A Season of You Page 6

  “Which is why I haven’t yet pushed her off the pier,” Faith said. “I like Seth.”

  “Plus Lou would definitely ground you,” Mina said with a laugh.

  “Probably,” Faith agreed. “But at least it would definitely get me out of anything to do with the Christmas Festival.”

  “I’m going to start calling you Scrooge,” Mina said. “Scrooge Harper has a nice ring to it.”

  “You won’t find it so funny if Angie tries to drag you into it.”

  “Aren’t I tarred with the Harper brush? That should keep me safe.” Maybe she shouldn’t mention she was going to the committee meeting tomorrow.

  “Don’t count on it,” Faith grumbled. “I’m sure she’d love to turn one of us into a good little Angie-is-awesome-bot, and she knows it’s not going to be me. So don’t be surprised if you get tapped on the shoulder. After all, the search and rescue is bound to be involved. And of all the people who work there, you’re the one—”

  “Without a day job,” Mina finished. “I know.” She hadn’t thought about that part. That as far as most people on Lansing were concerned, Mina didn’t work. They didn’t know about the painting. They knew about the search and rescue hours she put in, but that was volunteer work. Nighttime volunteer work, at that.

  So she could see exactly why everyone might think she was free as a bird to pitch in. Possibly only her concussion had saved her from being asked any earlier. Organizing a Christmas Festival sounded like hell. She’d witnessed the stress that went with running CloudFest her entire life, and while a Christmas Festival would be nothing like the scale of a world-famous rock festival, if you threw small town politics into the mix, it had the potential to be truly horrible. She’d agreed to tomorrow to help Bill out, but Faith was right, Angie was likely to pounce and try and talk Mina into pitching in with the whole thing. The committee weren’t the only ones who were going to have to roll up their sleeves and dig in to get the festival up and running. She frowned.

  “I thought you said Angie was okay?” Faith grinned evilly.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Mina said. She’d worry about Angie tomorrow. That gave her plenty of time to come up with reasons why she couldn’t be involved if Angie tried to rope her in. Like the pile of work she had waiting for her in her studio. Not that Angie knew about the studio, of course.

  “Sure,” Faith said. But her grin stayed in place. “How about you tell me how the cookie delivery went?”

  “It went fine,” Mina said, cautiously. “Seems like he likes chocolate chip. So thanks for the recipe.”

  “Most guys do.” Faith studied her a moment. “Why do I feel like there’s more to this story?”

  “Coffee?” Mina asked brightly. She wasn’t quite ready to confess yet.

  “Lou said you’re meant to be avoiding caffeine,” Faith replied. She pointed at one of the stools lining the long granite counter. “Sit. I’ll make you a decaf. But only if you tell me the rest of the story.”

  “Withholding caffeine is an unfair negotiation tactic.” But she sat anyway.

  “I go with what works,” Faith said as she pulled out coffee and cups and milk and arranged it all in front of her gleaming coffee machine.

  “Do I get a cookie if I tell you?”

  “That depends if the story is cookie-worthy. Is it?” Faith tilted her head at Mina.

  “Well, it turns out that Stewie-ate-half-Will’s-backseat-and-he-wouldn’t-let-me-pay-so-I-invited-him-to-Thanksgiving,” Mina said in a rush. If she talked fast enough, maybe Faith wouldn’t really take in the information.

  “What?” Faith said, freezing where she stood, one hand holding the coffee canister in midair.

  “I said Stewie ate half Will’s backseat and—”

  “You asked Will out on a date?” Faith interrupted.

  “It’s Thanksgiving, that’s hardly a date.” Mina tried to sound casual.

  “It’s you interacting with a man socially,” Faith retorted. “That’s at least a step in the right direction. And it’s a definite step up from non-seduction cookies.”

  “He got the cookies. But Stewie ate half of Lulu’s back seat,” Mina buried her face in her hands, remembering the mess of shredded leather. “Cookies didn’t seem like enough.”

  Faith grinned. “Whatever you say. But asking a guy to a family dinner sounds date-ish to me.”

  Darn. She wasn’t the only one who thought that. She remembered the grin on Will’s face as he’d said yes. “Gah! I asked Stefan too.”

  “Two men. Well, in for a penny, I guess,” Faith said. Her eyes were dancing. “Brothers. Kinky.”

  “Stefan—” Mina paused. Then stopped. She’d been about to say “Stefan doesn’t interest me,” which carried the implication that Will did. She didn’t want to think about that. “I don’t think Stefan even dates.”

  She pictured Will’s older brother a moment. The man was even taller than Will. They shared the same hazel eyes but Stefan was darker, his hair closer to black, his skin more tanned than Will’s. And he had one of those big beards that were so popular right now. Something she didn’t understand. Not her type even though, like his brother, he was not hard on the eyes. Not that Will was her type either. “I’ve never heard about him hooking up with anyone on the island, have you?” Maybe the question would distract Faith from the subject of Will and whether or not Thanksgiving dinner was a date. An accidental date.

  Faith frowned. “You know, I have no idea. Which probably means no. Unless he’s unusually sneaky about it.”

