Untouched: a Cedar Cove Novella Page 4

I spend the next few days ignoring the voice in my head whispering his name, and throw myself into summer activities with mom instead. If she thinks it’s strange that I suddenly want to hang out with her, she doesn't say it. She happily takes us off fruit picking, and driving out to the beach, and browsing the tourist stores in the beach towns nearby. Whatever free time is left, I spend in the tiny photography studio, setting up my materials and developing my first rolls of film. I focus on the tasks in front of me, pretending like it’s not Emerson’s face I see drifting to me in the dark, quiet room, or his arms I imagine sliding around me; his lips brushing against my neck…

  “Tomatoes?”

  My mom's voice cuts through my flashback. I spin around. We're at the small grocery store in town, picking up supplies for Dad and Carina's welcome dinner. I wanted to tell her, the food wouldn't be worth the effort; as long as there's a full bottle of scotch, he'll be happy. But mom seemed so excited, and I knew I could use the distraction from Emerson.

  Some distraction. Here I am daydreaming about him in the middle of the produce aisle.

  I blink back to the present. “What?” I ask, trying to remember what she said.

  “Tomatoes,” mom says again. “For a salad, or maybe a sauce.” Her face lights up. “That’s perfect, I can teach you how to make my marinara. Won’t that be fun? I'll get the pasta, you find fresh basil, and oregano too.”

  She disappears down the aisle before I can protest, so I slowly push the cart on. I send up a silent prayer that Dad and Carina don't stop at a restaurant on the way into town; too many of mom's special dinners have sat, going cold, as they breeze late in with bags of takeout.

  I maneuver the cart around a corner. There's a clash of metal as it hits one coming from the other direction.

  “Sorry!” I apologize, and look up - straight into the blue constellations I've barely finished day-dreaming about.

  “Emerson!” My voice comes out a high-pitched squeak, and I cringe from embarrassment at the sound. Way to go, Juliet. Casual! “So, umm, hi.”

  “Hi.” Emerson stares at me, frozen by a canned goods display.

  Silence.

  Everything from the other night rushes back again, but this time, it’s stronger than ever because he’s right here. In front of me. The hands that held me so close, the lips that demanded everything I was all too willing to give. I can't look away, but I can't think of a single thing to say. My mind is blank, heart racing, and all I can do is stare up at his gorgeous face and remember our kiss.

  The kiss.

  “I..” Say something! Don't just stand there like an idiot. I look desperately around, and zone in on the contents of his shopping cart. “Captain Crunch!” I exclaim loudly.

  Emerson looks startled. “What?”

  “The cereal. I like it too.” I babble. “I have it with orange juice, sometimes, instead of milk. I know it sounds weird but, it's actually kind of great…”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  “Oh, yeah.” Emerson glances down. “It's for my sister. Brit. You met her when...”

  He trails off, but I know what he’s thinking. When I was halfway to giving him my virginity on his back porch.

  Emerson clears his throat. He looks pained, awkward as hell. Like he wants to be anywhere but here.

  My heart drops as I realize the truth: he doesn’t have a thing to say to me. In fact, he probably can’t wait to get away.

  Damn! Why didn’t I see, the reason he didn’t come after me, or try to track me down at all. To him, it was just a kiss. Hell, he’s probably made out with dozens of girls, right there in that exact same spot.

  I’m nothing special. It didn’t mean a thing. I feel tears sting the back of my throat. Behind him, I see my mom. I quickly steer my cart around him.

  “I've got to go. Umm, bye.” I speed away as fast as I can.

  “Who was that?” Mom looks past me.

  “Nobody!” I exclaim. “I just ran into him with my cart. Did you get the pasta? Good, let's go.”

  As I steer her away, I can’t help but glance back for Emerson. But he’s gone. Deep inside, I feel an ache of disappointment. Call it hope, or maybe just foolish day-dreaming, but I felt like that kiss was the beginning of something.

  I turn back, and tighten my grip on the shopping cart, telling myself it doesn’t matter, it never could have worked anyway.

