At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) Page 10

  “I won’t take credit for the actual food,” he confessed. “Dad and Nathan caught the shrimp, and Jep made the shrimp salad.” She could hear laughter in his voice. “But I made the po’boy sandwiches myself. Even added some extra zing.”

  “Now, that’s talent,” Reagan commented. “Rescue swimmer, snake charmer, maker of zingy sandwiches. You’ve quite a résumé.”

  Eric’s laugh shot through the trees. “Yes, I do.”

  Reagan imagined, from all of the shadowy forms before her, that the trees surrounding the maritime building were old and huge, because even the sun couldn’t penetrate them. Close by, she could hear water lapping and smell the salty brine of the water.

  “Right here’s a good place,” he said, and set the cooler down. “Let me throw out the blanket, then you can kick up your dogs.” A creaking sounded, the shaking of material, and then Eric grasped her hand. “Okay, have a seat.”

  Reagan lowered herself onto the blanket—something soft, like old cotton, or a quilt, and not scratchy. A slight breeze caught her ponytail and brushed it over her shoulder.

  “So, I have a few surprises for you,” Eric said. “You have to guess each thing I hand you. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Reagan agreed.

  “These are for dessert, so you can’t eat them yet. Just guess what they are.”

  He put the first item in her hand, and Reagan let her fingertips move over the long, tubelike item. Made of paper. Kind of like a straw. She lifted it and shook it close to her ear. “Pixy Stix.”

  “Yep,” Eric said. “Very good. Now this one.”

  Again, another item was placed in her palm, and it was smaller. Waxy. Cool. In the shape of a tiny bottle of drink. Again, she lifted it to her ear and shook, and heard liquid sloshing. “Nik-L-Nips!”

  Eric laughed. “Two for two! One more.”

  The last item was big and needed no shaking at all. Reagan felt the contour of the heavy wax, grinned, and placed it in her mouth. “Wax lips!”

  “You remember,” Eric said.

  “I do,” Reagan replied, taking the big lips out of her mouth. “We used to eat those Nik-L-Nips by the dozens. Straight sugar water.” She shook her head. “So long ago, huh?”

  “Not so much,” Eric said in a quieter voice. “Okay, here. Prepare for the absolute best po’boy you’ve ever eaten in your entire life.”

  It was, too—shrimp salad made with celery, mayo, lettuce, tomato and pickles. Reagan ate the whole thing, and chased it with a soda. Along with the Pixy Stix and Nik-L-Nips.

  “So tell me how you ended up stationed in little ole Cassabaw,” she finally asked.

  Eric’s voice grew soft. “It’s what I’d always wanted,” he said. “I love it here. It’s my heart. My home. My family.” He cleared his throat. “But I was the only one who felt that way, apparently.”

  Reagan felt bad for already knowing a little about Eric’s past, but she didn’t want him to think she and Em were a couple of gossipy girls. “Why?”

  “I, uh, was engaged,” he confessed. “Crazy head over heels with this girl, too. But when I got the transfer...” He paused. “Well, she wasn’t willing to transfer with me, and she broke the engagement off. And that was that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Reagan said. She really didn’t know what else to say.

  “Hey,” Eric said cheerfully. “Things happen for a reason, I like to think. Had I not transferred home, I wouldn’t be sitting under a row of giant live oak trees with a gorgeous ex-airman now, would I?”

  Again, Reagan’s fears of being the rebound girl surfaced. She’d almost forgotten about them all day.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Eric said suddenly. “I can see it in your face.”

  Reagan cocked her head. “You read minds, too?”

  “No,” he answered. “I read people. And I’m a guy. I know how girls think. And you’re not a rebound. I’ve dated since coming home to Cassabaw, Reagan.”

  Reagan lifted her chin. “Really? Then what am I? Exactly.”

  “Well, I can’t say for sure yet.” Eric’s easy voice caught on a quiet laugh, very male, very sexy. “Other than you are a completely unexpected surprise.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  REAGAN WASN’T SURE what to say to Eric’s confession, exactly.

