Pocketful of Sand(15)

“Oh?”

He nods. “I don’t live far. Just up the road from you. The cabin on the beach,” he explains. I know exactly the one he’s referring to. It’s the only one that actually looks like a cabin. Emmy and I have passed it each and every time we’ve walked that way. “If you need anything when the weather gets bad, come find me.”

Somehow knowing where he lives seems…intimate. I’d say many people know where this man can be found, but I’d wager that he only told a very few of them. Yet here he is, basically inviting us into his life if we have a need. I feel honored almost, like he’s gifted us with something rare and precious.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He turns to meet my eyes. And, again, I’m held. Effortlessly yet completely. Mercilessly. I feel like I can’t look away. Or maybe that I don’t want to. As though in doing so, I’d risk losing something exquisite. I don’t know why, but it feels…important, like we are slowly building something priceless.

“I can come by and check on you when the snow comes. If you want.”

“I’d hate to put you out.”

But I’d secretly love it if you showed up at my door. Every day. Forever.

He watches me intently before he replies. He says so little, chooses every word so carefully it seems, that it makes me wonder even more about him. Makes him even more fascinating.

“It’s no trouble. I promise,” he says in his rich, gravelly voice. A chill streaks down my arms again and I shudder the tiniest bit. Enough for Emmy to notice, though. She picks up her head and looks at me. I brush several dark strands from her cheek, stuck there where she was pressed against me.

“We certainly appreciate that, don’t we, Emmy?”

She turns her big green eyes to Cole and nods, her lips curving behind her thumb again.

He nods to her just as a bell chimes from somewhere behind the window that leads to the kitchen. I still haven’t seen anyone back there, although an explosion could’ve happened a foot away and I might not have noticed. That is how this man affects me. I should probably be afraid. Only I’m not. I’m more intrigued and more…captivated than I can ever remember being. Than I ever thought I could be.

Jordan comes rushing out, tucking her presumably full cup back behind the counter. She reaches in through the window and takes a bag from a hand that appears to come from out of nowhere. Maybe Raul is just really short.

She carries it back to Cole, holding it out like it’s an invitation to a sex party. “Enjoy,” she says in her throatiest voice.

Cole nods, impervious to her efforts, and throws a bill onto the bar. “That ought to cover it. Thanks, Jordan.”

“Anytime,” she says as he stands and picks up his bag.

Then, without another word or backward glance, Cole walks right out the door. All three of us watch him go.





NINE


Eden



AS MUCH AS I love our little cottage, it must have cracks galore. It seems impossible to heat. No matter how high I turn up the thermostat, it never gets any warmer. It’s not freezing, but it’s not toasty either. Emmy and I both wear sweaters even when we’re inside.

I glance out the window as I pass on my way to the living room. It’s habit now, even though I haven’t seen Cole working across the street since the weather turned so cold. But still, I look…on the off chance…

And today, I hit pay dirt. Through the front window of the cottage diagonal from mine, I see him. My heart flutters in my chest, making me feel breathless for a second.

The heat must be on over there because he’s only wearing a white T-shirt. I can just see him from the waist up, but it’s enough. It’s enough to give me butterflies and warm my cool skin. Cole is standing in front of the window with a few nails clamped between his lips, hammering something above his head. I let my hungry eyes drift over him, drift over his god-like face, over his peaked biceps, over his narrow waist. The material of his shirt has ridden up as he stretches, revealing the very last row of muscle on his chiseled abdomen. My stomach turns a flip as I imagine what that skin must feel like–smooth and hard. Probably warm. Hot even.

“What is it, Momma?”

I jump guiltily, so enthralled I didn’t hear her approach. “You scared me! What are you, a ninja-in-training?” I tease.

Emmy’s eyes light up. “Like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?” she asks.