  “Maybe he keeps to your old system. You know, only off-island.”

  “I’m not even sure he leaves the island that often.” Faith hitched one shoulder then started making coffee.

  Mina had no idea if this was true or not. She didn’t exactly track the movements of the Fraser brothers. She contemplated Stefan again. Big but quiet. Focused. Private somehow. Which meant she shouldn’t be standing here with Faith speculating about his love life. “Whatever it is, I’ve invited him and Will. So I hope that’s okay.”

  “Well, Lou always cooks for an army and you know there’s plenty of room at the house.” Faith didn’t look at all concerned about two extra guests being added to her Thanksgiving quota. So that was a relief.

  It would have been awkward to uninvite them. And then she would have had to think up another way to thank Will. Judging by Faith’s reaction to the news she’d invited him to Thanksgiving, if she’d actually asked him out to dinner, the Cloud Bay rumor mill might have actually caught fire.

  But she’d been fairly sure that Faith wouldn’t bat an eyelid about two more mouths to feed. Grey had practically made bringing home miscellaneous friends and hangers-on at any time of the year a hobby. And given his girlfriends were usually not the homemaker type, Faith had learned to work with caterers at a young age. And Lou had helped them out when they needed it, not that Grey ever knew that part.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it,” she said. “Are we still helping Lou with pie prep on Wednesday?”

  “Yup. And decorating tomorrow, if you feel up to it. Caleb is apparently big into decorations. He says Christmas starts at Thanksgiving. I’m letting him run with it. But you can give us a hand if you’re free.” Faith grinned at Mina. “Maybe Caleb can scare up some mistletoe.”

  Mina pointed at Faith. “I doubt Caleb will appreciate you kissing random people under the mistletoe.”

  Faith’s grin widened. “I have no intention of kissing anyone but Caleb. But I think it’s a thoughtful touch for my single guests. Who knows, maybe Leah will feel like kissing somebody. And anyone who wants to avoid being kissed will just have to avoid the mistletoe.”

  Knowing Faith, that probably wouldn’t be easy. She’d probably deck the whole house out in mistletoe. In fact, she definitely would if she thought it might make Mina kiss someone.

  Well, she was just going to be disappointed.

  * * *

  Mina’s eyes sprang open at twelve minutes past three T
uesday morning. She didn’t have to turn her head to check the time on her phone. She knew this particular sensation clicking like the turn of a key in a lock in her brain.

  Hello, insomnia.

  She tried to stay still, staring into the darkness. Sometimes, for a value of sometimes meaning once in a blue moon, she could trick her brain into remembering it was tired and fall back asleep if she didn’t move, if she stayed still, breathed slow, listened to the waves outside her window and let them carry her back down to unconsciousness.

  But tonight it didn’t work.

  She felt wired. Stupidly alert.

  Crap.

  She hadn’t had insomnia in months now. Once upon her time, in her family, she’d been considered the morning person. Which, by normal standards, made her merely a late sleeper. Grey had been an up-until-four-a.m., sleep-past-noon kind of guy. But apparently Mina had enough of her mother in her to not mind occasionally seeing a time closer to sunrise. In Emmy’s case, she’d been chasing the morning light that was a photographer’s holy grail. In Mina’s, it was that she’d never really liked feeling as though she’d missed half the day.

  Adam had been a big fan of mornings. Up early to try and steal some time out on the water before he had to start his day whenever he could.

  But after Grey had died, Mina had had trouble sleeping for months. She used to lie next to Adam in bed, listening to him breathe, not wanting to wake him, a thousand what-ifs running through her head.

  Denial was supposed to be part of grief but she wasn’t in denial. She knew Grey was dead. It was just her brain’s way of coping with that seemed to be coming up with a Technicolor movie reel of every possible way it might have worked out differently.

  What if Grey had gone to a doctor a few months earlier?

  What if he’d never started drinking?

  What if Mina or Faith or Zach had been a match for a liver donation?

  What if the second rehab had been the one that had stuck instead of the fourth?

  What if Grey had been crap at music?

  All the ways it might have worked out that her father would still be alive.

  She’d let the list run and then she’d slide out of bed and vanish to the living room where she could cry silently or stare out the window until her brain finally shut down again.

  That had been her first experience of just how much of a mind fuck what-ifs could be.

  The second had been after Adam had died. The list had been longer then.

  A thousand ways the night of his death might have gone differently so he wasn’t on the bend in the road at exactly the wrong moment.

  A million ways his life might have been different.

  A million ways hers might have been.

  She’d beat that eventually too. Mostly because she started working nights. Insomnia never seemed to bother her when she slept while the sun was in the sky.

  But now, here she was again. And she could feel the what-ifs lining up in her head. She tried to beat them off by thinking about why she had woken. Had she heard something? But no, Stewie was still snoring in his bed in the corner of her bedroom and he’d be awake if there’d been anything or anyone worth worrying about near the cottage.

  Maybe it was the remnants of the concussion then. A concussion was a brain injury, after all. Callie had made that clear to her. Brains were weird. They could be weirder when they were healing.

  So maybe it was that and the fact that she was working days again. The perfect storm combining to bring her old enemy back to life.

