Everything We Keep: A Novel (19 page)

CHAPTER 21

I went to the beach after lunch while Ian sought Imelda. He wanted information about Lacy and insisted on meeting Imelda alone. He wouldn’t explain why he needed to locate Lacy—who he referred to as Laney—only that she could help him find something he’d lost. If Ian learned of Lacy’s whereabouts, he promised to give me her contact information. I wanted to know where she got James’s
Meadow Glade
and who had asked her to find me.

A young couple vacated their lounge chairs as I approached. Honeymooners. The woman’s diamond ring gleamed in the sunlight. She smiled as she passed, wrapping her arm around the man’s waist. I watched them walk away, mindful I’d been twirling my engagement ring around my finger. Soap and time had dulled the precious metal.

I tossed my beach bag and an extra towel on the spare lounge to save a spot for when Ian joined me later, and then adjusted the sun umbrella to expose my legs and shade my face. November was cold at home and the afternoon Mexican sun felt warm and inviting.

Crowds gathered at the tournament farther down the beach. The loudspeaker crackled with announcements every few moments and the Red Hot Chili Peppers played in the background. Neither tuned out the waves violently slamming the shore. They roared like thunder.

A waiter moved into view, blocking the Pacific. I ordered a pitcher of ice water with two glasses and another mai tai. Settling into the chair, I read a book to pass the time. Ian’s meeting should be done soon and I wouldn’t see Carlos until the following morning.

The waiter returned with my water and cocktail, and arranged the drinks on the wooden table between the chairs. My cell phone pinged with an incoming text message as I signed the check to my room number.

“Gracias, señorita,”
he said when I returned the bill. He then trudged through the blistering sand to another hotel guest sunbathing nearby.

I sipped the mai tai and checked my phone. Another message from Kristen.

Don’t forget to call me or I’m flying to Mexico! Booking ticket in 3, 2 . . .

I called her back. She picked up on the first ring. “Thank God, you’re still alive.”

“Alive and kicking. Is my café still standing?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t—?” She huffed. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. Nadia’s fine. So yeah, we’re all good, including Alan.”

Mr. Girly Coffee. I rubbed my brow. “What about him?”

“He came to the café this morning for his usual and was disappointed you weren’t here. He’s really interested in you.”

“That’s nice,” I drawled. “Too bad I’m not interested in him.”

“Could it be because you’re interested in Ian? And, omigosh!” She gasped. “He’s traveling with you. Imagine that.”

“Kristen . . . ,” I warned.

“He thinks the world of you and you’ve pretended not to notice—”

“I’ve noticed,” I blurted in defense.

“You have? Then do something about it.”

“I can’t. James—”

Kristen groaned dramatically. “Look, Aimee, all weirdness aside, I’m sure Lacy is lying. Come home. Just because she sent James’s painting from Mexico doesn’t mean he’s there.”

“But he is. I found him.”

“What?”
she croaked.

“I mean, I think I did. It’s Carlos, the gallery’s owner, but he looks different.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Which is why I need more time. A few more days.”

Kristen was quiet. I watched surfers chase an elusive swell, only to get back on their boards and try again.

“When are you coming home?” she asked.

“My flight leaves Monday morning.” I wondered if James would be on the plane with me. Could we pick up our lives where we’d left off? Not a chance. I knew in my heart things would never be the same with James, and it made me almost as sad as I’d been when he died.

“Be safe,” Kristen said.

I sighed. “I will.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed before I disconnected the call. “I almost forgot. Thomas came into the café this morning. He asked about you. I told him you were in Puerto Escondido.”

My body tensed. I lunged upright and swung my feet off the chaise, mentally smacking my forehead. I should have told them not to mention anything to Thomas. “Did you tell him why?”

“Only that you needed a vacation. He got all funny about it, too, asked me all sorts of questions. He wanted to know why you’d picked that spot and if you’d planned the vacation or the trip was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.”

“Do you think he was simply curious?”