  You’d think I’d be able to lie just fine, with a family like mine, but it turns out, I can’t. Not when I’m lying to myself.

  “Ugh, I’m so bored.” Carina flops beside me on the back porch and pulls out her phone. She taps away at the keys, ignoring the gorgeous beach spread out in front of us, the sea grasses rippling in the evening breeze. “There’s like, nothing to do here.”

  “You could go into town,” I suggest, putting my book aside. “Or take a walk.”

  Carina fixes me with a look. “Seriously? Whatever. We don’t even get cable TV. I’m going to demand we get it installed, I can’t believe mom thinks she can keep us here all summer like this.”

  “You didn’t have to come.” I reply, already annoyed by her whining. Ever since the car pulled up, she’s done nothing but bitch about the house (too small), the town (too dead), and the “like, criminal” lack of AC and decent cell reception.

  Carina flips back her glossy blonde hair and rolls her eyes. “Please, mom practically begged. You know what she’s like, it’s so pathetic.”

  “Now, now,” my dad’s voice comes, amused, as he strolls out onto the porch, carrying a bottle of wine. He’s wearing a rumpled Oxford shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of his threadbare corduroy pants. “I’m sure your mother has a whole program of fascinating activities planned. She wouldn’t drag us out here for no good reason now, would she?”

  Carina giggles at the sarcasm in his voice, but I just feel a twist of betrayal. He always does this, cutting her down, making snide, witty comments about her when she’s not around. Carina doesn’t seem to realize, and I’ve long since given up trying to defend her, so I look away, out at the ocean horizon.

  Dad pulls up a rocker and opens the wine. “Jeanette?” he calls, without getting up. “Glasses, if you will.”

  “I can get them,” I start to get to my feet, but he waves me back, and a moment later, mom appears with two wine-glasses. She passes them over, out of breath.

  “Dinner will be ready in just a second,” she tells him, waiting for approval, but he just pours wine into one of the glasses and holds it out to me.

  “Honey?” My mom speaks up, looking concerned. “Do you think we should…?”

  “They serve wine to children all the time in Europe,” Dad replies dismissively.

  “It’s OK,” I interrupt quickly. “I don’t want it.”

  Carina rolls her eyes again and snatches the glass. “Honestly, mom. Grow up. I drink all the time at college.” She takes a long sip.

  Mom gives a nervous laugh. “You’re right, sweetie, of course.” She pauses another moment in the doorway, then heads back into the kitchen.

  I watch dad pour himself a glass—all the way to the brim—then set the bottle down. Not on the table, but on the stool beside his chair. Within reach.

  Suddenly, I feel an ache in my chest so strong, I have to move. Get up, get away, do something.

  I leap up. “I’m going to take a walk.”

  “Where?” Carina snorts.

  “Just down the beach.” I pull on my battered Converse sneakers and grab my camera from beside my chair. “I’m not hungry, so don’t hold dinner for me. I’ll be back later.”

  Carina shrugs, and dad barely looks up from his book, so I quickly head down the steps to the beach and stride away. The expanse of sand is cool and empty; I put my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders against the ocean breeze. I dig my feet into the sand with every step, feeling the burn in my thighs, and focusing everything I have on the mantra running through my mind.

  It’s just the summer. Your last summer. You can make it.<
br />
  I walk a mile along the beach at least, lost in thought until I see the faint flicker of a campfire further down the shore. A couple of trucks are pulled up on the sand, tailgates down, and people are gathered nearby, dark outlines against the pink-streaked sunset sky.

  I head closer, curious. As I approach, I hear music playing, a song I love. ‘Use Somebody’ by the Kings of Leon. The party is around my age or older, couples and groups drinking beer, hanging out. It looks like a fun time, but I hesitate on the edge of the crowd. I’m not the kind of girl who can just march into a group of strangers and make friends. Besides, I’ve still got this heavy ache in my chest, all these thoughts whirling in my mind.

  Then my heart skips. I see him. Emerson. He’s over by one of the trucks, drinking beer, laughing at something one of the other guys has said. He’s wearing jeans and a dark hoodie, but even in the fading light, I can recognize those broad shoulders and the angle of his jaw; the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.

