“Promise.”
She jumped.
THE FIRE ROARED. THE rain pounded nonstop against the windows, while logs crackled and filled the air with the scents of burned wood and pizza. Wrapped in a toasty blanket, Gen stretched out a piece of melty cheese and sighed with delight. “Sooo good.”
Wolfe munched, eating from the crust downward as he preferred, and mumbled in agreement. “Better than fish.”
“Told ya so.” She licked her fingers and settled back on the couch with a groan of contentment. She glanced outside, where the wind roared and an old-fashioned summer thunderstorm raged onward. “That boat is long gone. Hope it wasn’t too pricey.”
He laughed and wiped his hands. “I just found the sucker in the woods during my morning hike.”
She paused. “What? You didn’t even know if that thing was safe? You could’ve killed us.”
He snorted, leaning back and stretching his legs on the coffee table. “I protected you from the creature from the black lagoon, didn’t I? You almost killed me. Strangling my neck so hard I couldn’t breathe.”
She tried to be mad, but a smile tugged at her lips. He was pretty lucky. She had never loosened her grip and the swim back had been brutal. “Fine. We’re even.”
A comfortable silence settled. She sipped a glass of Chardonnay and let the warmth of the evening wash over her. So nice. She used to crave sitting like this with David, just basking in his company. Enjoying his sharp intellect. But as they continued dating, the moments got further apart. He was always busy doing something, or telling her to do something. Idle hands and such. Until she’d forgotten what it was like to just sit in silence with a man, talking, being in the moment. Was this so sinful? Did every waking second of life need to be productive, with a target for output?
She remembered the way she’d try and fight back, give her opinions, and how he’d crumble in front of her, an emotional wreck. David struggled with receiving love. His parents divorced early in his childhood, and his mother was an absentee, not seeming to care about her only son. He’d devoted himself to the medical field, to achievement, to prove his worth. And he had. But Gen saw the cold glimmer of intent in his eyes, as if he only wanted to cut out his past with a surgeon’s scalpel. When she disappointed him, he reverted. At first she was amazed at his willingness to share his past. His openness regarding his limitations and weaknesses. He told her over and over she was the one to save him.
She’d tried. Hadn’t she?
But she wasn’t strong enough. The constant back and forth between cold disdain, teacherlike discipline, and loving, needy partner began to destroy her. So many times she’d chosen to forgive the way he hurt her because he loved her. But what was real love anyway?
She didn’t know anymore.
Darkness began stealing her peace inch by inch. She blinked back useless tears, caught between the misery of the past and her guilt over trying to save herself. The lives she had ruined by being selfish enough to run away. Coward. Coward . . .
“Sweetheart? Are you ready?”
She shook her head and tried to focus. Wolfe knelt beside the table with a battered maroon box in front of him. “What?”
“Scrabble. Here, help me set it up.” He handed her the bag of letters and she automatically began laying out the wooden tile holders.
“Wolfe, I’m tired. Maybe I should just go to bed.” Exhaustion overtook her mind and body. The idea of having to think of words was overwhelming. She waited for him to agree, patting her gently on the head and allowing her to escape.
“Tough. I’m bored and you’re playing. Don’t forget the rules. You can’t use all medical terms or it’s not fair.”
She bristled, shaking the bag of letters. “You’re so mean and selfish. I’m tired and you’re making me play.”
“It’ll be good for you.” He left to refill her wineglass and returned with a notepad and pen. “What are we playing for?”
She let out a breath. “Geez, I don’t know. I’m a resident and you’re a millionaire. How about money?”
“You’re such a smart-ass. We’ll play for secrets.”
She froze. Studied his face. He seemed serious, intent on fishing out his first letter from the bag. “What type of secrets?”
Wolfe shrugged. “If you win, you get to ask me anything and I’ll tell you. Vice versa. Deal?”
She had nothing to lose. Her spirits spiked and she picked the letter S. Nice. He got an A. Sucker. “You go first.”
Gen forgot how much fun Scrabble was. She used to play tournaments with her family, yelling, challenging each other at every turn. The dictionary was a well-worn friend. The simple complexity calmed and focused her mind, and suddenly she found herself locked in a stiff competition with one of the smartest men she knew. Best of all, he never showed it. Someone looking at him would never know from his casual dress and rough speech how highly intelligent and educated he was. But on the Scrabble board he was frickin’ deadly.
She was ahead a good twenty points and still held a magic Z. It was her game to lose, and she didn’t intend to do it. Her turn. The open square sung to her in a symphony. Ah, the beauty of having an S.
Zips.
He whistled. “Nice job.”
She preened. A surge of adrenaline made her jump a bit on the couch. “Triple word score!” She grabbed the letters for replacement and turned the bag over. “No more letters!”