Heroes Are My Weakness(106)

Dear Theo,

I’ve moved into town for a few days to, among other things, adjust to the depressing (boo hoo) prospect of no longer having mind-blowing sex with you. I’m sure you can find me if you try hard enough, but I have stuff to do, and I’m asking you to leave me the hell alone. Be a pal, okay? I’ll handle the Witches of Peregrine Island, so stay away from them.

A.

The note struck exactly the breezy tone she wanted. There was nothing maudlin in it, nothing to make him suspect how long it had taken her to compose, and absolutely nothing to signal how deeply she’d fallen in love with him. She would e-mail him her final kiss-off from the city. You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve met the most amazing man. Blah . . . Blah . . . Blah . . . Curtain down. No encore.

Between her emotional turmoil, the noisy squeak of ropes against the moorings, and the unfamiliar rocking of the lobster boat, she had trouble falling asleep. She wished she’d brought her puppets with her instead of leaving them with Jaycie at Harp House for safekeeping. Knowing they were nearby would have been comforting.

Her blankets slipped off during the night, and she awakened at dawn shivering. She rolled out of the berth and pushed her feet into her sneakers. After she’d wrapped Mariah’s red wool cloak around her, she climbed up to the pilothouse and walked out onto the deck.

Peach and lavender ribbons streamed in the sky above a pearl gray sea. Waves slapped the boat’s hull, and wind caught her cloak, trying to turn it into wings. She spotted something in the stern that hadn’t been there the night before. A yellow plastic picnic basket. Holding her hair away from her face, she went to investigate.

The basket held a jug of orange juice, two hard-boiled eggs, a slab of still-warm cinnamon coffee cake, and an old-fashioned red thermos. She knew a bribe when she saw one. The grandmothers were trying to buy her silence with food.

She unscrewed the thermos, releasing a cloud of steam. The freshly brewed coffee was strong and delicious. Sipping it made her miss Hannibal. She’d gotten used to the cat cozying up to her as she drank her morning coffee. Gotten used to Theo—

Stop it!

She stayed in the stern, watching the fishermen in their orange and yellow gear set out on their day’s run. The seaweed that grew from the dock’s pylons floated in the water like a mermaid’s hair. A pair of eider ducks swam toward the wharf. The sky grew lighter, a brilliant crystal blue, and the island she’d resented so much became beautiful.


THE LUCKY CHARM WAS MOORED at the fish house dock, but Theo spotted Annie standing at the very end of the ferry wharf dressed in her red cloak and gazing out at the open water like a sea captain’s widow waiting for her dead husband to return. He’d left her alone all day yesterday, and that was long enough.

She could have stayed at Harp House. Or at the cottage, for that matter—the island witches hadn’t been within a mile of it. But, no. Beneath all of Annie’s goodness lay an evil streak. She could couch it any way she wanted, but she’d moved onto Les Childers’s lobster boat to get away from him!

He stalked down the wharf. A crazy part of him enjoyed his anger. For the first time in his life, he could be totally pissed off at a woman and know she wouldn’t collapse into a sniveling heap. Sure, he’d been relieved that things weren’t going to get complicated between them, but that had been an instinctive reaction, not reality. Their relationship hadn’t expired, as she’d put it. That kind of closeness didn’t simply go away. She’d made it clear this wasn’t some deep love affair, so what was the big deal? He got the fact that she wanted a family—more power to her—but what did that have to do with them? Sooner or later they’d have to keep their clothes on, but since she wasn’t going to find the father of her kids here on this island, she had no reason to end it now, not when it meant so much to both of them.

Or maybe it was just him. He’d always been guarded, but that had gone away with Annie. He never knew what the hell she was going to say or do, only that she was tough instead of fragile—that he didn’t have to watch what he said or pretend to be someone he wasn’t. When he was with her, he felt as if . . . he’d found himself.

She wasn’t wearing a hat, and her curls ran amok as usual. He went badass. “Enjoying your new house?”

She hadn’t heard him approach, and she jumped. Good. Then she frowned, not happy to see him, and that hurt in a way that made him want to hurt her back. “How’s life on a lobster boat,” he said with something he hoped looked like a sneer. “Cozy as hell, I’ll bet.”

“The views are good.”

He wouldn’t let her flip him off like that. “Everybody on the island knows that you’re living on Les’s boat. It’s like you’re handing the cottage over to those women free and clear. I’ll bet they’re getting bruises from giving each other high fives.”

Her small nose shot up in the air. “If you came here to yell at me, go away. As a matter of fact, even if you didn’t come here to yell at me, go away. I told you I had things to do, and I’m not going to be distracted by your”—she flicked her hand at him in a dismissive gesture—“ridiculous gorgeousness. Do you ever look as though you haven’t just stepped off the cover of a paperback novel?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, only that it sounded like an insult. He fought the urge to tunnel his hands into her tangle of hair. “How’s the search for the love of your life going?” He gave her more of his makeshift sneer.