The Wonder of You (15 page)

“Too bad,” Casper said.

“And never mentioned it again. Every Saturday night after that, he called to make sure I wasn’t sitting at home alone.”

Ingrid had folded her arms, leaned back against the counter. “There are some things a mother shouldn’t know.”

“I know. That’s why
 
—”

“But this isn’t one of them. You should have told us, Amelia,” Ingrid said quietly.

“I didn’t want you guys to think I couldn’t take care of myself. That I was being reckless.”

“Seriously?” Darek turned away, shaking his head.

“Calm down, Dare,” Grace said. “She’s fine. You can’t hover over her, making decisions for her anymore. You have to let her grow up.”

He rounded on her. “Stupidity is not a sign of growing up!”

Ouch. Amelia scrambled for a retort
 
—one that didn’t sound like she was a three-year-old
 
—as the door closed in the entryway. Amelia saw her father come in, followed by a very grimy Max.

It gave Grace the time to regroup. “What would you prefer, Darek? That we lock her up? Forbid her from leaving the house?”

“What did I miss?” Max said.

John walked over to his wife, put his arm around her. Amelia couldn’t fail to notice her mother’s white-as-a-sheet expression.

“Oh,” Grace answered. “You just missed another infamous Neanderthal moment from the Christiansen boys. Apparently the women in this family aren’t allowed to think for themselves, make their own choices about the future.”

Max glanced at Darek, Casper. Swallowed.

“I, for one, am glad Roark is back. He’s a hero in my book. Dashing and handsome and not afraid to live dangerously, even if it cost him his heart!” Grace returned to fitting together pieces of the puzzle with Yulia, her hand shaking just a little.

Yeah, what she said. Only Amelia had the craziest feeling that perhaps Grace had stopped talking about her.

Clearly, however, Darek didn’t catch on. “Roark is just going to break her heart. He doesn’t belong here, and he’s muddying the waters. Everyone knows that Seth and Amelia belong together. They’ve been dating for years, and Seth’s a great guy.”

Darek’s words raked up Seth’s, still haunting her.
He’ll leave once he breaks your heart again, and you’ll have no one.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to settle down with the woman you love,” Casper added. “Especially in Deep Haven.”

“But just because she made a mistake doesn’t mean she’s stupid, Darek,” Raina said, handing Casper a toy for Layla. Her gaze darted to Amelia. “I saw 007 down at the coffee shop. He’s very handsome.”

“So is Seth!” Darek said. “What is it with women and European men? He wouldn’t last one day in Deep Haven.”

“Seems to me he’s been here for a week already.” Ivy, Darek’s wife, had materialized, probably hearing the conversation all the way in town. She held baby Joy in a carrier against her chest and
dropped her satchel on the floor. “And he’s something of a hero down at the courthouse. I stopped in today, and Kyle Hueston couldn’t stop talking about how Roark refused to come out of the icy water until they recovered the body.”

“Oh, for cryin’ in the sink,” Casper said. “Has everyone forgotten that he broke Amelia’s heart? That he’s the reason she dropped out of school and came home?”

“He’s not the reason I failed, Casper.” The words launched out of her. “I came home because
 
—”

“The cookies!” Ingrid grabbed her hot pads and opened the oven. The acrid smell of burned dough seemed to hit everyone at once as she pulled the ruined, blackened cookies from the oven, slid them onto the stovetop. “Oh no.”

John went to open a window.

But Casper hadn’t taken his gaze off Amelia. She felt his eyes on her even as she wanted to yank back her words.
He’s not the reason I failed.
She didn’t exactly know when she’d come to that realization, but the words felt true, albeit raw.

For too long, she’d blamed Roark for cutting her trip short, for sending her home with a broken heart. But if she was honest, the truth could be unearthed from the quiet hour she’d spent in the dank alleyway, waiting for rescue.

She wasn’t the heroine of her story. She was exactly what Darek said. Stupid. Or more
 
—foolish. And a coward.

