Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

38. Raphael

Chapter 38

Raphael

I suggest a ride up the coast as we affix our helmets to our heads. Guilt roils in my stomach that I scared her. But more than that, a hot kernel of hurt burns inside of me. At least some part of her—a part that nearly lost her shit on me—thinks I’d be the person she once assumed I was. A charmer. A flirt.

A man not completely upside down in love with her.

But through the microphone, Lana says, “I’d rather you take me to the old candy store, on Second Street.”

“Candy store?” I’m confused. There’s no candy store downtown that I know of. I’m sure the girls would have dragged me there on multiple occasions this summer if there was.

“You might know it as the empty storefront just off Main Street,” she says.

I freeze. “You know, you’re very good at ruining birthday surprises.”

“What?”

She sounds upset. “Don’t worry, I didn’t lease the place. I just got you a prospectus. It’s not your actual present.”

Just part of it.

“So why were you there with Ida?”

“To arrange a viewing with you. If you wanted to see it. There’s no commitment, Lana. The place has been empty for over a year.”

“Nice to know it’s such an in-demand spot.”

“Does that mean you’d consider leasing it?”

Lana’s pretty little hands bunch up into fists, and I badly want to rip these helmets off again so I can properly take her in my arms and remind her again what I told her in the water. That I’m in love with her and there will never, ever be anyone else for me. So I can kiss the shit out of her and tell her how much I missed her after only four days apart and how much I’ve been thinking about our future together.

But she’s already walking toward the bike. “Let’s just look at it.”

The shop’s only two blocks from here, so I only get to enjoy the feeling of her warm body pressed against my back for what feels like half a minute.

But it’s enough to remind my body how much I missed her in all the other ways too.

When we get to the storefront, Lana pulls off her helmet without the difficulty her mom had. As she shakes out her hair I wonder if she was ever with a man who owned a motorcycle before. The thought makes me indescribably jealous.

And suddenly I understand. It’s not rational, the way we love. It’s knee-jerk and so vulnerable, so closely stitched to our deepest fears. She saw what she feared and so did I.

I grasp her hand and lace my fingers through hers possessively. I’m openly flaunting our tacit no-PDA rule. I want everyone to know she’s mine.

Lana glances around. There’s no one in sight, but she still removes her hand, leaving me bereft.

And slightly panicky. Did something change, while I was gone? Or has she always been pulling away?

I stuff those thoughts down. This is how it’s been with us, and I agreed to the secrecy for the girls. Even though now they know I have kissing feelings for their Mom, anyway thanks to my big mouth. I add that conversation to the list of things we need to talk about.

“Do you want to look inside?” I ask after a moment of staring through the plate glass window. It’s hard to see inside with the lights off and the glare from the long, early evening light.

Lana looks surprised. And maybe just a little excited, which makes me feel just the slightest bit that this isn’t totally going off the rails. “You have the key?” she asks.

“Ida gave me the code.” I reach for the lockbox. “I think she was so excited at the interest I could have asked her to move in while we think about it.”

She remains stony faced.

“While you think about it.”

“Raph, I never said I was seriously considering the bookstore idea.”

“Mm,” I say as I twist the code into the box. “Is that why you borrowed that ‘So You Wanna Open a Bookstore’ book from the library? ”

“It wasn’t called that!”

“It kind of was.”

She flushes as I pop the box. We’re okay.

“Thinking of Opening a Bookstore,” she grumbles.

I grin, but hide it from her.

The key’s a little stiff, but when I open the door, a little bell jingles, and I catch Lana softening at the sound.

“There’s nothing like it, right? The soft little bell, the sound of music. The scent of books.” I breathe deep.

Then I cough, because this place is dusty as hell.

Lana’s hesitant at first, standing in place as she looks around. But she’s got that cataloguing look on her face I love so much. I don’t think it’s things to say that are flashing through her mind right now though. I think it’s ideas. Because I know she’s been thinking about this. That book I saw tucked into the stack on her bedside table was only one thing. She also left out a note the other day, stuffed into a stack of bills in the kitchen. It was a basic balance sheet for opening a store. I know because it said “book inventory” as one of the line items. And because she’d scribbled notes underneath with authors’ names and things like “Talking about needs night?” And “Spicy Book Club?”

The other day I was reading one of her favorite authors’ books, it was strictly about a duke with a huge dong—I loved it—and mentioned the author loves doing bookstore signings.

She’d perked up for a microsecond before organizing her expression with a ‘that’s nice’.

I would never corner her into something she doesn’t want .

But Lana wants this.

As she walks around the space, trailing her finger along the wall, I can see her doing mental calculations.

“That would make a great gathering place,” I say. “Put a little stage there for author panels. Lots of room for chairs.”

She rolls her lips, glancing briefly at me, then away again.

“And you could knock that wall down and have a cordoned off area for book clubs. Or something.”

This time she narrows her eyes, but I can see the excitement on her face.

“Ida said the only reason this place hasn’t been leased is because it’s around the corner. But all the best bookshops are, aren’t they? There’s this one in San Francisco called?—”

“I don’t want it.”

I frown, turning to face her. Lana’s jaw is set, her eyes daring me to argue.

I could tell her about all the clues I’ve found. About how I just watched her walk around this place with stars in her eyes.

I could tell her I know she’s lying.

But I don’t. I just shrug. “Okay,” I say. “Shall we?”

I head for the door.

Lana doesn’t move.

“You coming?”

“You’re not going to argue with me?”

“Why would I argue with you? You know yourself best. You know what makes you happy.” I stride back to her, hands in pocket. “You love your job at the Dinghy. We’ve seen you there. You make people happy. Why would you want to make people happy anywhere else?”

