Come On Closer (10 page)

“Larkin, look, we talked about this. I was serious when I said I was only interested in you. I'm not going to wind up on your mistake list. I've made enough mistakes on my own to be pretty tired of that. We've got plenty of time to get to know each other—”

“Yes, we do,” she interjected, nodding vigorously. “I'd like that. I want that.” He'd almost started to relax when she added, “That's why I think we should wait to have sex until we're a little more comfortable with each other.”

Shane stared at her, aghast. He tried desperately to believe he'd heard her wrong, but the look on her face said he hadn't. She was serious.

“But,” he stammered, “why? Last night was incredible, Larkin. I just . . . I know it was kind of out of the blue, but that doesn't mean it was the wrong thing.” A terrible certainty suddenly gripped him, that he'd been alone in thinking last night had been some mind-blowing experience. That somehow he'd managed to be a disappointment even in this, one of his few supposed areas of expertise. Something to that effect must have shown on his face, because Larkin rushed to reassure him.

“It was, Shane. I don't want you to think that—oh my God, please never think that. Last night was way more than I imagined. And, trust me, I've imagined a lot.”

The panic passed as quickly as it had come upon him, though it left a lingering disquiet. “Then what?” he asked.

“It's just . . . this was fast. Like, really, really fast,” she said. “I want to see where this goes with us. I wouldn't
have asked you over if I didn't. But—” She paused for a moment and seemed to be searching for the right words. She seemed almost embarrassed, which was silly, Shane thought. She had absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. But he waited, listening. And after a moment, she explained, “Look, some of those bad experiences I told you about happened because I always jumped too fast. I let the physical stuff distract me from all the red flags until I was in up to my neck, and by the time I realized my mistakes, it was always ten times harder to get untangled. I don't want that this time. I want to
know
it's the right thing before we start getting naked on a regular basis.” Worry creased her brow. “Does that make sense?”

It did. He might not like it, but he understood what she was saying. Shane tried not to take it personally, because he knew she didn't mean it that way. She didn't want him to leave her alone; she just wanted to slow things down. That, he could do. Especially because he knew, with a twist of guilt deep in the pit of his stomach, that there had been a time in the past when he would have bailed on any woman who had asked this of him. Larkin needed better than that.

He wanted to be better than that.

Shane nodded slowly, and the relief he saw on her face was so deep that he could swear he felt it as his own. “It makes sense,” he said. “And if that's what you need, then that's what we'll do. I mean, I'm
almost
as entertaining with my clothes on.”

She laughed, head drooping forward for a moment as though she'd just had a weight lifted off her. When she looked up at him, he knew he'd made the right choice. This would be a new thing for him, playing the
good guy. He wasn't sure how he'd do. All he knew was that it mattered . . . and not just because of Larkin.

He wanted to know if whatever she saw in him was actually there.

“Thanks. For being okay with it,” she said. “I know it probably sounds strange.”

“No. You're talking to a fellow screwup, remember?” he said, and that put the light back into her eyes. “I get wanting to do things right. I may resist the urge most of the time, but I do understand the impulse.” He smiled, and when she returned it he forced himself to relax. This wasn't a rejection. It was just a temporary modification. That, he could handle.

Besides, being a persuasive bastard was kind of his stock-in-trade. Maybe he could shorten the sex moratorium, at least by a little. Regardless, it was good to have goals.

“Uh, quick question, though,” he said, raising his hand. “Can we still make out?”

The muffin she threw hit him in the head, but her laughter—and the chocolate—was worth it. And instead of feeling like winter would never end, Shane decided that he might not mind if spring held off a little longer after all.

T
he good thing about having known Shane for a while, Larkin decided, was that their first date didn't have to be awkward and weird. He'd seen her dance. He'd seen her stylish loungewear. He'd seen her with various ingredients on her clothes and in her hair. He'd even seen her completely naked.

