Page 32 of Sweet Love at Bayside
“There’s something incredibly sexy about the way you wear your emotions on your sleeve,” he said. “What are you thinking right now?”
“A lot of things. I was thinking about how nice it was to see you joking around with everyone, and wondering if Violet and I could ever be as close as you and Drake. And I was thinking about Mira and Hagen, and how incredible it must be for her to have found someone who loves her and her sonsomuch.” She glanced up at him with soulful eyes. “But mostly, I was thinking that this has been the most romantic night of my life, and I don’t want it to end.”
“Then we won’t let it.”
Chapter Eight
“I HAVEN’T BEEN up here in years.” Desiree looked over her shoulder with a pensive yet excited look in her eyes as she and Rick ascended the stairs toward the widow’s walk. She’d loaded him up with pillows and blankets from a closet on the second floor. When they reached the top of the stairs, she stepped into the small cupola and inhaled deeply. “I was afraid to come up here alone, and I can’t guarantee that it’s not rotted out by now.”
“Why were you afraid? The house seems stable despite a few cosmetic things that need attention. I haven’t looked closely, but from what I saw outside, there wasn’t anything that made me think it was in disrepair.”
“It wasn’t that so much as memories. This is where I’d come to be alone. But now that I’m thinking about it, it really could be rotted out.”
He smiled. He glanced out the door, searching the darkness with his contractor’s eye for broken railings or missing balusters. He reached up and flicked the light switch by the door, and dozens of tiny orange lights sparked to life, illuminating a newly renovated, freshly painted widow’s walk. Beautiful ornate balusters supported wide railings. An unusually deep bench, the size of a queen bed, was built into the perimeter, topped with thick colorful cushions.
Desiree latched on to his arm. “Rick,” she said in a shaky voice. “Lizza.She must have done this. The orange lights. That’s my favorite color. When I got here, she was wearing a long orange dress. I thought it was a coincidence.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“She must have done this foryou, Des,” he said, his chest full and happy for her. “You said you were the only one who came up here, right?”
“I was. My grandmother told me that my mother used to come up here. That was the reason I first started. To see if I could, I don’t know, get a sense of her.”
He knew all about reaching for someone who wasn’t there. He’d spent a lifetime holding on to a ghost. “And did you? Get a sense of her?”
She shook her head, her eyes clearer now. Shifting the blankets and pillows into one arm, he grabbed the door handle, looking to her for approval. She nodded, and he pushed the door open. Cool air swept over them. Desiree crossed her arms against the chill, and he set the guitar and blankets on the cushions.
“I forgot how much colder it was up here.” She stepped outside and ran her hand along the railings as he closed the door behind them. “It’s so beautiful, butwhywould she do this? Nothing else in the house has been renovated.” She waved at the bench. “When I was growing up, there was no bench or anything. I’d just throw pillows and blankets on the deck and plop right down.”
She was talking so fast, he knew she was nervous. He set the pillows up against the railing, watching her as she gazed out over the water. The breeze carried her hair away from her face, and she looked even more radiant than usual, despite the part of her that must be coming undone.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “She put a lot of thought into this, Des.”
She turned in his arms, hope and confusion battling in her eyes.
“Sweetheart, I know what it’s like to be reaching for a ghost that always slips through your fingers. What I don’t know, but it seems like you have a chance to find out, is what it’s like to catch one. Don’t let your questions hold you back from feeling all the joy of knowing you’re on her mind a lot more often than you thought.”
Her expression turned serious. “It’s just…Why wouldn’t she tell me she did this, or leave a note, orsomething?”
“Because maybe she has just as much fear over what it means as you do. Or maybe she’s not the kind of person who leaves notes. I think the important thing is that she’s clearly making some kind of an effort.”
“She’s so crazy. Look how she got me here.” Her forehead wrinkled in contemplation.
“Do you still want to hang out up here?”
“Yes. It’s just a lot to take in.”
A few minutes later they settled against the pillows with their feet stretched out in front of them. He covered their legs with a blanket, and when he put an arm around her, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“It seems like a lifetime ago when I’d sit up here dreaming of my mother surprising me by showing up on a boat, or parachuting onto the beach for a long visit instead of the quick day or two at the end of my summer vacation. Crazy little-girl dreams.”
“Not so crazy, and dreaming is good. After we lost my father, I swore I heard him everywhere. Walking around the house, his voice in the wind, and I’d dream about what I would say to him if he were there. Sometimes I still do.”
“Big-boy dreams,” she said, and tipped her face up toward his. “What was your father like?”
“That depends who you ask.” Love and longing twined together inside him, bringing his truth to life. “To me he was bigger than life. He was aggressive, never let anyone or anything stand in his way. I thought he was indestructible. The strongest, smartest man alive.”
“Like you,” she said. “You come across that way.”
He scoffed. “I’m glad you think so, babe, but he was so much more of a man than me. But like I said, if you ask Mira, she’ll say he was too strict, and Drake thinks he was overzealous, although they both adored him.”
