Page 7 of Beach Cottage Kisses
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Iris didn’t sleep well. The first time she awoke, her body was thrumming with desire and her drowsy mind floated with seemingly real-time images of Scott Martin. In swim trunks. All muscles honed as he rode in on a surfboard, landed just inches from her and grabbed her up in a full-tongue kiss.
Shaking away the impossible dream—Scott had taken every surfing lesson known to man and just couldn’t stay up on the board long enough to ride one wave—she rolled over, hugged the bed’s second pillow to her and put herself back to sleep.
As she’d learned in rehab so long ago. Deep, even breathing. Relax one muscle at a time. Have an innocuous mental conversation that interested her and felt good.
That night she chose to talk to Leigh about spending the night at her place. Telling her what games they’d play. Seeing Leigh’s sweet features, hearing her lispy replies. The little girl usually shared Iris’s bed when they did slumber parties…
Iris didn’t want to spend the night. The other girls were asleep. She heard someone arguing. Wanted to go home. The phone was in the hall. She’d wake everyone up. Worse, she’d bring the angry voices closer. Arms the same size as hers reached over. Pulling her close…
“Huhhhh!” With a gasp Iris shot straight up in bed. Heart pounding, she threw back the covers and stood. Walked slowly, concentrated on the benign. Got to the door leading to her hotel room’s balcony. Made it outside and took her first full, deep, relaxing breath as she stared at the ocean. Sat down.
And slowly returned to herself. Thought about the day ahead. The photography session she’d booked—individual graduation photos of all the dogs completing a memory unit visitation program. Service canines who’d be out in San Diego’s mostly senior living facilities as early as next week.
She was fine.
Good.
Knew the ropes.
But…damn. She’d thought herself through with it all. Hadn’t had an episode in years.
Had long since stopped being swamped by waves of emotion.
Until Sage had promised Gray forever.
And even that didn’t make sense. All the weddings Iris photographed…almost all of them had vows making promises neither party could realistically keep.
Not without knowing what the future held. How things changed.
So…the sun would be up soon. She was a little earlier than she’d figured but jumped in the shower. Best to get on with the day. Check out before everyone else.
Be gone from the wedding venue by the time others came downstairs.
She’d thought about attending the impromptu breakfast one of the bridesmaids had been informally planning the night before. But she hadn’t confirmed her presence.
So she felt no guilt as she wheeled her bag out to her car, loaded up and drove off.
She’d had a brief relapse.
Which explained the way she’d participated in that kiss the night before, too. Leaning in. Opening her mouth.
Feeling.
Heightened emotions were a symptom of suffering a tragedy that her psyche had been unable to accept.
She’d recovered. As completely as one could.
But there’d always be a part of her that was broken.
She hadn’t lost her memory.
She’d just lost her twin.
* * *
Iris wasn’t at breakfast. Scott hadn’t gone, either. Had, in fact, specifically chosen not to do so knowing that Iris would be there.