  Fucking what-ifs.

  She threw back the quilt and swung her legs around, the shock of cool air enough to wake her fully if she hadn’t been before. The movement brought Stewie snuffling awake, and he padded behind her as she walked to the kitchen as the first of the what-ifs popped into her brain.

  What if Adam hadn’t died?

  That was an old one. A thought so familiar she could almost ignore it these days. A thought she had multiple times a day, though sometimes now it was hours and hours apart. It had been barely minutes in the beginning. A never-ending parade of questions driving her mad.

  What if he was still here?

  What would her life be like?

  What would they be planning?

  No. No thinking about that one. She filled a glass with water. Sliced an apple slowly, laying the pieces onto a plate in precise lines. Cut cheese to have with it and found a handful of spiced nuts to round out her snack.

  She carried the plate and glass into the living room, as she tried to avoid thinking. Pulled the afghan around her and ate apples and cheese while her eyes prickled as she fought back the memories and the goddamn questions with Stewie by her feet, whining softly at her. She wasn’t sure if it was just Labrador angst at missing out on food or whether he picked up her mood.

  But not even Stewie could stop the what-ifs. And if she wasn’t going to think about what her future might have been like, apparently her brain was going to go backward.

  Twist the knife a little.

  What if Grey hadn’t died? Would she have married Adam at eighteen if she hadn’t been dealing with Grey’s death?

  What if they’d waited longer?

  What if they’d broken up?

  What if she could just be happy?

  What if no grief rose unexpectedly to claw at her throat and make her weep in the shower when she thought she was having a good day?

  She curled onto her side, pulling the rug around her. Pushed her head into the sofa cushions as though she could hide from the mess inside her head. Tried to think of something else. Breathed deep.

  And smelled something unexpected. Something warm and almost smoky clinging to the wool of the afghan. The smell of Will Fraser. The smell of a man. Left over from the night he’d spent on her couch.

  She wasn’t used to that anymore. To the reminder of a man in her house.

  Adam had always liked aftershave that was kind of woodsy. Fresh and green. But Will’s was different. Thank God. She didn’t need scent memory complicating everything else when her brain was trying its best to fuck with her.

  But it seemed she had a scent memory of Will regardless. It wasn’t all that clear. Just the sensation of arms around her and the same smell she smelled now floating into her nose and distracting her for a moment from the pain in her head and the cold seeping into her bones. Darkness and warmth and that smell. A sensation of … safe haven, almost.

  From the night of the accident. It couldn’t be anything else.

  And as she leaned into the memory and breathed into the scent, another what-if floated into her head, with a sudden clarity.

  What if she kissed Will Fraser?

  The shock of it brought her to her feet, heart suddenly pounding like she’d run half a mile. Or, indeed, been well and truly kissed by a man who knew what the hell he was doing.

  And in the wake of the thought, came a flash of … heat mixed with longing that was worse than the thought itself. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  A sensation she was utterly unready for.

  And in sudden desperation, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight. And that meant, if she didn’t want to let the what-ifs drive her insane by morning, she needed to do something.

  Something that would blank her brain.

  She almost fled up the stairs to her studio, slapping at light switches and reaching for the first piece of paper she could find, then scrabbling for a pencil. Only to stop after the first minute of hand moving across paper when she realized that, for the first time since Adam had died, she was sketching a face.

  Will’s face.

  Fuck.

  She dropped the pencil like it was a hot coal and crumpled the paper. Then found watercolor paper and an easel and the biggest brush she owned. Focus. That was what she needed. Paint the sea. Paint and water. She knew how to do that. She’d been doing it relentlessly for three years, painting the sea like it held the answers to all the questions she didn’t
know she had.

  Tonight it was just going to have to work its magic again. Save her from herself.

  Because she sure as hell wasn’t ready to think about why she wanted to draw Will’s face.

  chapter six

  When Mina walked into the meeting room at the mayor’s office just after lunch on Tuesday, she was regretting her promise to Bill. She’d managed to fall asleep again around five, after forcing herself away from the easel then woken late, with her shoulder aching.

  She’d beaten back the pain with a long hot shower and a hefty dose of ibuprofen but by the time she’d done that and walked Stewie and gotten herself organized for the day, she’d lost the morning. Apparently Callie had been on the money when she’d said Mina needed to rest her shoulder for another week or so before doing anything too strenuous, but too late now. She’d given into the urge to draw, and her fingers still itched for a pencil. She should be back in her studio, painting.

  If she hadn’t promised Bill she’d do this, she’d still be there. Spending a few hours locked up with Cloud Bay’s mayor and whomever else Angie had roped into her festival plans—and in hindsight she should have asked Bill who else was on the committee—wasn’t exactly appealing.

  The first person she spotted was Angie herself. Dressed in one of her usual slick power suits—today’s deep green could only be a nod to the season given the color didn’t really suit her—blonde hair tamed into a low bun, Cloud Bay’s mayor was surveying the people assembled in the meeting room with an expression of satisfaction—until she spotted Mina. At which point, the Mayor narrowed her eyes as if to say “What the hell are you doing here?” before her expression relaxed.