  It certainly threw a wrench into her well-thought-out plan of platonic friendship due to fear of a rebound romance.

  “Have you ever been in love, Reagan Rose?”

  Reagan thought about it and smiled. “I’ve been in serious, serious like. The one-sided variety. Does that count?”

  Eric’s quiet laugh seemed to go straight through her. “I can’t be the judge of that. Was it your friend Jake?” he asked.

  Reagan shook her head. “No, we’ve always just been friends.” She pushed a loose hair behind her ear. “Loody Evans. I was so crazy about him in high school, it was nearly an illness,” she confessed. “I remember just watching him walk by, and I’d push against that gray painted concrete wall and just stare. I imagine my eyeballs were as big as saucers.” She laughed. “Probably looked like a total fool, but man, I had it bad.”

  “Okay, Loody?” he asked.

  Reagan giggled. “Yeah, kinda sounds dorky now. But back then?” She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together, pressing them over her heart. “God Almighty.” She opened her eyes, taking in Eric’s dark form and wishing she could see more. “You were deeply in love with your fiancée.”

  Eric was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure if it was Loody-level love, but yeah.” His voice lightened. “I thought I was. I thought that girl hung the moon. In hindsight, though,” he continued, “maybe I was just in love with the idea of it. I don’t know.” He audibly inhaled. Exhaled. As if in deep, deep thought. “It’s been nearly a year now, and when I think about it, yeah. Maybe I was just in love with the whole thought of what I’ve grown up with. Family. Love. Friendship. Jep and my dad both loved their wives with their whole being. Nothing came before Grams and my mom. Not us kids. Nothing.” He laughed. “Maybe it’s an Irish thing? All I know is that I’ve wanted the same thing my whole life. And I thought I’d found it with Celeste. We’d dated for almost two years, and I thought she was the one. I thought I knew her so damn well.” Again, a soft laugh. “I was wrong.”

  A quiet settled over them, and then the breeze off the river brushed through, bringing with it the rustling of leaves and leaving a salty taste on her tongue when she inhaled. She wanted to say something in response to Eric’s confession, but she was speechless. Wasn’t his dream a lot like her own? She couldn’t tell him that. No, not now, anyway. Reagan shifted, sat back on her heels, trying to make out Eric’s form a bit better.

  She cocked her head. “I have an image of you, I think,” she said. “Don’t move. Just...tell me if I’m right or wrong.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re sitting, legs pulled up and wide, like how guys do, and your forearms are resting on your knees, and you’re facing the river.”

  “Wow,” Eric said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Thought you couldn’t see?”

  “I...can’t,” she said, then lifted her face upward, searching for the sun but not finding it because of the canopy of oaks hiding it. “But I can see your form, and it...just seemed to fit your mood. As though you were...remembering.”

  “I’m over her, Reagan,” Eric said. “The pain sometimes stings, but it’s not from missing her. Or wanting her back. It’s just from the hurt she caused me.” He sighed. “One thing that bugged me was, she knew the whole time I’d been pushing for a transfer to Cassabaw. Not one time did she ever try to convince me not to pursue it. She’d been on board. It was then I started wondering if she’d dumped me for another reason.” He sighed. “I let it go, though, and I’d never wish that hu
rt on anyone.” His form shifted, then rose. “Okay, part two of today’s lesson is complete. Now on to part three. Take my hand.”

  Reagan held up her hand, and Eric’s strong one grasped hers and he pulled her up. “Let me throw all this stuff into the cooler,” he said, and his dark figure ducked and shifted as he did so. Then his hand found hers again, and he tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Off we go.”

  As they walked, Reagan noticed how she liked the feel of being so close to him. Eric Malone made her feel comfortable. Easy. Enough so, that she could almost forget she’d lost her sight. It was as if he somehow made all of the other aspects of their time together stand out so significantly that it left her blindness as some minor thing that just didn’t matter all that much. How had he been able to do that? Just a few weeks ago she was consumed by it.

  When she was with Eric? Well, it was the last thing on her mind.

  In a way, it scared her a little.