“He could have been, but you know Thomas. He’s been so weird lately.”

Ian walked up and smiled when he saw me on the phone. I motioned for him to sit and he tossed aside my towel, stretching out on the neighboring chaise.

“Ian’s here. I should go,” I said to Kristen, and when she asked, I promised to call before my flight.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, the heat sweltering. I squinted at Ian. “Any luck with Imelda?”

He shook his head as he poured water into the spare cup. Condensation had collected on the outside of the pitcher and dripped onto the sand.

I wanted to ask about Lacy and what he’d lost. I wanted to support him the way he’d been helping me, and I wanted his trust. I would keep his deepest, most personal secrets close to my heart.

I wanted him.

Air whooshed from my lungs. Why was I feeling this way now? What the heck was wrong with me? James was the man I want. I was here for James.

“Imelda didn’t have time to meet,” Ian was saying, “so I have an appointment late tomorrow morning.” He drank half the glass in two large gulps. “She asked about you, though.”

My brows lifted. “Me?”

“She wants to know what you think of Carlos’s gallery.”

“How does she know you’re here with me?” I twisted my hair into a messy bun. “Maybe she saw us together.”

Ian shrugged. “Ask her. She offered to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”

“I’m having lunch with Carlos.”

He glowered. “Grab a drink with her afterward.”

“What a strange request.” I wiped the sweat off my forehead with a towel corner. “I barely spoke with her yesterday.”

“She’s the hotel manager. Maybe she’s being a gracious host.”

I stared pointedly at Ian. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Not for an instant,” he said without hesitation.

We studied each other. I sensed Ian had something to say, but he remained quiet. After a moment, I readjusted the umbrella and Ian launched his laptop. Research, he told me. I returned to my book.

Thirty minutes or so later, he complained about the sun, wiping the sweat off his neck. “Since the ocean’s too damn dangerous, I’ll be at the pool,” he grumbled, standing to fold his towel. He gazed across the surf and pointed. “Look! Even the pros need a tow from the break area.”

I shielded my eyes with my hand and watched Jet Skis, water rescue sleds in tow, jam over the swells farther offshore. They aimed for the boarders treading water waiting for a shuttle to shore.

Ian shut down his laptop and slipped it into his bag. He threw his towel over his shoulder. “Coming to the pool?”

“In a little bit.”

After he left, I rubbed sunscreen on my legs. The waiter returned with a fresh water pitcher and I ordered another mai tai. I settled into the chaise and closed my eyes, leaving the book opened across my thigh.

“Aimee.”

My eyes snapped open. I squinted against the intense sunlight and glanced at the silhouette standing at the end of my chair. Rough material brushed across my legs. “Your skin is burned.”

Carlos.

He bent over, blocking the sun, and adjusted the spare towel he’d placed over me.

I sat upright and pulled my legs into the umbrella shade. Carlos turned around and called out in Spanish to three men standing by the water. He motioned for them to go ahead without him. They waved and continued walking along the beach toward town.

He nodded at my table. “Pedro makes great mai tais. How’s yours?”

The drink I’d ordered sat on the table in a condensation puddle. I frowned. How long had I been asleep? Long enough to fry. My shins burned.

“Pedro’s the bartender at Casa del sol,” Carlos clarified, mistaking my confused silence. He pointed at the edge of my chaise. “May I?”

“Sure.” I shifted when he sat, adjusting my balance against the dip in the chair to compensate for his weight. He smiled and leaned over, picking up my book in the sand. The paperback had fallen while I slept. He shook off the sand before marking my page and put the book on the table.

The crowd from earlier had dissipated, the competition done for the day. Carlos still wore last year’s tournament shirt, but had replaced his jeans with board shorts. His forehead glistened from the sun’s heat.

“Were you at the competition?” I asked.

“For a little bit. The competitors are good this year.”

“Do you surf?”

“Not in the last two years.” He pointed to his face near the scar angling around his left eye. “I was messed up pretty bad. My cheekbones and nose were reset. Medical care in this region is still last century. I took a while to recover.” He gave me a lopsided grin.