  I remember what Emerson’s hair felt like under my fingertips. A shiver runs through me.

  He looks up.

  I freeze, unable to look away. The music drifts out into the night, wistful chords on the wind. About wanting someone, feeling so apart from the rest of the world. The moment stretches between us, unbearably tense. Part of me wants to turn and run back to the house, but the other part… It wants to run right to him. Into his arms.

  Then he breaks away from his friends, and slowly walks towards me.

  “Hey. Again.” I gulp, nervous, as he comes to a stop a few feet away from me. His expression is inscrutable, eyes burning into me. “I promise, I’m not stalking you. I was just, walking. I saw the fire, and…” I gulp, lost for words.

  How can he do this: make me forget everything but the sexy curve of his lips? I stare at them, my stomach twisting into knots as I wait for a response.

  Emerson finally clears his throat. “I’m sorry.” he says in a low, throaty voice that sends sparks shooting down my body.

  “For what?” I pause, confused.

  “What happened, the other day,” he explains. He looks away, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t know what to say to you, in the store. I was out of line. I should never have…” he swallows, glancing back at me. For a moment, his face is unguarded, vulnerable. Ashamed. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he adds quickly, looking at the ground again. “I just wanted to come over and say… Well, I’m sorry. You deserve better than getting mauled by a fuck-up like me.”

  He meets my eyes again, full of regret. Then he turns and walks away.

  Confusion crashes through me. He’s the one who’s sorry?

  “Wait!” I call, and start after him. Emerson doesn’t slow, so I grab his arm and pull him around to face me. “What are you talking about?” I demand, “You’re not a fuck up, and you didn’t maul me. Why would you say that?”

  Emerson blinks at me slowly through his long, dark lashes. “But, what happened, on the porch…”

  “I wanted it!” The words tumble out, and even though I blush to hear them, so blatant and true, I don’t stop. The guilty expression on his face is cutting right through me, and I can’t bear to have him think what we did was wrong. “I was there too, remember? I kissed you back!” I exclaim, still holding onto him. “I could have stopped you, any time I wanted, but I didn’t. I wanted it. I wanted you!”

  Emerson’s expression slowly changes as my words sink in. The dark shadow in his eyes melts away, and then he’s looking at me with an intensity I’ve never seen before, like I’m something precious and pure.

  “I thought… you must hate me,” Emerson mutters again, still not certain. “The way you took off like that…”

  “Only because your sister pretty much saw me naked!” I exclaim.

  His expression softens into a small grin. “Half-naked.”

  “Like that’s any better.” I laugh, and just like that, the tension and uncertainty between us melts away.

  We both catch our breath, and suddenly, I realize that although we’re right by the party—the fire blazing, music playing loud—nobody is even looking in our direction. We’re alone, in the middle of a crowd.

  Together.

  It’s like Emerson reads my mind. He glances around, and then looks back at me. “Do you want a drink?” he asks, “Or…”

  “Or…?” I wait. My pulse is kicking, playing out a nervous symphony in my veins.

  Emerson gives me a slow smile. “Or, we could go somewhere.”

  There’s no mistaking the look in his eyes. My breath catches, but even as the voice in my head screams out, “Yes!” I have to force myself to stop and think a minute.

  You know what’ll happen if you go with him. You know where those kisses will lead.

  I feel the shiver of danger, but I can’t look away. My blood is running wild through my body, and already I can feel his hands on me, the memory of their sweet caress.

  I nod.

  Emerson leads me out past the party, towards the dark shadow of the dunes. I walk beside him, but I can feel the heat of his body blazing just inches away from me.

  “Are you cold?” Emerson asks, frowning. “Here.” He unzips his hoodie and pulls it off, draping it carefully around my shoulders.

  I breathe in the clean, soapy scent of the fabric, of him, all my senses overcome. His hand stays on my shoulder, and then he pulls me in against him. I stay locked under the safe embrace of his arm until we’re further down the beach, and the noise of the party is distant echoes.

  “How’s your mom?” I ask quietly.