  At the truck, Eric loaded the cooler and opened her door, and she hopped inside. When he started the engine, he kept it idle, and he was quiet.

  “So,” Reagan asked. “You’re not using up all of your charming, unique impress-the-girl moves in one lesson, are you?”

  “Why, did I impress you?” he asked.

  She gave a short laugh. “Well, of course. Petting stingrays and baby porpoises? Come on!”

  He laughed. “Okay, yeah, that was good, right? I’m proud of myself.”

  “So?”

  “Do you have any more room in your belly?”

  Reagan inhaled. “I’m going to get chubby at this rate,” she said. “I’m used to running four miles in PT every day, and I haven’t been doing a thing since the accident.”

  “Well, your caboose is—”

  “Stop! No discussion about my chubby caboose,” she said fast.

  Eric laughed. “Kidding, kidding. Now answer the question.”

  “I’ll...eventually have room, I suppose. Why? More childhood candy?”

  “Nope. This one’s a secret. So we’ll go walk the po’boys off at the beach, then on to part three. Okay with you?”

  “Roger that,” she answered.

  Eric chuckled as he put the truck in Drive and headed out.

  “What’s so funny?” Reagan asked.

  “You’re now making jokes,” he noted. “No more sourpuss faces, no more kicking and screaming, no more pouting. It’s nice on you, Reagan Rose.”

  “Glad you like it,” she answered, not knowing what else to say, really. But his words left a smile on her face. One she couldn’t hide, even if she tried.

  * * *

  ERIC COULDN’T KEEP his eyes on the road, mainly because he couldn’t help the side glances he was giving Reagan. No, she didn’t realize he was doing it, and that probably made him somewhat of a Peeping Tom, but damn, he couldn’t help it. When she smiled, her entire face lit up like lights on a Christmas tree. So different from the girl who’d arrived weeks ago, who’d been so...done. So put out.

  Loody. How in the hell had she ever gotten past a name like that to have such a crush on a guy? Ridiculous.

  “Storm’s rolling in,” he told Reagan. “The sky is brilliant blue, but there’s a cluster of meanies building up out there.”

  “Meanies?” she asked.

  “Yep. Meanies,” he replied. “It’s what we call them at the station. I love a good storm, but I don’t love to work in them.”

  “I can imagine,” she answered. “Emily says you’ve set all kinds of records.”

  “I certainly have,” he answered proudly. “There are a couple that still belong to one cocky swimmer. Not sure if I’ll ever beat them, though.”

  “Really?” she asked, turning her face toward Eric. “Friend of yours? Or nemesis?” She wiggled her brows, and it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

  He chuckled. “Both. The records belong to one Owen Malone. Badass in his day, I will say that.”

  “He’s so sweet,” Reagan answered.

  “Sweet badass,” corrected Eric.

  They pulled into the parking lot next to the boardwalk and headed over the dunes and to the edge of the surf. “You have to take those off your feet, missy,” he told Reagan. “You have to learn to feel with your toes, as well.”

  She reached down to slide off her sandals as he removed his shoes, and they began to walk in the surf. They talked, dug their toes in the sand and walked clear to the water tower. The wind had started to pick up, and the meanies had gathered closer, turned darker, and the first pop of thunder in the distance sounded.

  “Whoa.” Reagan noticed, and her face turned skyward. There was something endearing in that small move she did, knowing she couldn’t really see, yet offering her face up to the skies. “The meanies are closer.”

  “Yep, let’s turn around,” he said, and they did, and the wind beat down on them as they walked back, whipping Reagan’s ponytail all over, billowing Eric’s shirt. “It looks like a big one.”

  “I thought you rescue boys kept a good eye on the weather,” Reagan half shouted as they hurried up the beach.

  He leaned close, near her shoulder, her ear. “I guess I had a distraction of some sort.”

  The meanies had stolen the sunlight, and in the darker haze of an impending storm, Reagan’s cheeks turned pink. Too cute. Too damn cute.

  As they turned and headed back for the boardwalk, Eric grabbed their shoes, and they made it back to the truck, knocked the sand off their feet and climbed in just as the first big raindrops began to fall.

