Page 47 of Art of Love

Chapter Fourteen

Holding Dylan as she slept was one of the best feelings in the world. Her words played over in his head as he drifted off, making him dream of danger and darkness, only to be saved by the sight of her.

When the sun started streaming in the window, she had already abandoned the bed, and he could hear the water running in his bathroom.

He was trying to figure out how to keep her there for the day, but when she came out of the bathroom, she was fully dressed.

When she noticed he was awake, she stilled. He could see that she felt uncomfortable.

“I… need to head to Portland for a few days. If I’m going to go with you on Friday, I have some… details to tie up.”

He stood up and walked over to her, then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until he felt her body melt against his. God, he could get addicted to this feeling, the way she gave in, the way she fit against him like they’d been designed for one other.

“Go. Do what you have to. I’ll be here,” he murmured, pressing a final kiss to her temple. “Our flight leaves Friday at ten in the morning.”

She nodded, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “I’ll be back Thursday night,” she promised, then she stepped away, slowly, like it physically hurt her to leave.

He pulled on his clothes and walked her to the door. Watching her drive away left him hollow in a way he hadn’t expected. Even after just one night with her, one perfect, tangled, laugh-filled night, it felt like something permanent had settled into his bones.

He stood at the door for a few minutes after the sound of her car faded down the road, staring out at the slow sway of the trees along the cliffs.

Then he got to work.

Tending to the horses grounded him. Blaze gave him attitude for showing up late for feed time, and Misty nuzzled at his pockets with practiced pickpocket finesse.

He took both out for exercise until they were all sweaty and worn out. By the time he finished cooling them off and refilling water troughs and spreading new straw, his muscles were warm and his mind had quieted.

Next, he tackled the yard around the lighthouse, a sprawling, stubborn patch of land that Max had clearly overestimated when he bought the damn mower. The machine looked more like a spaceship than a piece of lawn equipment. It had a touch screen, GPS mapping, and a warning label in six languages.

It also made Abe curse like a sailor for the first fifteen minutes.

Once he got the hang of it, though, there was something peaceful about the work. He was now thinking of getting the same mower for his place.

He loved the smell of fresh-cut grass, the distant cry of gulls, the hum of the ocean meeting the shore below. He took his time, edging the old pathways near the lighthouse and clearing the overgrown slope by the west cliff. By late afternoon, he was sunburned, sore, and satisfied.

Thursday morning, with the chores mostly caught up, he headed into town for milk, coffee, and maybe something frozen that wasn’t cold turkey sandwiches.

In a small town where people tended to know everyone’s business, he still managed to get second glances. He should have worn a ball cap and sunglasses.

It started with a couple in the parking lot, older, visiting from out of town, judging by the matching T-shirts that read Pride: A Whale of a Good Time! The woman nudged the man, whispered, then turned towards him with wide eyes.

Abe ducked his head and moved faster, slipping into the grocery store like he was avoiding the paparazzi.

He wasn’t in the mood for selfies. Not today.

This morning he’d made a list of potential men Kara could have been seeing. Besides himself.

The emotional bomb that Dylan had dropped on him the other night about Kara sleeping with someone the night that she’d died had him rethinking their entire time together.

Now his mind kept replaying that news on a loop while his body shuffled through Pride’s local grocery store like a grumpy incognito celebrity. Since he didn’t have a hat, he pulled his hoodie up to hide some of his face.

He was halfway through the produce aisle when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of two people failing very badly at whispering.

“Oh my god. That’s him.”

“From the underwear ads?”

“And the music video where he’s playing guitar shirtless in the rain!”