I look around the room. “It’s a shame, really, because I can picture you now.” I look around the room, squinting like I actually see her. “You’re wearing this flowy dress, black. It dusts the floor as you walk around, helping customers who feel like they’ve walked into their own slice of heaven.”

She folds her arms.

“You’re wearing these sparkly little earrings. A sparkly ring, too,” I say, knowing I’m pushing her.

She opens her mouth, looking alarmed.

“I didn’t tell you what finger it was on, Lana, damn.”

Her lips purse.

“You’re heading over there,” I say, pointing to the area I talked about before, behind the door in the back.

“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. This time, she lets me.

“Here,” I say, pushing through the door to a large back room. Back here there are some industrial shelves, and an abandoned leather office chair, its desk long gone.

“This part here is opened up,” I say, indicating the part I was talking about before after a small reno. “There’s a red velvet curtain separating it from the front, so it’s part of the store, but people still feel like they have a bit of privacy.”

Lana stares, her body still not quite yielding beside me. But I can tell she’s waiting for me to go on.

“They need that privacy, because you know what’s happening there?”

She meets my eyes, her lips twitching now .

“You’re leading a discussion. You told all these women to bring their favorite sexy romance book, and you’re discussing how to show it to their husbands.”

I walk her backward, sliding my hands onto her shoulders, looming over her so she has no choice but to go with me. “You know,” I say, “so you can help them teach their husbands how to fuck them properly.”

Lana’s eyelids flutter slightly. “Raphael,” she says, finally finding her voice. “I don’t know the first thing about opening a business.”

“I could help you.”

“ You don’t know the first thing about opening a business.”

“Maybe. But you know what I do know?”

She lifts a brow, as if waiting.

“I know how to research. I know how to become obsessed with something, to stay up all night learning every aspect of it.”

We’ve reached the back wall now. There’s nowhere else for her to go.

I slide my hands up her neck, cupping her jaw. “You know what else I know?”

“What,” she breathes.

“I know how to fuck you properly.”

Lana lets out a little whimper. “Raph,” she says. “That may be so. But you’re not staying.”

I bend down and hover just above her lips, inhaling her scent. “What if I did?”

Her hands rise up, flattening against my chest.

And she shoves me away. “You’re not staying,” she says, her voice surprisingly hard .

Heat rises in my chest. “And what if I did,” I repeat.

“I won’t let you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

She blinks.

“I’m an autonomous adult, Lana. I get to make the decisions about my life.”

I step forward again, bracing my arms around her, giving her space to slip under them if she wants. Or stay with me, if that’s what she wants. The metaphor doesn’t escape me.

She grabs my arms.

But she doesn’t move.

What does that mean?

“You can’t just quit your doctorate,” she says, her voice furious.

“You’re right, I can’t.”

“You have to teach a class there! That was the deal, so long as you were working on your dissertation and?—”

She gasps, shoving at me. “You finished it!” she says, shoving me back, or trying to. I take a step back for her.

“Yes.”

“You still have to defend it.”

“No.”

Lana’s jaw practically unhinges. She presses her palms to her temples. “The meeting. You weren’t having some kind of faculty meeting. You were?—”

“Defending my dissertation. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to scare you. I would have quit, but I think that would have gone badly for me.”

“And you think this is going well?”

I run my hand through my hair. “Not yet. ”

She drops her hands, striding away. Pacing. She turns on me. “You mean to tell me you finished your dissertation and defended it? In a month ?”

“Three weeks.”

My advisor confided in me, teary-eyed, that it was some kind of record. She was devastated when I told her I wouldn’t stay on as faculty.

Lana shakes her head. “When—yesterday?”

I nod.

“When you picked up the phone,” she says, eyes wide. “You said it wasn’t a great time, that you had to go?—”

I grimace. “Yeah, they didn’t love that. But I didn’t care. I told Nova I’d be available for her whenever she needed. There are no exceptions to whenever, in my mind. Same goes for you.”

“You’re insane!” Lana shoves at me, but grabs at my shirt as if unsure whether to push or pull me away. There are tears in her eyes. “You’re fucking crazy, Raph.”

She pushes against me, not so hard to do damage, but enough that she’s telling me how pissed she is. “You can’t just keep knocking through obstacles!” she exclaims.

“Why not?” I challenge, capturing her wrists. “Why not, when I fucking love you Lana? When I would do anything to be with you? I’m telling you in every way I know how that I want to be with you. I want to be with those girls forever. The thought of leaving your life, watching some other man take that place I know is mine?”

I shake my head, bringing her hands to my face. “Look at me Lana. ”

Her expression is unreadable.

“Tell me you don’t love me too.”

“I don’t love you.”

“You’re a liar.”

Her lip wobbles, her gorgeous eyes filling with tears. They’re huge, so full of fear. But so full of want, too. “I can’t love you, Raphael.”

“You can,” I say, pulling her into me. “You do. And it’s okay, you’re safe.”

A tear escapes her eye, and I catch it with my thumb, brushing it away. “You’re safe,” I say. I hope I’m conveying the conviction I feel, because I’ve never meant anything more. “I’ll keep your heart in an iron box, Lana. Right fucking here.” I slap at my chest.

She lets out a sob, and this time catches it herself, with a hand across her mouth. “I hate you, Raphael.”

“You don’t,” I whisper.

“I do,” she says. But then she rises up and kisses me, and it’s the sweetest, softest kiss I’ve ever known. It tells me she loves me, but she doesn’t know how to say it. It tells me she knows she’s safe.

I just don’t know if I am.