  “Those feel huge,” Reagan noted. “The big, big kind. Em and I used to call them—”

  “Rain plops,” Eric finished. “I remember.”

  She laughed. “That’s right. Funny how much you remember.”

  “Memory like an elephant,” Eric confessed. “Let’s see if we can make it to the secret location before the bottom drops out.”

  He started the engine and pulled out, following the main sea drag just a quarter mile up the road before pulling into another set of shops facing the ocean. He jumped out, ran around to collect Reagan, and they made it under the awning just as buckets of water started to fall. She laughed, and he watched her expression for a moment before pushing open the vintage double wood and iron doors into Cassabaw’s newest establishment. There were a handful of customers seated at the tables, but he knew that later, the place would be crawling with patrons. Moving his hand to Reagan’s lower back, he guided her to a corner booth, and she eased in.

  “Okay, sit tight and I’ll be right back,” he said. “Can you tell what kind of place we’re in? Take a big, deep breath.”

  She did, then did it again. “I...can’t tell.”

  He grinned. “Good. Hold tight.”

  Hurrying to the front counter, he peered into the glass containers. Jasper’s Old Time Creamery had opened just this summer, back in early June, and had been a big hit on Cassabaw. He prayed Reagan wasn’t lactose intolerant. Maybe he should run back and ask her?

  No, the coffee she’d had was loaded with cream. He’d looked. Perfect.

  “Hey, Jasper,” he said to the middle-aged man behind the counter. He was bald, with a short-clipped silver goatee and tattoos on both forearms. Pretty badass for an ice cream guy.

  “Eric, Eric, good to see you. What can I get you?” Jasper said.

  “See that gorgeous girl over there?” Eric said, inclining his head. When Jasper looked, then nodded, he continued. “I’m here to impress, my good man. I want a sample of everything you have in the cooler here, in small cups. Two spoons. And two strawberry sodas.”

  A wide smile stretched over Jasper’s face, revealing the gap in his otherwise straight white front teeth. “Ahh, impress you shall do, my young friend.” He turned, filled two glasses with ice and
strawberry soda, and handed both to Eric, along with two straws. “I’ll bring the rest over.”

  “You’re the man,” Eric said. “Thanks.”

  Eric hurried back to the booth, set the drinks down and slid into the side opposite Reagan. “Typically, I’d push right on in next to you, but this is a most spectacular situation that calls for me to sit in front of you.”

  Even though her eyes couldn’t focus, they were still clear, wide, blue and beautiful. Somehow, they sort of lit up when she was amused, like they were now.

  “Oh, really,” she answered. “Spectacular, huh? I can hardly wait.”

  “Strawberry soda to start with,” he said, and eased the glass toward her.

  Her fingertips moved over the straw’s paper, released it, and she found the liquid and poked the straw into it and took a sip. “That is ridiculously good.”

  “You just wait,” Eric warned. “Good is on its way.”

  * * *

  “SO, LET’S CONTINUE the lesson of senses,” Eric said.

  Reagan nodded, waiting. “Ready.”

  “Describe to me where we are,” he continued.

  Reagan thought about it. Drew in a deep breath, trying to decipher scents. “I don’t really smell anything,” she noted. “The air is cool, and since you brought us drinks it has to be some kind of eating facility.”

  “Okay, okay,” Eric agreed. “Go on.”

  Reagan cocked her head, listening. “The music. It’s older. Not as vintage as the Windchimer’s, but still...hmm. Like a diner, maybe? From the fifties?”

  “Close,” Eric said. “Not bad, not too bad.”

  “Here we go,” a man’s voice said suddenly, and the sound of a large tray being set onto the table scraped, and Reagan sat back. “Enjoy.”

  “Okay, here’s the game,” Eric said. “You have to guess what I’m putting in your mouth.”

  Reagan laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” he said. “You’ll have to trust me that I won’t put anything weird in there, like octopus or seaweed.”

  Reagan narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure I’ve known you long enough to trust you putting unknown things into my mouth.”