Page 16 of Return to Cheshire Bay
Waves rolledagainst the beach and washed back out to sea, and in the distancean owl hooted.
Eric cast hisgaze down and kicked at the sand. “I understand.”
“Thank you.” Iinhaled sharply, not wanting to leave him.
The timing wasall wrong for anything to develop between us. A few months back,maybe? I took another step up into my place, my hand slowlytrialing on the banister, a deep longing building in my gut. Itdidn’t matter how Eric had showed more compassion towards me in myshort time here than anyone else… It couldn’t work.
My mouth hungopen; there was much I wanted to explain, and more I shouldapologize for, but the words failed to come out of my lips.“Goodnight.”
Asadness filled my soul and the deep longing throbbed withoutrelease.
Ericdeservedbetter than the likes of me. He deserved someone who hadn’t runafoul of the law.
Chapter Seven
A weekafter the beach party, aside from the upper deck, I had transformedmy house into something I could live in, and a place I trulyloved. Long gone werethe ancient pictures and tacky fillers. I’d filled the back of myJeep up three times with items and hauled them off to the reusecenter in Spirit Bay. Thanks to the internet, I’d even orderedcouch covers, and for a fraction of the cost of replacing thefurniture, I was able to update them with a whole newlook.
I placeda tarp out on the sand and pinned it into place, and mentallyprepped myself for extracting the kitchen table from the house andout onto my temporary workspace. I had it all planned out, and knew exactly how towiggle it out, without removing the table legs as I was trying tosave myself some time. Plus, I checked how they were attached, andsome sort of super glue must’ve been used. There were only the flattops of a nail head visible, and not a nice screw head like the onein my apartment had.
Idragged the table out, but it caught on something inside, likelythe end of the counter. I tried to push it back in but could only move it so far. The tableweighed more than I did, and it was difficult at best. Despite mybest grunts and snorts, the damn thing seemed to be firmly lodgedin the door.
“Son-of-a-bitch.”
“Everythingokay over there?” Eric’s voice was sleepy yet rugged.
“Justfine.” I shook it with all my strength, which wasn’t much anymore. With a heavy sigh,I stepped back and wiped the sweat off my brow. What the hell was Igoing to do now?
Ericcame out onto hisbackdeck in his pajamas; a white top and checkered bottoms. His hairwas matted down on one side in a charming and endearing manner. Hewalked to the edge of his deck and looked over into mine. “Did youget it stuck?”
My focusreturned to the now permanent door stop. “Nope. Just needed a breakfrom taking itoutside.”A laugh tainted my words, but a minor ache stretched across mylower belly, and I instinctively cradled my belly.
In aheartbeat, he stood on my porch barefooted, and stared at my expanding waistline. His smiledropped to the floor. “Everything okay?”
The painsubsided, and I replacedthe grimace with a smile. “Just fine.”
Thankfully,once I gave the table an attempted shake, his grin reappeared.
“Ah, yougot it wedged in there good and tight, I see.” He stretched, and Istole a peek at the tight abs as his shirt lifted a teasing amount.
“Notwedged,just…” I caved and tossed my hands up in defeat. “Fine, it’sstuck.”
“Takethe legs off.”
“No can do.They are nailed on.”
“Seriously? Handmade table?” He bent over to admire thehandiwork.“Wow. That’sa beaut.”
“Thinkmy dad made it.” But I really had no idea. It had always been inthe house as far back as I could remember.
Eric climbedup and over and stood in my kitchen. “I think you should’ve gonethe other way.”
“I hadit all worked out on paper. It should’ve been a smoothmove.”I pointed to thegrid paper and cut out I’d created.
“That’sseriously detailed.” Eric picked up the paper and moved the cut out around. “But youforgot a tiny detail.” He flipped the moveable piece onto its sideand demonstrated.
“Well,damn.” Of course, now Isaw the errors of my way.
“Yourefinishing this?”