Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

18. Raphael

Chapter 18

Raphael

“ Y ou’re sure you don’t need me to come in? I make really good tea.” Jenna speaks loudly so I can hear her over the rush of open air.

I’m already reaching for my seatbelt as Jenna pulls her Wrangler onto Lana’s street, though I don’t press the button yet. I give her a smile. “Thanks, but I think I just need to lie down.”

I’ve never bailed on a date before. Not like this. I’m embarrassed at how weak my excuse was— Headache . It’s the same excuse I gave for drinking water at the restaurant instead of the carafe of red she wanted to share.

In fact, I gave her all the signals it wasn’t happening— we weren’t happening—except for asking her on this fucking date. And I only did that to make sure I was going to be the fuck out of the house while Lana’s ex-douchebag was around. Sitting through a barbecue with that guy would be about as fun as bathing in hot sauce.

Still, I can’t stop thinking about how Lana’s smile had dropped when I told her I had plans. How I could see the million thoughts flashing behind her eyes. All I wanted to do was tell her it wasn’t like that. It can never be like that again.

“I get it,” Jenna says. “The restaurant was pretty loud.”

Guilt washes over me. Like hot sauce.

“You’ll text me if you need anything right? I can call my dad if you?—”

“No,” I say, a little too quick. I rewrap my hand around the roll bar of her Jeep. That would be a stage-five disaster. Her dad’s a doctor in Swan River. I think. Maybe Seattle. Fuck.

As Jenna pulls into the driveway, I look up at the porch, already breathing easier being back here. It’s close to ten o’clock, but because this is Canada, it’s only just approaching dusk.

Then my stomach does a little jump, because there’s movement up there. The oversized swing on the far end of the porch, stuffed with cushions, rocks gently. And I know it’s past Nova and Aurora’s bedtime.

“Okay,” Jenna says as she puts her jeep in park. She’s smiling, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

I’m an asshole.

“Jenna. I…had a great night,” I say. I would have. If I had an ounce of interest in this girl. She’s nice. Smart. Pretty. But all I could think about all night was Lana, calling out to me this afternoon.

Lana, telling her ex I treated her girls like they were mine .

The inside of my chest hasn’t been right since.

I rub my hand over my face. “But I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry.”

She nods, her lips pressed together like she knew this was coming. “Mmm.”

I grimace. “You’re incredible, Jenna. Smart, pretty, sweet. It’s not you. A thousand times not you.”

“Then what is it?”

My eyes slant toward the porch. The swing has stopped moving. We’re in a Jeep. If Lana’s there, she can likely hear exactly what I’m saying.

She can hear.

“There’s someone else.”

Jenna’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Then she frowns. “So why did you call me, Raphael?”

Yeah. That’s the shit part. I strive for the truth. A selective truth, anyway. “Honestly? I thought I could do it. Because…I don’t know if anything’s going to happen with the other person.” I wipe my hand over my jaw. But I can’t stop thinking about her.

A beat passes.

“So even if you don’t know anything’s going to happen,” Jenna says, as if trying to figure this out, “you still can’t date anyone else?”

I run my hand through my hair. “No. Guess I should have figured that out sooner.” I give her an apologetic look.

“You really like her, huh?” she says finally, sounding resigned.

Jenna really is cool. She’ll make someone very happy. Just not me .

“Yes.” I should shut up now. But I can’t. “Actually, I doubt there’s any future between us. But if there’s even the slightest possibility of something, I can’t risk missing out on it.”

Jenna studies me a minute, then tips her head back and laughs softly. “That’s really fucking romantic, Raphael, you know that?”

“I—”

“Yeah I know you weren’t going for that. It just comes naturally to you, I guess.” She looks at me and sighs. “Could you be any more perfect?”

“I’m not perfect, Jenna. I’ve got this one tooth that’s kind of crooked. I don’t like tomatoes unless they come right out of someone’s garden.”

She laughs softly.

“Plus,” I say, “I’m kind of manic. And I annoy the shit out of a lot of people.”

“Not me.”

“Just wait.”

She laughs again, but this time it’s kind of sad. “Well, if it doesn’t work out, call me, okay? I won’t wait around forever, but I’ll be around this summer.”

“I don’t think we should leave any loose ends,” I say gently.

She laughs again. “Get out of my car, Raphael.”

I grin. “See?”

I hop out of the Jeep, but not before walking around and giving her a hug. “Bye Jenna.”

“Bye, Raph.”

I should wait for her to go. Then, I should bypass the porch and walk around to my stairs. I really fucking should.

But I don’t even wait for Jenna to start up her engine before I jog up the main steps.