Well, maybe it would be a little weird. Still, when Shane texted her to see whether she wanted to join him and a couple of friends for a late dinner at the local sushi place Tuesday evening, she felt perfectly fine about pulling off her apron, putting on her coat, and heading over right from work.

“This isn't so different,” she told herself as she parked beside Shane's Lexus at Rising Sun, the little sushi place that had opened about a year ago near the edge of town. It wasn't a prime location, but the place did great business, and Larkin had been here plenty of times when
she needed a sushi fix. Never with Shane, granted, which meant he'd never seen her lose control of the chopsticks and splatter herself and everyone nearby with soy sauce, but that didn't seem like something that would surprise him. So . . . no, not really so different. Except for the part where just looking at his car gave her a serious case of the butterflies, which only got worse when she walked in and saw him.

Larkin usually sat at the big glass sushi bar in the center of the restaurant, but Shane and his friends had situated themselves at one of the square tables that surrounded it. She didn't have to look hard for him—he was almost always the biggest guy in the room, even if the red hair hadn't been a dead giveaway. He looked relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his mouth running, as usual. He laughed at something, and Larkin found herself frozen just a few steps inside the door. It was silly, she knew, to continue to be so taken by the way the man looked. It wasn't like he could help it, and she'd certainly been sucked in by good looks before only to be disappointed. But when Shane was honestly enjoying himself, his smile could light up a room.

That was the kind of smile he wore tonight. A good sign, Larkin thought. Now if she could just quit standing here gaping at him . . .

He turned his head just enough to catch sight of her, and that was what finally got her moving. He had enough of an idea of the effect he had on her. Standing around drooling on herself wasn't going to do either of them any favors.

“Hey,” he said easily, standing to pull out the empty chair beside him when she reached the table.

“You have manners!” she exclaimed, feigning
surprise. Actually, she
was
surprised . . . not that he had them, but that he was suddenly displaying them for her benefit. She started to wonder if he was working some kind of angle and then shoved the unkind thought aside. It wasn't his fault that PDA made her suspicious.

“Sometimes,” he replied. “I save them for beautiful women and places that don't have plastic tablecloths.” She felt a light brush of his hand against her hair as he moved to sit back down, and when she glanced at him, she was treated to a small, intimate smile. The kind of smile that said,
I've been thinking about you, and in these thoughts you're usually naked
.

Or maybe she was just projecting her own thoughts onto him.

“I don't think we've ever officially met.” One of Shane's companions, a boyishly handsome brunet with pretty brown eyes stretched out his hand toward her. “I'm Ryan Weston.”

Larkin shook with him. “Nice to meet you. Officially,” she said with a smile. She'd seen him around, but never to talk to. The man with him, a slim, good-looking blond who was wearing the hell out of a pin-striped vest and red bow tie, seemed to be sizing her up. She knew who he was—Aaron Maclean, a local sculptor whose star was on the rise. He showed at her friend Zoe's gallery, Two Roads, but she hadn't been in since he'd started working there part-time to, according to Zoe, “keep himself out of trouble and have other people to bother.”

“This is Aaron,” Ryan said by way of introduction. “He's going to tell you he's my better half, because he lies a lot.”

Larkin laughed when Aaron arched an eyebrow at his boyfriend, then grabbed her hand and instead of shaking it, kissed it. “
Enchanté
,” he said. “I
am
his better half. He didn't even know what sushi was until I started him on the path to enlightenment.”

“I did too know what it was,” Ryan said.

“Never trust a man who dresses like Pee-wee Herman,” Shane intoned.

Aaron rolled his eyes while the other two laughed. “Says the arbiter of taste here. Ten bucks says there are pictures of you in those pants and a sleeveless undershirt smoking a cigar somewhere.”

Shane thought for a moment. “These pants
specifically
?”

“I rest my case. You find a bow tie that doesn't make you look like a low-budget stripper and maybe I'll take your opinion under advisement.”