My mouth fell open. Holy shit! He must have hit his head hard enough to lose his memories. Total blackout. The accident and facial surgery explained why his bone structure was different from James’s, but not the memory loss. Wouldn’t he have tried to figure out who he was? Why hadn’t he returned home? He seemed completely unaware of his identity before the accident.

I was about to ask Carlos when Ian approached. He’d switched his laptop for a camera. Carlos stood when Ian stopped beside my chair. Ian’s thigh brushed my upper arm. I had to catch myself from leaning into his nearness.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

“No problemo.” Carlos thumbed in the direction his friends went. “I should go.”

Ian extended his hand toward Carlos. “I’m Ian, by the way.”

“Sí, Ian. El amigo.”
He gripped Ian’s hand. “Carlos.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ian stole a glance at me before he said to Carlos, “I’ve seen the fliers for your gallery. Your paintings are good.”

“Gracias.”

“Is all the artwork yours?”

Carlos slipped his hands into side pockets. “Only the paintings. The sculptures were done by my friend, Joaquin.”

Ian crossed his arms. “I’m curious as to why you sign your paintings
JCD
. What’s the
J
stand for?”

“Ian—”

Carlos’s mouth lifted in a half grin. “Honest question. My full name is Jaime Carlos Dominguez.”

I sucked in a breath.
James Charles Donato.
My pulse thrummed loudly in my ears. The initials were too much of a coincidence for them not to mean anything.

Carlos smiled at me. “Tomorrow at ten?”

I nodded, stone-faced. He grinned and jogged after his friends.

“You OK?” Ian asked me, and then frowned. “Let’s get out of the sun. You look pale.”

I gave him a blank stare. “I’m fine.” I stood to put on my swim cover and weaved.

Ian pushed on my shoulder. “Sit down. Drink some water.” He filled my cup, looking worried. “Slowly,” he said when I gulped the sun-warmed liquid.

While I waited for the dizziness to subside, Ian folded my towels and packed the beach bag. As we walked to the hotel, he wrapped an arm around me. “It’s almost dinner time and you need food. Let’s freshen up and eat. My treat.”

He could have offered to fly me to the moon and I would have accepted. Between Carlos and the sun, my head was a hot mess. I leaned into him and he supported my weight as we walked back to the hotel.

CHAPTER 22

By the time Ian arrived at my room, I’d settled on a blue sundress I knew he liked.

My hands shook while fastening the tiny bodice buttons. I left the top two undone, then decided to unbutton one more. I checked my reflection one last time and marveled at how calm I looked despite my heart’s rapid fluttering. While the afternoon sun had left me feeling lightheaded, I couldn’t help thinking tonight’s dinner felt like a date. My first-ever first date. James and I had already been too comfortable with each other when he’d taken me to a movie as boyfriend and girlfriend. We’d known each other for years and had been to plenty of movies together.

Ian knocked and I jolted, spinning to look at the door. Gripping the knob, I jerked the door open. It crashed into the wall.

“Whoa.” Ian smacked his palm against the door to keep it from hitting my backside. He wore a fitted V-neck black shirt, flat-front khakis, and flip-flops. And he smelled remarkable. Shower fresh and beachy.

He smiled, his mouth pulling up on one side. It made him look too sexy for our dinner to be a casual night between friends.

The camera strap across his chest caught my attention. It was twisted. I straightened the strap with trembling fingers.

He pressed my palm against his chest. “Relax.”

“I can’t.” The room started spinning. I stared at his chest and leaned into him.

“Look at me,” he said in a raspy tone. Our gazes met. “Let’s forget about the café and the next exhibit. Forget about Laney-Lacy and why we’re here. Tonight it’s just us, no one else. Can we do that?”

I nodded, unable to look away from him. There was something in his voice, the smooth cadence of his words. I thought about more than Ian kissing me, and wondered how he’d feel over me, naked. What did his skin feel like under his shirt? My fingers curled into the cotton.