Lana’s steps.

When I reach the porch, she’s in the process of trying to climb quietly out of the swing.

“Nope,” I say, leaning against the porch pillar.

Lana freezes, her eyes meeting mine in the late evening light. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

I glance down at the driveway, where Jenna’s backing out. At the end, she glances up at me. I don’t think she can see Lana in the shadows. If she can, I don’t care. I lift a hand. She does too, though it’s a little tentative. Then she’s gone.

I look back at Lana. “Well?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Well what?”

I fold my arms. “What do you think?”

Lana mirrors the action and flops back into the swing. It’s one of those curved wicker ones, with the chains joining up together into one big O ring, which hangs from a big hook in the ceiling. The hook groans as she shifts. I’d look up, but Lana’s too beautiful in her tank top and cut-offs.

She stuffs her hands under her bare legs next, then thinks better of it and sets them on her lap.

“It’s all right, Lana.” I squint out over the porch railing to the leafy green trees lining the street. “You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.” I don’t regret her having heard me though. I said all that for her, after all.

“No,” Lana says, stilling. “I shouldn’t have stayed here.”

I examine her for a moment, soaking up the way she looks in her worn tank top. There are paint splatters on it. Her hair is nearly spilling out of its messy bun. I’d very much like to reach up and release it. Have it tumble down around her bare shoulders. How would her skin taste, right there, in the soft pale of her throat?

“Well,” I say. “Goodnight.” I turn on my heel and head for the stairs, because I can’t just stand there getting hard.

“Wait!”

My chest floats a little, but I act like this is a great bother. I sigh heavily, turning around. I press my fingers into my hips. “Yes, Lana?”

She laughs softly at my dramatics. But then sobers. “You don’t have to go yet,” she says, so softly I can hardly hear her.

That balloon in my chest gets another puff of air. A big one.

I could say something about her rule here. But I won’t. Boundaries aren’t easy to set and I won’t make a mockery of them.

Instead I just say, “Are you sure, Lana? You set up rules. You don’t need to feel?—”

“I’m sure. Let’s just…put that aside for a moment.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets, making hard fists to prevent myself from not swan diving into the swing next to her. I need to give her every chance to hold firm.

But when she sees me hesitate, she slides sideways on the swing and patting her hand down on the cushion.

The hook creaks again as she moves. There’s something about the vulnerability of that sound. The fact that there’s only one little piece of hardware holding everything together—it feels so similar to our situation. Like there’s just one tiny piece keeping us in place.

For a moment we stare at each other, like we’re daring the other to move. This feels like a pivotal moment. It is a pivotal moment. I just want to make sure she’s making the right choice for her.

Yet even though there’s a whole porch length between us, it’s like our locked gaze ignites something in the air. It crackles like it’s filled with frayed wires.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m coming over.”

What I want to do is make a beeline over there, pull her out of the swing, and press her up against the wall. Better yet, pick her up, wrap her around me and take her upstairs.

But everything’s suddenly too serious. I’m afraid she’s going to spook.

So I take the other tack. I make her laugh. I take my time moseying over to her like a cowboy, my thumbs hitched in my belt loops. I walk bow legged, boots sticking out sideways.

Lana lets out a soft low laugh. But it works, she relaxes, just a hair.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says.

“And you’re purdy as hell.”

I spin around and land with a plop beside her, only a hair too close to be considered polite. Okay, maybe more than a hair. I’m not quite touching her. I lean back, propping my ankle on my knee. Then I fling one arm behind my head and angle my face to hers.

For a moment, Lana’s quiet. Does she regret asking me over?

I decide then that the only way through this is for me to give her space to do or say whatever she needs to. This will be entirely up to her.

I look forward. Then I push off just a little so the swing rocks gently under us.

And I remind myself I’m not a worrier. I’m pretty sure Lana’s not going to tell me to go. I also don’t know if she’s going to do anything else but let me sit with her, and I decide that’s fine. I could live in this space of almost for the rest of my life. It’s delicious.

For a moment, we say nothing, just enjoy the gentle rock of the swing. I sense her softening against the pillows behind her. Maybe enjoying this the same way I am. Like we’re swinging over the rest of our lives.

“This is nice,” I say.

“It’s my favorite place to sit,” she says softly. Then she looks up at the hook suspending us from the ceiling. “Though I do need to get that part looked at. I’m not sure how well it’ll hold the both of us.”

I shrug. “We don’t have far to fall.”

She shoots me a glare that makes me smile. Then she looks away.

A little ping of awareness hits my brain. She likes me. She’s trying hard to hide it. Well I like her. And I’m shit at hiding it.

