With This Wish (Windswept Bay Book 9) Page 6

  Couldn’t let her slide gently into the night like the sun had faded…she hadn’t only died that day—she’d died for him. It wasn’t something he could let fade away. It wasn’t something he could seek to replace.

  Not even if he’d been feeling the need to move on.

  It wasn’t right.

  Despite knowing her almost irresistible neighbor and treehouse contractor extraordinaire had been working outside her cabin all day, Lilly was on a roll. And thank goodness for it. She’d promised to stay out of his hair, to let him get on with his work and by golly, she was going to do it. The fact that her book had taken on a life of its own was a very good thing. As she’d sat there, fighting the urge to go see whether he’d brought her a cup of coffee—strictly an excuse to go check him out that morning—her story-telling mind had taken a turn in the story that she hadn’t expected and she’d dove for the computer. She loved it when her characters suddenly came to life in her thoughts and stole the story, taking her on their story journey—not the one she’d planned…not that she ever plotted extensively. But when her characters came alive enough in her head to take over the story, it was a treat for her because she was now on the same journey of discovery that her readers would be when reading it.

  When these moments happened, that was when she disappeared. She drank hot tea and wished for coffee—pots of coffee—but it wasn’t in the house, so she settled for the green tea and honey and pretended she loved it…ack, ack, ack! She ate peanut butter on a piece of wheat bread and truly loved that. She couldn’t work on her writing sprints without her main food staple. The beauty of her bread and peanut butter: it worked for breakfast, lunch, and dinner…if she got hungry. But for the most part, she bent over her computer and she wrote, blasting the words out onto her keyboard with the force of a drummer pounding out a rock song with gusto.

  And when—if—she got weary, she laid down for thirty minutes and then started again. Her mind only rested because it had reached its limit and then, until the words fighting to get out were out of her mind, fought the notion of sleep.

  She lost sense of time. She got a call from BJ at some point and texted him that she was writing and would talk to him in a couple of days and then she blocked everything out. Even Trent.

  Trent was finishing up work the following day. He’d managed to shake off his dark mood of the evening before but had been grateful for the labor-intense work of building the landing. He’d started working early. When he arrived, there was no sign of movement in the cabin and Lilly didn’t come outside. He was tempted to knock on her door but didn’t. She was probably writing. After all, he’d been afraid she wouldn’t stay out of his hair, so he certainly couldn’t bother her. Not unless he absolutely needed something and just wanting to see her was not an excuse.

  With the measuring, cutting, and transporting the planks from his workstation to the treehouse site, he was in constant motion. And it had been good for him. He’d found himself glancing at the cabin over and over again and wondering how she was doing. By the time he’d loaded up and headed back to the house, it had been all he could do not to check on her. Her truck hadn’t moved from where it had been the day before.

  He told himself there was nothing wrong with a person not coming outside for twenty-four hours. And she was not his to worry about anyway.

  He had a vivid picture of her in his mind, sitting at her computer with her fingers flying over the keyboard. He remembered how she said she got lost in her stories and he wondered whether that was what was happening right now.

  Better to not disturb her.

  Two hours later, he ate a simple dish of grilled pork off the pit and a baked potato while he tweaked the design of the treehouse. It was nearly eight-thirty when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw it was BJ.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked the moment he had the phone to his ear.

  “Trent, did you see Lilly yesterday or today?”

  “No. I worked at her place but, well, I saw her yesterday morning but not before I left and not at all today. Why?”

  “Look, I’m glad she’s here but I’m in a bit of a spot here. She’s as independent as it gets and I can’t come barging in on her but I’m worried. I called her yesterday afternoon but she didn’t answer the call and later sent me a message that she was working and was on a roll and that she’d call me in a couple of days. And nothing. I figured you might have talked to her.”

  Trent told himself not to be worried. “I’m sure she’s fine. She told me when she gets on a roll or in the zone that she doesn’t like to stop. Or be disturbed. That was one reason she wants to be secluded. I’m sure she’s fine.” He wasn’t but BJ was right: they couldn’t go knocking on her door every time she holed up. If they disturbed her right from the start, she might regret moving here.

  “Look, is there something you can use as an excuse to go check on her? I mean, I thought she’d at least be around to watch you build her treehouse.”

  He had too. “An excuse?”

  “Yeah, like a problem with the plans or something. Yeah, I could be overreacting. She’s lived away from me for years and I should know to keep my distance but now that she’s here…”

  “I get it. We feel the same about Shar, Cali, Jillian, and Olivia. Believe me, when Olivia was living in Hollywood and didn’t come home for a while, we were all ready to check on her. Brothers will be brothers. I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you if something is wrong. Okay?”

  “Thanks, I owe you.”

  He was already headed out the door, keys to the truck in hand. In seconds he was backing out of the garage and heading up the winding road. He had no idea what he’d say to her but he figured it would come to him. He had the plans rolled up on the seat just in case.

