satisfied. Byron hopped up and crept into her lap.

The ghost stood over Emma. “You little schemer,” he said in soft amusement. “You want them to be together. You have rotten taste in men, you know that?”

Although he wanted badly to stay with her, he eventually felt the inevitable traction of his connection with Alex, and he was forced to go outside.

“I can’t help it,” Zoë said, as she and Alex walked on the side of the road beneath a canopy of big leaf maples and Pacific madrones, the forest ground padded with licorice fern and sword fern, and blackberry bramble in the places where enough sun had penetrated. “I know I’m worrying too much, and micromanaging. But I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want her to need something she’s not getting.”

“What she needs—what you both need—is an occasional break from each other. You should go out at least one night a week.”

“Do you want to go to a movie with me?” Zoë dared to ask. “Maybe this weekend?”

Alex shook his head. “My brother Mark’s getting married in Seattle.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. Lucy’s going with Sam. Are you taking anyone?”

“No.” Alex was already regretting the impulse to take a walk with Zoë. Being alone with her was the surest way to give him that giddy, intoxicating feeling he dreaded, the hundred-proof shot of exhilaration that threatened to crack his chest open.

“Lucy and Sam seem happy together,” Zoë said. “Do you think it might turn into something serious?”

“As in marriage?” Alex shook his head. “There’s no reason for them to do that.”

“There’s a great reason.”

“Joint filing on their tax return?”

“No,” Zoë said with an exasperated laugh. “Love. People should marry because they love each other.”

“People who want to stay in love should do their best to avoid marriage.” As he saw her smile fade, Alex felt ashamed and vile. “Sorry,” he said. “I hate weddings. And this is the first one where I won’t be able to—” He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked.

Zoë understood instantly. “There’ll be an open bar at the reception?”

He gave a single nod.

Another gentle question. “You haven’t told anyone in your family that you’ve stopped drinking?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should let them help you. Give you moral support. If they knew—”

“I don’t want support. I don’t want anyone watching and waiting for me to fail.”

He felt Zoë’s arm slip through his, her fingers curving around his forearm.

“You won’t fail,” she said.

The day of Mark and Maggie’s wedding, held on a retired ferry on Seattle’s Lake Union, was sunny and clear. But even if it had rained, the bride and groom would have been too much in love to notice. After champagne was served and Sam made a toast, the guests filled their plates at the elaborate buffet. Alex retreated to the stern of the ferry and occupied one of the chairs by the railing. He’d never liked to make small talk, and he especially didn’t want to keep company with people who were holding champagne or cocktails. It was strange to face this situation without having alcohol as a crutch. It felt almost as if he were trying to impersonate himself. He would have to get used to it.

He noticed Sam dancing with Lucy Marinn, who still wore a leg brace from her biking injury. They swayed together, flirting and kissing. Sam looked at Lucy in a way he’d never looked at anyone before, evincing the invisible alchemy that sometimes happened to people who were busy making other plans. They had become a couple. Alex was fairly certain that Sam wasn’t even aware that it had happened. The dumbass still thought he was a single guy having a carefree relationship.