Then, because I’m a glutton for punishment—or maybe because I like all things out in the open—I ask, “So. How’s Mike?”

Lana frowns, crossing her arms at her ribs. The movement pushes her breasts up just enough I have to suppress a happy sigh. And look away again.

“Same as always,” she says. “Obsessed with his own life. Acting like it’s a gift when he waltzes into ours. Can you believe that thing he brought? My whole backyard is gone.”

I say a silent prayer of thanks for God sending her ex here to remind her of how much better she can do. I may not be good for her, but anyone’s a prize next to him.

I shrug. “The grass will grow back.”

She narrows her eyes.

I grin. “Eventually.”

Then a terrible thought occurs to me.

“He’s not here, is he?”

“God no.” Lana looks horrified. “He’s at the Inn.”

I relax again. That is until she says, “How was your date?”

I meet her eyes again. My mouth curls up. “I think you know exactly how it went.”

Lana’s cheeks flood with a delicious pink blush. “I…” She leans back, her hand resting on her bare thigh. Then she lets out a breath, giving up on denying it. “How is it that even when you’re breaking it off with someone, you still manage to charm the pants off of them?”

“Oh she had her pants on. Maybe you couldn’t see from up here.”

Lana whacks me in the arm. Before she can pull away, I gently trap her wrist, just for a moment. Her breath hitches.

Her skin is soft under mine. It’s hard to see in the dying light, but I think her pupils widened.

“Hey Lana?” I ask.

She still hasn’t pulled her hand away. So I stroke an arc over the soft inner flesh of her wrist with my thumb, pausing at her pulse.

“Yes?”

“You know we’re two grown adults, right?”

Her eyes widen then. She pulls her hand away, shoving it under her thigh. The swing has stilled. Crickets sound somewhere out in the night.

I’ve crossed a line again, but I’m pretty sure we’re past pretending it’s there anymore.

Lana looks forward, not at me. “I’m old enough to be your mother, Raphael.”

I click my tongue. “Technically, maybe. But you’d have been what. Fourteen? Fifteen? Would that have been you? A young teen mother? I can’t see it.”

Lana tugs at a stray string on her cutoff shorts. “My mom had me when she was sixteen.”

“And you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “She gave me the talk early and often. She never let me forget how important it was that I do things differently.”

I study her profile, trying to picture her as a young girl. I can’t see it. I can only see her now.

“That must have felt shitty,” I say.

She glances over at me, her beautiful green eyes blinking softly as if no one’s ever said this to her. “She never made me feel unwanted. She’s been an incredible mother.” She smoothes out the string, white against her tawny skin. “But yeah, I essentially ruined her life. Her parents disowned her, at least for a decade, until her mom passed. She’d planned on becoming a lawyer. Ended up being a waitress. She never wanted that for me.” Lana laughs ruefully. “Now look at me.”

“Okay,” I say. I do then. I take in the way she’s got the perfect amount of life worked softly into her features. The little smile lines, stilled now. The freckle on her temple. A strand of hair has fallen over her eye, and I reach up and tuck it behind her ear, needing to see her with nothing in the way. I let my thumb glide against the soft shell of her ear before I pull away again, not missing how it makes her shiver almost imperceptibly. “You did it, though, didn’t you?” I say. “You did what she wanted and you knew it wasn’t for you. Isn’t that the way to do it? No regrets?”

She swallows. “I don’t, actually,” she says. “Regret it, I mean. I don’t think serving is going to be my life’s work, but it could be. I like being a server more than being a lawyer.”

Lana’s never talked like this to me before. I’m eating it up. I shift so I’m leaning my head on my hand, eyes on her. “What do you like about it?”

Lana considers. “I guess…for most people, going out to eat is like this little micro-treat. They don’t have to cook or clean up. They get to choose exactly what they want to eat. They can sit back and get their coffee refilled and for an hour, they get to just…take a break from the stresses of life.” A beat passes. “My mom…I used to watch her wh en I was a kid. She was like the star of the restaurant. Everyone was so happy to see her. She smiled and they smiled back and it was like…magic.”

I can’t help smile at that as I picture not her mom, but her, bestowing that elusive smile on her patrons. “I bet you make a great server.”

“See, now why would you think that, Raphael? I’m such a?—”

“Kind, genuine person?”

She’s suddenly serious. “I was going to say cold, aloof person. That’s all I’ve been to you.”

I shake my head. “Not true.”

“It is true.”

She runs a hand over her hair, the tawny brown locks slipping from her bun and unspooling onto her shoulders.