  Light glowed behind the window blinds but he couldn’t see inside as he parked the truck. He strode to the door and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again, remembering the first morning when she’d been writing in the trailer. It had taken her a few minutes. Still, worry set in when she hadn’t answered on the third knock. He ran his fingers behind the light fixture, looking for the key, when the door cracked open.

  “Trent. What are you doing?”

  He glared at her, tried to hold back his worry and irritation but was sure it showed. “I was checking on you.” The truth might hurt but he decided that was the right thing to do. “Can I come in?”

  She backed into the room and held the door open. As soon as he was inside, she closed it behind him. He stared into her weary eyes and felt everything inside him knot up.

  She looked tired; her eyes were red around the edges and weary-looking. “You look really tired. I haven’t seen you for two days and it bothered me, wondering if you were all right. So here I am.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been working. I’m on a roll and this book is coming fast so I didn’t want to stop.”

  “So you really do hole up and not come out?”

  She nodded. “I told you that’s how I like to do it when I’m in the zone.”

  He frowned. “But you’re exhausted.”

  She might love what she did—there was no denying that, no way she could spend the time she spent on it without a passion for it. And the time obviously got away from her while she was in the zone, as she called it. No way could she do it that way and not love it. It was an odd combination, though looking at her and seeing the weariness but the enthusiasm in her at the same time—something in him liked that passion and energy rolled together in one beautiful package. But he also saw the obsessiveness of it and that worried him.

  He swallowed hard as he fought the urge to reach out and push a strand of that crazy hair of hers out of her face. The want to cup her cheek overwhelmed him and he was hit with the sudden urge to plant a kiss on her soft, pink lips— He stepped back, yanked his gaze off her lips and to the kitchen counters in the background over her shoulder.

  There was a container of peanut butter, honey, and a loaf of bre
ad beside a cup with the string of a tea bag hanging out of it.

  “Please tell me you’ve been eating more than that.”

  “Hey, don’t put down my writing sustenance. Those four things there keep me going. Of course, I suffer through the green tea and honey. What really fuels me is my coffee. But I gave it up. It was so hard and I still crave it like mad. But I’d gotten up to three pots a day.”

  “Three pots?” He stared at her in horror.

  She grimaced. “Well, actually it was four but I weaned myself down to three and couldn’t get any lower—morning, noon, and evening. Ya know. What can I say? Anyway, the only recourse was to go cold turkey and get it out of the house. Now I only have coffee if I go to town and buy a cup. I do it as a reward. You do not know how lovely it was for you to bring me that cup the other morning. That’s why I said I could kiss you.”

  He got an idea. “I get it now. And you’re doing good, I gather.”

  “Better. It’s a struggle sometimes. But when I get in the zone, I can forget about it and drink green tea with honey to give me a little energy…doesn’t do what the caffeine does but it helps. And part of the addiction is simply the comfort of picking up a warm cup.”

  She was rambling and he could not help smiling. He also thought he knew just how to get her out of the house for a little while. “I suggest that you deserve a cup of coffee right now. You said you’ve had two very productive, creative days working on your book. And, though I don’t drink coffee, I do think that I deserve a milkshake for working so hard on your treehouse.”

  Her eyes had widened as he spoke. Had he completely lost his mind? He needed to stay away from her on a personal basis but he couldn’t resist the moment. And she did need to get out. And the way her eyes lit up did him in.

  “I think that I could quite possibly love you,” she said with delight and laughed and headed toward the door. “Your ride or mine?”

  He hurried after her. “Mine, though it’s the truck.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect because riding on the back of a motorcycle holding a paper cup of hot coffee is a little more dangerous and adventurous than I really care to be. And if we were in my truck, then I would be driving and I’m really not interested at the moment. Though I do truly enjoy driving. I want to get me a little convertible now that I’m here and I can scoot along the coast to town in it.”

  Okay, the woman completely boggled his mind. She opened his truck door and climbed inside, still talking as she slammed the door between them. He laughed as he jogged around to his side and climbed in—and yes, sure enough, she was still talking.

  She was hilarious and cute and a bit out of her mind at the moment.

  And there was no way he was backing out of this coffee run.

  Chapter Eight

  They picked up one large black coffee and one large chocolate milkshake at a drive-thru near the edge of town. Lilly rode beside him, slumped down in the seat, one hand out the open window to catch the air with her palm as she sipped her coffee contently. She’d needed this. Though riding beside a handsome guy on a winding drive along the moonlit coast sipping fabulous coffee was about the last thing she’d imagined happening tonight. It wasn’t anywhere on her radar but she was doing exactly that.

  “This is heavenly,” she said with a deep sigh and glanced over at her handsome treehouse contractor.

  He stopped sipping his milkshake and brought it across the seat to tap lightly against her paper cup of coffee. “I’ll toast to that.”

  She smiled at him. “Seriously, thank you. I’m loving this. It’s a beautiful night.”

  The last thing she needed was complications involving their proximity after the treehouse was built, so she reminded herself that that meant hands-off. What was it about Trent Sinclair that made her keep having to remind herself of that? “I guess you could tell I was a little wound up.”