God, I must have sunstroke to be thinking like this.

Ian twined his fingers around mine and pulled me into the hallway. “You look flushed. Let’s get some food in you.”

He’d made reservations at the resort’s restaurant on the second-level beach terrace. It overlooked the pool deck. We ordered, and after the waitress left, fell silent. I watched him fidget with his utensils, nudging the forks on his napkin and checking the knife’s sharpness. He was as nervous as I was, and I found that amazing. I knew he cared for me deeply, yet he still followed me across the globe as I chased another man.

I would search every corner of the earth.

Ian’s words echoed in my head. He was either very stupid or very much in love. With me.

I glanced away.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

A flush crept across my cheeks. I cleared my throat. “I’m thinking about you. Us. Why you’re here,” I boldly admitted. “Why did you come with me?”

He watched me for what seemed like eons. “I lost someone very dear to me because I didn’t go after her. I was angry and hurt, so I let her go. But once my anger faded, I realized it wasn’t her fault she hurt me. She couldn’t help who she was. By then it was too late. She was long gone and I had no idea where.”

He turned his attention to the ocean, the breeze rustling his hair. It didn’t occur to me to be jealous of this woman who held his heart. His pain seemed too deep and old. Instead, I itched to run my fingers through the waves on his head to soothe him. “Who was she?”

“My mother.” He leaned toward me, covered my hand with his. “Because of her, I learned not to let go too easily of the people I want in my life. Friends, people I care about a lot.” His thumb caressed my fingers. “I care about you, Aimee. More than you know.”

I felt the full impact of his words. They raced up my arm from where he touched me, electrons charging my skin. “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you invited me to dinner. This is nice.”

He tucked an errant curl behind my ear. “I’m willing to bet the food won’t compare to yours, but I’m just happy to be here with you.”

“Our dinner has yet to arrive and you’re already bashing it.”

He chuckled. “I eat out a lot because of my traveling. But these past months you’ve given me a cooked meal to take home every afternoon. Makes it hard to try something else when I already have the best.” His expression darkened, a reflection of sadness in the candlelight’s soft glow. “It’ll be a shame if you don’t return to the café. Your talent’s too good to waste. It needs to be showcased.”

“Like your photos?”

He nodded. “There’s magic in your recipes. I think you accomplished what you set out to do. You’ve created a unique coffee experience, and your customers return because your food and drinks make them feel good. It’s like how
Belize Sunrise
makes you want to go there. True artists elicit an emotional response through their work. You, Aims, are an artist.”

I blushed and inclined my head. Ian’s compliment made me itch to dance and sing. But his concern worried me. “I’m not going to abandon my café.”

“What about Carlos?” he asked. “In all likelihood he’s James. What if he doesn’t want to leave Mexico? Will you stay with him?”

Ian didn’t hide his fear. It was there in his expression, the tightness in his shoulders. He was afraid of losing me.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” But I knew eventually I would have to make a choice.

The waitress arrived with our food and after we ate and Ian paid the bill, he surveyed his camera, adjusting the lens and settings. I watched the moonlight ripple on the ocean, the clicks and beeps from Ian’s camera background noise. A faint smile touched my lips. I would always associate those sounds with him. Tonight we agreed not to discuss the café or his photography, but we still talked shop, and it didn’t bother me. I loved how passionate he was about his work. I loved—

Ian snapped a picture of me. Light flashed, scattering my thoughts.

I blinked. “Why did you do that?”

“You’re beautiful.” He studied the digital image. “You were admiring the ocean and I liked your expression. It was serene.”

“Oh.” I folded the napkin in my lap.

“I hadn’t seen that look on you before and I wanted to capture it.” He showed me the image. I caught a quick glimpse before he turned off the camera, leaving me with the impression I’d been looking at a stranger.

“How are your pictures turning out?” He hadn’t taken many landscape shots, mostly local culture and activity. Pictures of people.