I brush a strand from her shoulder, making her shiver, her eyes looking down at where my thumb grazes her skin.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling away. “I really do want to stick to the rule you set out, Lana. You can tell me to fuck off right now. I’ll go.”

She looks at me again, working the corner of her lip with her teeth.

I really really want to run my fingers through her hair, but force myself to resist. “I’m serious, Lana. Don’t ever be sorry about setting boundaries. I’ll always respect those. That is, so long as you want me to.”

She gives me a look like she’s not used to that. I wonder how many times people didn’t listen to her in the past. Then after a moment, she says, “I don’t know what I want. ”

I turn forward, threading my fingers together. I tap my thumbs against each other. Then I tilt my head to look at her again. “I have a question.”

She looks nervous. “Oh really?”

“Okay, it’s less of a question than a theory.”

“I’m dying to hear it.”

“I know you want to keep things clean with the girls. That makes sense to me. I’m their nanny. You’re their mom.”

She swallows. I can hear it in the click of her throat. “Right.”

“But I don’t think that’s why you set those rules up. Or at least I don’t think that’s the main reason.”

“No?”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’.

“Please enlighten me then, Raphael. What was I thinking?”

I meet her eyes. “You were scared.”

Just a smidge too long of a beat goes by. Just enough to know I’m right.

“Scared?” she asks, her voice slightly tight. “Of what?”

“Of feeling something for your twenty-six year old nanny.”

She flushes hard. I can barely see it in the deep dusk, but it’s there. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Lana closes her eyes, shaking her head slightly. But I see the tiny smile.

“Tell me you miss it, Lana. Just a little?”

“The shameless flirting?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes open. “I—” I watch her throat bob, then she lets out a frustrated breath. “Maybe. A little.”

I laugh quietly, and her lips curl just the tiniest bit. Only for a brief moment, then they’re pursed tight again.

“Does that mean I can break the rules?” I ask. My veins heat, just a little. I will them to calm.

“Maybe,” she whispers.

My heart soars like a fucking rocket. She missed this. She wants this. I want badly to pull her onto my lap. To tell her I knew it , not in a cocky way, but in a way that tells her I never stopped believing before taking those perfect pink lips against mine.

But I know this doesn’t mean full steam ahead. The last thing I want to do is scare her off. So instead, I toe the ground, making us rock again.

“Okay.” I say it like this is no big deal. “If that’s what you want, Sunshine.” The hook in the roof gives out a worrying groan as we sway, but I ignore it. There’s no chance in hell I’m getting off this swing.

Lana lets a beat pass, then whispers, “I love it when you call me that.”

“What, Sunshine?”

“Yes.”

I’m fucking delighted to hear this. I try hard not to grin like a fool.

“It’s ironic,” she says. “Because clearly I’m the grump when it comes to you.”

I shake my head. “That’s not why I call you that. ”

Lana looks surprised.

“I call you that because there’s sunshine inside of you, Lana. It’s just behind these blinds you pull so tight.”

She gifts me with a little smile.

“See?”

She sighs.

“Bet I can make you smile again.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

I walk my fingers like legs over the cushion between us, up onto her knee. She lets out this soft little laugh that’s so beautiful my chest hurts.

I keep going. I do an exaggerated bend of my knuckle-knees, then leap up onto her forearm.

She laughs.

I see how the little peach fuzz there rises at my touch. I soak that in. Then I saunter onto her fingers. I nudge her hand over, palm up. Her fingers are curled into a soft fist.

“The thing about your blinds,” I say softly, “is that sometimes”—I pull open her thumb, then her index finger, then the middle—“you just need a little help getting them open.”

Next to me, Lana takes a breath as I trace a circle in her palm with my finger.

Then I catch her eye. “I’d like to watch you, Lana.”

Her hand tenses in mine. “What?”

“At work.” I smirk. “You’ve got your mind in the gutter, Sunshine.”

As she protests, I press my fingers, all five of them, into her palm. I slide each of mine between each of hers, taking ownership over them, forcing them open just a little wider for me.

“It’s okay,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I like it in the gutter.”

Lana’s breath hitches.

I slide my hand down into hers in a possessive stretch, wrapping my fingers over the back of her hand. It’s small in mine. So small and pliable. “I want to see you,” I say, “when you don’t know I’m there. See how perfect you are when you’re not so… on guard.”

Lana’s breathing is shallow. I don’t know if it’s from my words or the way I’ve taken over her hand in her lap. Maybe it’s my knuckles brushing against her inner thighs. Whatever it is, I fucking love the way each little move I make has an exact physiological response from her.