  He tenses beside me. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Doing better, I think. She won’t talk about it. I just hope, this time…” he lets out a wistful sigh, then shakes his head, as if to shake off the dream. “It’s stupid, I know.”

  “Hope is never stupid.”

  I feel him shrug, still defensive, so I stop and turn to him. Emerson looks uncertain as I step forwards and slip my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest as I pull him into the hug I’ve been aching to give him.

  He tenses up, but I just hold him, waiting until his solid muscles unclench, and he’s hugging me back, our bodies joined for a moment in something safe, and warm, and innocent.

  I wonder how long it’s been since somebody held him, really held him. Since he felt like he wasn’t the one to carry his family’s burdens, and keep everything together. All this time, he’s been alone in his pain.

  I know what that’s like. I know how dark it seems, fighting to stay above water, when the world is conspiring to pull you under.

  “You’re amazing.” I whisper, lifting my head so my lips can find his ear.

  He makes a low snort. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough.” I tell him, pulling back to look at him. Emerson’s face is shadowed in the dark, but I can see the desperate hope in his eyes. “I know you’re brave, and strong, and you’d do anything for the ones you love.” I swallow, knowing I’m about to say too much, but not caring anymore. If my words can make him see what I do, break through the doubt and bitterness he has built around his heart, then it’s worth it, worth making a fool of myself, if he can just understand how special he is.“I only met you a week ago, and I already know for sure, you’re a good man. Maybe even the best I’ve ever known.”

  Silence.

  My words hang between us, wrapped in the gentle crash of the waves against the shore. I watch as Emerson inhales a ragged breath, then he’s reaching for me. Not like before, wild and unleashed, but gentle. Hesitant. He touches his palm against my cheek, fingers tracing along the outline of my cheekbone and jaw.

  I shiver, his touch like fire against me. Fire and ice, sending every nerve sparkling with energy. He takes a step closer to me, dark gaze still fixed on mine, and it’s too much. I have to close my eyes, just to focus on the feel of his slow caress, and the faint warmth of his breath against my cheek.

  My heart drums
in a wild rhythm as he runs his fingertips over every inch of my face. My nose, my eyes, my lips… His touch is light as feathers, but every new whisper against my skin sends golden sparks rushing in my bloodstream, twisting lower, pooling with sweet tension between my thighs.

  I feel him everywhere.

  At last, he cups his hands around me and cradles my face, so delicately, I feel like my body is about to shatter apart and spin out into the night.

  My legs are weak, I can barely breathe. Everything I have is strung out, pulled taut, waiting for his kiss. And then, oh, finally, he lowers his lips to mine, and presses them against me in the sweetest, most tender kiss.

  It’s a revelation.

  It's the most dizzying thing I've ever felt before, heartbreakingly pure. Neither of us move, or think, or breathe, we just exist in this single moment, our lips barely touching, but a lifetime of quiet hopes and secret pain passing between us.

  Time stops. I swear, my heart stops beating. Suddenly, everything I have in the world is right here, suspended in the gentle touch of his soft lips on mine, a whole universe bound up in this one moment. A promise. A bond.

  Then Emerson catches his breath, and pulls me closer. The kiss deepens. Still soft and slow, but now my hands are locked around his neck, and his fingers run through my hair. I lean into him, falling into his solid, muscular warmth, and the ridge of his shoulders under my roving palms. He teases my mouth open, and then our tongues are intertwined: tasting, searching, drinking in this moment like we can make it last forever.

  I fall into the kiss like it’s gravity. There's no thought or decision in my mind anymore, only the sweet warmth that floods my system, every cell in my body set alive, racing with pleasure, and desire, and something more: a bone deep rightness. I can't even process it, only respond from some place of pure instinct, like we're dancing in perfect harmony to steps I never even knew I learned.

  I was made for this. To pull him closer, kiss him deeper, let everything go and just sink into the perfection. I could stay here forever, I realize, through the haze of us. He finally breaks away, his breath coming ragged and hoarse. I can see from the look of sheer wonder in his eyes that he feels it too: whatever this is, he's right here with me.