Without Roark, she’d feared stepping outside, feared getting on the bus and ending up lost. She feared making a fool of herself every time she opened her mouth. Feared eating something that might make her sick. Feared, really, everything about Prague.

In every way, Roark had saved her from returning to Deep Haven a week after she’d left.

And in truth, without him, she’d never leave again. Maybe Darek was right. What was so wrong with settling down with the man you loved in Deep Haven?

Amelia reached for a pink rose, pulled it out, smelled it. Slid off the stool. “I’m going to town. I have something I need to do.”

Three days seemed long enough for him to get the message. Worse, Roark had even seen Amelia peering into the Java Cup window yesterday as if looking for him. If not for a line of people at the counter, he might have wadded up his apron and taken off after her, catching up to confirm that she’d agreed to let him back into her life.

Provisionally.

Without the lies.

He set the benching bar on the rack, breathing for a long moment before he got up to add more weights. The weight room at the YMCA reeked of sweaty towels and slick rubber, all mixed with the cloying scent of chlorine drifting from the pool down the hall.

He’d had to admit he didn’t mind working at the coffeehouse. Kathy, his boss, let him run the counter, and he’d penciled into his brain the favorites of all the regulars. Jake Goldstein, local floatplane pilot, liked a tall cappuccino. Jorge, who captained the
Fossegrim
, a three-masted schooner for tourists hoping to sail along the rugged shore, preferred a frothy macchiato. And Roark always had a tray of hot black java ready for the early morning fishermen headed out to haul in the daily catch.

After he’d finished his shift today, he spent some time online, then decided he needed a vigorous sweat to leach the guilt out
of his chest. Help him work free of the burgeoning sense that he should jump on the first flight over the pond and resign himself to the fact that he would muck this up.

With the anniversary of his nightmarish past, maybe pitching in the towel made sense. A guy on the wrong side of God’s grace had to keep a weather eye over his shoulder, keep one step ahead of catastrophe.

He could admit he’d run on adrenaline and heartbreak since returning to Prague to find Amelia gone, through his relentless search for her and his determination to niche out a place for himself in her town and win back her love.

But was it truly love? What if it
had
only been a fling? Not for him
 
—but for her? He hadn’t exactly taken her words apart, examined them from all sides, but . . .

Of course. He was five years older than she was. An eternity, perhaps, to her. At twenty, she hardly wanted to settle down with a man who would be chained to his desk for the next decade. Sure, he’d shown her around Prague, but with the schedule his uncle plotted, he wouldn’t come up for air for a good three years. Even then, he might end up in Zimbabwe, manning a hotel under his uncle’s “train from the bottom” program.

Roark set the bar on the rack, removed the twenty, and slid a thirty plate next to the forty-five on the bar
 
—not even close to his max. He rounded to the other side and balanced the weight, then settled himself back on the bench and started in on a set of six reps.

He couldn’t quite scour from his brain the truth that, for a blinding, triumphant moment, Amelia had used him to dig a knife into her lumberjack boyfriend, Seth. At first, he’d scored it a personal victory.

Now that his brain had stopped the inner cheering, he could
see it for what it was. Hurt over Seth’s accusation. Which should alert Roark to the fact that she cared,
really cared
, about Seth and their future. High school sweethearts were a far cry from a fling, and a smart man would recognize the writing on the wall.

If Roark hadn’t been quite so blind or desperate, he might have seen that, instead of riding in to rescue a damsel who didn’t need him. Not anymore.

He removed the thirty and found another forty-five plate, adding it and a ten to the bar, then balanced the weight before signaling to Sammy Johnson, the spotter on duty. A few more bodies grunted
 
—athletes working with dumbbells and at the pull-up bar, another with his back to him, adding plates to the leg press.

Sammy came toward him and Roark lay down, seeing the spotter move into place at the head of the bench as Roark eased the bar off the rack.

He’d maxed out at over three fifty while at the gym in Paris, but two weeks without a nod to the weight room made him feel flabby. Or at least winded.