  “Yeah, I could tell. And I agree, you needed to get out. That can’t be healthy.”

  She laughed this time. “So are you starting a neighborly trend? After you get my treehouse built, every few days you can come offer to take me for a cup of coffee and you get your milkshake—I’ll buy.”

  “That sounds like a deal.”

  She looked away, suddenly feeling far too drawn to him. The ocean sparkled in the moonlight. Whitecapped waves faded to foam as they slipped inland on the sand and then headed back into the ocean. She wasn’t ready to go home. “Do you think you have time to pull over? I haven’t had a chance to dip my toes in the water since I arrived. And I really love a moonlit beach.”

  “Sure. There’s a nice spot up ahead.”

  Moments later, he pulled off the road. “How’s this?”

  “Perfect.” They got out and headed down the path.

  She sipped her coffee as she followed Trent toward the ocean. She walked straight to the water’s edge, kicked off her flip-flops and stepped into the cool surf. It lapped at her feet as she walked along, enjoying the refreshing feel of the water and the sand.

  Now that he had both hands, he’d brought his plastic spoon and was eating the thick milkshake like ice cream. He paused his eating to study her. “Do you like to swim in the ocean?”

  “Oh no. I don’t go into the water, but I sure do like to have my toes in it.”

  “Oh, I see. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Sure not. Is this section here usually vacant?”

  “Sometimes. It depends on if it’s the busy season. You know, during the day it can be busier but not many people come down here now. My brother, Levi—he’s the chief of police—I wasn’t sure if you remembered that—but him and his guys patrol down here a lot. He takes keeping Windswept Bay safe seriously. Partly because of him, Windswept Bay has remained a great place to live and vacation.”

  “I remembered. BJ said he was a great guy. He’s the first one of y’all he met after Gage was shot. He really likes your entire family.”

  “We like him too. We’re glad to expand our family to include him. And you.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She looked away from him and took a long drink of her coffee and thought about being part of a family. The familiar panic welled inside her; she closed her eyes and willed it to go away. Willed it to ease out like the tide ebbing back out to sea.

  “Are you okay?”

  She opened her eyes and found he’d moved to stand beside her and was studying her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You just looked really sad just now. Pained might be a better word.”

  Her heart pounded in her ears and she breathed deeply. “I’m fine.” The words were a mere whisper but at least she got them out.

  He found himself watching her expressions in the reflection of the moon instead of watching the waters as they lapped at their feet. He tried not to stare but his eyes couldn’t seem to obey.

  “You’re tired,” he said. It wasn’t his business but it was easy to see. And he thought something was suddenly bothering her too. He should keep his mouth shut. “Working that many hours just seems really hard on you.”

  She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. “When I’ve had enough, I quit. I’m not alone in how I work. A lot of authors do this. It’s not uncommon.”

  “I understand that but that doesn’t make it healthy.”

  “True. But I think maybe a writer’s mind works a little different than some people’s. When the story is working, or if a deadline is looming, it can get kind of manic in there.” She tapped her temple and shot him a teasing smile. “And getting the book out is imperative. I can’t sleep well. I don’t want to sleep and trying to force myself is useless. So I go with it, getting the story down until either I’m absolutely too weary to go on or I’m done. That’s how it is for me and many of my writer friends. It would drive me crazy if I couldn’t get it put on paper or computer. I can’t wait to do that in my treehouse. I just think it’s going to be amazing.”

  “I hope so. And I understand you have this process, but you’re sing
le. What about when you have a family and kids?”

  Her expression lost some of its animation and she looked back out at the ocean. “I don’t know if I’ll do that.”

  “Do that?”

  “Have a family. Marry. I don’t think that’s for me.”

  He was startled by this revelation. “Is that because you don’t want a husband and children to get in the way of your writing?” He couldn’t help asking the question.

  She bent to pick up a shell, glistening in the wet sand. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t think family is for me.”

  Why did she say that? Could he ask?

  She stood. “You asked me about family, now what about you? Is one on your horizon?”

  Was family on his horizon? “I think so.” He wanted it, if he could ever let go. Ever believe he had a right to one without Erica.

  “Think so? You mean you’re not sure?”

  “Not really. I don’t think you’re sure either. I’ve been working through some…things. I’m—” He cleared his throat, now uncomfortable where this conversation had gone. “The last few years have been hard. I…” He didn’t want to talk about this.

  She was watching him thoughtfully. “It’s hard sometimes to make decisions that have to do with the future. I know. I’ve been in limbo for years about it.”

  He knew how that felt. It dawned on him that she’d been through a bad loss. “How did you do after you lost your parents?” Her expression faltered and he wondered why he was asking.

  She took a drink of her coffee and took a deep breath. “Not well. I have nightmares about it all the time. Even now. I haven’t handled it well. At all.”

  Her words slammed into him. The impact was harsh. He hadn’t expected her to say that. And the look on her face… “Why do you have nightmares?”

  Her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “I was…in the car when my parents wrecked. It took hours before they were able to cut me out with the Jaws of Life.”