“Good luck with that,” she whispers. “I’ll be able to see you there.”

My thumbnail grazes her soft inner thigh. “And what happens when you see me?”

“I’ll get nervous. I’ll know you’re watching and I’ll turn into this cold bitch again.”

“My favorite.”

She laughs softly. But when she looks at me, her eyes are almost bashful. “You’ll have to…wear a disguise or something.”

She’s playing along. I fucking love it.

“You know what that’s called?” I ask, running our joined knuckles along her soft flesh, inching just a shade higher up.

“What?”

She’s breathless .

“Roleplaying. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s this thing people do when they want to spice up their sex lives.”

“Raphael, please,” she says, her voice strained. She’s laughing though. She’s perfect.

“Raph,” I say.

“What?”

“Call me Raph.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Just try it. It’s not going to make your clothes fly off.”

I bring our entwined fingers up to my face, setting my teeth down over her knuckles. “I wonder what might, though?”

Lana sighs. “Rapha—” she clears her throat. “ Raph. ”

She says the syllable like she’s trying it on. Like she’s wearing my shirt and looking at the way it drapes over her gorgeous, womanly body in the mirror.

And just like that, my cock’s halfway to stiff. Who am I kidding, it was already there. God, this woman.

“Raph?”

“Yes, Sunshine?”

“That’s it. Just a weary ‘Raph’.”

I laugh.

“Hey, Sunshine?” I ask. I shift my hand so it’s wrapped around the back of hers. Then I press her palm against my chest, wanting her to feel the way my heart beats under the thin fabric of my t-shirt.

Her fingers, cupped by mine, splay over me. “Yes?”

Her lips are full and beautiful in the encroaching dark, each word a tantalizing, gorgeous promise .

I lift my eyes to hers. “What do you think about kissing me?”

She swallows hard.

“You don’t want to?” The hook overhead creaks again as I shift, rising up off the cushions, still holding tight to her hand as I angle myself toward her.

“I—” she laughs. “You’re insane, Raphael.”

“Raph.”

“It’s one thing to flirt. It’s another thing to….to…”

“Do what we want to? Like grown adults? If it helps, I want you to. Kiss me, that is.”

She lets out a breath. “You have to stop saying that word.”

I smirk. “What, kiss ?” I say it loud enough something flaps in a tree on the street.

“Oh my God.” Lana looks out into the empty street, then covers her face with a cushion.

I reach over and slide two fingers between the cushion and her forehead, gently pulling it down. “Did you forget how to do it?” I whisper.

“Raphael! I swear to God.”

She’s trying hard not to laugh. I can see it. I love it. I could sit on the edge of her trying not to laugh for the rest of my life.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say. “It’s easy.” I bring my other hand up to her neck. My fingers wrap around her nape. I glide my thumb in front, grazing its rough pad against her pulse.

Suddenly, her almost-laughter catches. Her pulse flutters like a little motor under my thumb.

“The way it works is…” I slide my hand into her hair, cu pping her head. “We get very close.” My thumb scrapes against the soft edge of her jaw and she melts under my touch, like hot wax.

It’s fucking delicious.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, her eyes on mine.

I don’t move, just hold her there, trembling. “Should I stop?”

She bites her lip, releasing it with a little delicious pop. If I wasn’t hard before, I am now.

She shakes her head. She’s so different like this, so coy. So needy for me to take charge.

I make another sweep with my thumb, this time over the fullness of her lower lip. Then I bring my face close to hers; close enough I feel the soft blush of her breath on my lips. My cock is so fucking hard now it’s straining painfully against my zipper.

“Maybe I should kiss you,” I say.

She sucks in a breath.

“That way it’s not…what do you call it? Workplace harassment?”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“And I can’t believe how much you want me.”

Her mouth falls open. “You cocky son of a?—”

I lean in and trap her mouth in mine, pulling her into a kiss so intense that even though I initiated it, I feel knocked off guard. Like a freight train’s just crashed through my chest.

We started with her lips parted, so there’s no hope of a chaste brushing of lips. It’s lips and tongues and the click of teeth. The press of my hand against the base of her skull .

It’s fucking perfect . Like scratching a terrible itch I’ve been resisting. Drinking after being parched for days. No, years. I shift again to take her head in both hands, her soft hair silky through my fingers. I’m so absorbed with how sweet she tastes, how perfect and soft and hot; at the little whimpering sounds she’s making as I pull her toward me; onto me—I don’t notice the creak until it’s too late.

With a rip and a groan, the hook above us lets go, and we fall, Lana shrieking into my mouth as we drop, landing with a thunderous boom on the porch.