He pressed through the first rep. Maybe he should just leave. Call the entire thing off, tuck his tail, and scuttle out of town before he made a mess of Amelia’s life.

His triceps burned, a band of pain growing around his chest as he grunted through the last rep, spent. He was moving to replace the bar when a hand came out against it.

“Mate!” he said, glancing up. It felt like he took a punch to the chest as he saw Seth the lumberjack standing by Sammy, his blond hair tied back in a black sports band, his oaken arms bare, his T-shirt sleeves ripped off.

“I got this, Sammy,” Seth said.

To Roark’s dismay, his spotter handed him over to his cohort in crime.

“We need to talk,” Seth said, turning his attention to Roark. He didn’t remove his hand, and Roark’s body quivered, straining against the weight.

“Talk, then,” Roark said. Sweat dripped down his face, into his ears, his heartbeat thundering.

Seth smiled, all teeth. “I haven’t had the chance to officially welcome you to Deep Haven. You like the sights?”

“Lovely. Especially the local wildlife.” His arms trembled, his grip loosening on the bar.

Seth’s smile dropped. “Get out of my town.”

“Or?”

He lifted a shoulder. “What can I say? You wouldn’t be the first to disappear into the woods.”

Roark wanted to roll his eyes, but the sweat could blind him. “Righto. Message received.” He waited for Seth to move his hand, but he held it in place. Roark’s arms began to shake. In a moment, all 245 pounds would crash onto his chest, and the fight between Seth and Roark would come to a swift and bloody end.

“Just so we’re clear: I’ve been in love with Amelia since the seventh grade. I know her and she knows me. We’re meant to be together.”

“Congratulations,” Roark ground out. “I’ve no doubt who the better man is here.”

Seth’s eyes narrowed.

From across the room, Roark heard, “Everything okay, Seth?”

“Yep, fine,” Seth said, grabbing the bar with one hand and moving it to the rack.

Roark heaved in breaths even as he pushed himself to his feet in front of Seth. He ignored the spinning of the room. “If you want
to drop off that welcome basket, I’m living over the Java Cup. Nice little place. I’m going to paint the walls, buy a few plants, set it up. Maybe you can come round for a spot of tea.” He clamped Seth on the shoulder. “Nice chat; let’s do it again.”

He turned, heading for the showers.

Roark stood for a long time under the hot water, bracing himself against the wall, his pulse finally righting into a regular rhythm.

Maybe he wouldn’t perish in the men’s locker room of the Y. But even as he got out and dressed, he heard Seth’s voice.
I know her and she knows me. We’re meant to be together.

Not anymore.

Especially since Amelia hadn’t once mentioned a boy back home in the five months they’d spent in Europe. Plus she’d kissed Roark.

And like she said, she’d meant it.

So welcome to Deep Haven indeed, because he did know exactly who the best man was in this threesome. Or at least who the best man could be, if he just figured out how to tell her the truth about himself.

Roark threw his duffel over his shoulder, wrapped a towel around his neck, and headed out into the cool evening. The sun hung low in the west, flames of orange and red bleeding out over the horizon.

Hiking up the rear stairs to his apartment, he didn’t look in front of him and almost walked right over her.

Amelia. Sitting on his stoop. Holding one of the long-stemmed pink roses he’d sent her.

“Hi.” She could knock him over with a smile, which she delivered slowly.

“Hi,” he said, dropping his duffel and settling down beside her. “I . . . It’s good to see you.”

She twirled his flower between her fingers. Sighed.

“What is it?”

She looked at him, and she was so beautiful, with the sunset lighting her hair, her eyes, that he nearly put his arm around her, nearly folded her to himself to finish the kiss they’d started in Paris.

“I never really told you how grateful I was that you came out that night to find me in Prague.”

That night. Oh . . . sometimes the memory of her voice at the other end of the line, tiny and shaking, jolted him awake, slid a cold finger down his spine. She didn’t need to know, probably, the danger she’d flirted with that night. Or the panic he’d hidden while searching for her, dreading the worst.