Larkin looked back and forth between them as they casually slung insults at one another, then laughed like idiots and clinked their beer bottles together. Ryan, who seemed to be the quiet, less acerbic member of the trio, simply grinned at her and shook his head. She shrugged out of her coat, amused, and when she looked up Shane was sliding a small piece of paper and a pencil toward her.

“We ordered some gyoza already, just to start,” he said. “I didn't know what you'd want for rolls, though.”

“No biggie,” she said, and set to work marking off the rolls she wanted from the list. Shane leaned over, watching her peruse the selections. After she'd marked a couple of things, she lifted her eyes to stare at him. “Is it that interesting?”

“Yes. How was work?” he asked her. “You have flour in your hair.” She wasn't sure whether she actually did or not, but since he was using it as an excuse to brush his fingers through her hair, it didn't much bother her either way. He certainly wasn't shy about touching her in public. Though from what she'd seen, he wasn't particularly shy about anything.

“I'm accessorizing. And work was fine. Not too busy, not too slow. I sold a box of cherry tarts to Big Al. I'm still getting used to that enormous Russian fur hat he's been wearing.” Big Al Piche was one of Harvest Cove's most eccentric residents, and Larkin was never sure what sort of entertainment she was going to get when he came into the shop. After all, the guy was the sole reason Zoe had had to institute a strict no-pants-no-service policy at the gallery a couple of summers ago. He'd been going through a brightly colored Speedo phase at the time.

Shane's brow creased. “He didn't do the dance, did he? I heard he's been doing the dance.”

“Ahh . . . He might have done a little of the dance.” She laughed when Shane groaned. She guessed she was not the only recent victim of Big Al's cossack dance.

“Is your shop in one piece?”

“The table is fixable. I'm just glad it isn't roller skate season yet.” She didn't want a repeat of
that
experience, and neither did her display case. “How was work for
you
?”

His grin vanished the instant she asked. “Eh,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “Same old.” He looked down at her sheet. “You're doing the Mountain Roll? That thing is so good. I went with that and
the Dancing Dragon Roll. And some sashimi. And a Philly Roll, just for something small.”

She watched him change the subject and debated calling him on it. Even before last weekend, she suspected he knew a lot more about her job than she did about his. Now he knew a lot more about her in general, but she was still basically in the same space where he was concerned. That needed to change.

“I like how you consider the Philly Roll a side dish,” she said. “So what kind of lawyering do you do anyway? I don't think you've ever said.”

“The ‘as little as possible' kind,” Ryan cracked, drawing Larkin's attention.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Shane said, sounding annoyed, before he focused back on her. “I mainly focus on elder law. Wills, estate planning, stuff like that. I'm not one of the guys doing the dramatic courtroom presentations, if that's what you were thinking.”

He sounded almost embarrassed, but she didn't understand why. “I didn't think anything,” Larkin said. “I just wondered. You don't talk about it, at least not when I'm around.”

“He doesn't, if he can help it,” Ryan offered, handing his own sushi order sheet to the server, who'd brought with her two plates of steaming dumplings. “Shane would rather be playing a lawyer than actually practicing law.”

“He's a frustrated thespian,” Aaron added, helping himself to two of the dumplings and spooning a bit of sauce onto them. “You should probably know that so you're not shocked when he starts asking you for sexy-time role-play in full Shakespearean dress.”

She eyed Shane, who was wearing a decidedly
disgruntled expression. “You really want to go there, Pee-wee?” he asked.

“Stop, you two,” she said, then returned her attention to Shane. The idea of him onstage fascinated her, even if she couldn't exactly picture it. “I think it's cool that you like to act. I was never any good at that. Tended to trip over the scenery.” That, at least, brought a hint of his smile back.

“No way,” he said.

“He doesn't just like it; he's great at it,” Ryan said, swiping one of Aaron's dumplings. “Any play he was in, people would come just to see him. The director of the little theater company around here still tries to get him to audition for some of the shows they put on, but Shane would rather be miserable.”

“I'm not miserable. It's called having a job and not that much free time,” Shane replied. He tapped his chopsticks irritably against his plate. “Anyway, quit poking at me. I told you I'd think about it.”

“I know. Just don't take forever.”

“Yeah, I
know
.”

Larkin watched Shane and Ryan curiously as some unspoken agreement passed between them—along with the sort of affectionate exasperation that only family or people who'd been friends for a very long time seemed able to muster. A look at Aaron told her nothing, except that she was the only one in the dark here according to his knowing smile. She sighed softly and propped her chin on her fist.

Not everything was her business, but she hated being the odd girl out . . . and in a small town, even one she loved as much as Harvest Cove, she might very well have odd-girl-out moments for the rest of her life.

She was glad when conversation turned quickly from whatever “it” was back to more familiar territory, though she continued to wonder what the big secret was. Shane seemed to relax once he didn't have to talk about work anymore, and Larkin decided that she liked his friends. Aaron, who she'd always found slightly intimidating in the way she found all stylish, talented, perpetually put-together people intimidating, was wickedly funny. And she thought Ryan was sweet. He seemed to have a softening effect on his significant other, too, which was always nice to see. She liked being around couples who balanced each other out. Did she and Shane do that? she wondered. Maybe they would . . . or maybe they were just opposites who would attract and then repel. She'd have to wait and see.

She wished patience were one of her strong suits. Tamping down the worst of her Veruca Salt impulses was going to be a full-time occupation until she was sure about Shane . . . and like she'd told him, she
needed
to be sure.

Once the rolls arrived, conversation ebbed in favor of eating, and Larkin was happy to dig into her dinner. Normally she made it through without any chopstick-related mishaps—all she could do was hope that luck was with her. On her right, Ryan had leaned away from her to engage in a soft discussion about weekend plans with Aaron. Shane leaned over to murmur in her ear, his breath warm against her bare neck. A brief, heated memory of him dragging his teeth across the same spot flickered through her mind, and she had to force herself to concentrate on what he was actually saying.

“How's the food?”

“Fab.” She chewed, smiled, and gave the thumbs-up
instead of trying to elaborate around a mouthful of rice and fish.

“I wasn't sure you ate sushi,” he said, then looked pointedly at the half a roll left on her plate. “Glad you know what you're doing.”

Larkin swallowed, took a second to pat herself on the back that she had left only one small puddle of soy sauce on her plate—so far, anyway—and began to work another piece away from what remained of her Spider Roll with the chopsticks. “Uh,
yeah
, I know what I'm doing. Food is my life. When my metabolism finally gives out, I'm screwed. This is at least semi-healthy.”

“Semi,” he agreed.

“So what prompted this?” she asked. “You haven't been into the shop in so long that I'm having to give away your free samples to random people. I was starting to wonder—”

She started to spill it, then stopped herself. What she'd started to wonder was whether he'd changed his mind once he realized that getting her clothes off again was going to take some time. She wanted to ask, but there was no flattering way to ask it.

“Wonder what?” he asked.

“Whether you were suddenly anti-sugar,” she said, and gave him a gentle poke in the stomach. “Losing people to better eating habits is always sad.”

“That's not something you need to worry about, trust me,” he said with a soft chuckle. His expression turned serious. “I'm not avoiding you. Work's been a little busy, and I knew you had a Saturday thing with Gina—”

“You did?”

“Ah, yeah. You told me that. On Saturday.”

“Oh.” She grinned sheepishly. “I may have been low on coffee at that time. It's kind of a chronic problem.” Sometimes her brain disengaged during the midmorning lull. That was, naturally, when Shane had roused himself to text her good morning. She had some vague memory of preemptively telling him she was unavailable that night, now that he mentioned it. Not that she hadn't wanted to see him—far from it. But her standing date with Gina was important to her . . . and her independence was precious. She wasn't ready to rearrange her life for anybody.