“Not as bad as I thought.”

“That’s because you’re really good.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t always liked my work.”

Emotions played across his face. Unease settled in the fine lines above his cheekbones. I stroked his fingers with my thumb. “I think your work likes you. You find beauty where others don’t see it. Or rather, they choose to ignore. You have a gift.”

Ian grunted. He put the cap back on the lens. “A few people here agreed to be my subjects and let me exhibit their image. Do you mind if I show pictures I’ve taken of you?”

I leaned away. “Me?”

“I wouldn’t sell them. I couldn’t sell you,” he said almost as an afterthought. He set his camera aside. “I’ll have Wendy send you a release form when we get home.” He pointed to my empty plate. “Are you done?”

I nodded.

“Good. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into.” He grinned wickedly and I laughed.

We went to the lounge for a cocktail. A mariachi band performed on a small stage that opened to the pool patio. It glowed under a canopy of white twinkle lights.

Ian snagged my arm, dragging me onto the dance floor, and I squealed. “It’s too late to tell me you don’t like to dance,” he said over the trumpets.

“I never said I don’t like to dance,” I yelled by his ear. “I love to dance. It’s the music. It’s so . . . so . . .”

“Peppy?”

“Polka-ish!”

He raised bent arms, clapping by his left shoulder before shifting to his right, his movements exaggerated. Giggling, I mimicked him, spinning in a circle, arms raised. My skirt flared around my thighs. He snapped a picture when I came around.

“Stop!” I chided and grabbed at the camera. He moved out of reach. I planted fists on my hips. “We had an agreement. Put that thing away.”

“Wait here.” He retreated to the bar where he conversed with the bartender, handing over the camera and cash. The bartender tucked the camera away and slipped the bills into his pocket.

The music slowed. Brass horns emitted seductive notes. Guitar strings plucked a rhythm that tempted a sway from my hips. Ian approached and our gazes met across the dance floor. My lips parted. The intensity and determination in his eyes kept me rooted to my spot. He closed the distance and gathered me in his arms. A shiver coursed through me, and something akin to hunger. I pressed closer.

His hands moved up my body, achingly slow, until he cupped my face. He brushed his thumb across my lips, and then he kissed me. It was hot and desperate and tender all at once.

We moved over the dance floor, our bodies in sync. The music grew louder, our lips bolder, tongues tangling. Then I remembered where we were and why I was here. “What are we doing?” I gasped into his mouth. “What are you doing to me?” I could hardly keep track of my thoughts.

“Kissing you,” he murmured against my lips. “Loving you.”

He kissed me as no other man had, and until this moment, I’d been kissed by only one other man who mattered. But that was long ago and I had a hard time remembering how those kisses felt.

My thoughts jumbled. I was confused about what Ian was doing to me. I was confused about how I felt toward him. And I was confused about him. I should be pushing him away. Instead, I held on.

His hands moved over my back, frantic. His lips were everywhere, my jaw, my chin, the length of my neck. His tongue traced my pulse point, making me hyperaware of every inch of skin. It was too much. I tore my mouth away. “Why are you doing this?” I panted. “Why now?”

His lips skimmed across my cheek. He nipped my ear. “I couldn’t compete with a dead guy. You worshipped him.”

“So I wouldn’t forget him,” I cried, desperate. I felt out of control.

Ian dug his fingers into my hair and seared his gaze with mine. “He’s alive, Aimee. Flesh and blood.
That
I can compete with.”

“This isn’t a game, Ian. I’m not some sort of prize.”

His eyes hardened. “You could never be a prize. You are so much more than that to me. You deserve so much more than what you allow yourself to feel.”

I was feeling all right. I was ready to burst with the sensations Ian’s gaze alone stirred within me, let alone the way he touched my skin, how his mouth worked my lips. What was going on with me?

Push him away. Focus on why you’re here.

“You’re my employee,” I said lamely.

“Then I quit.” His mouth descended hard on mine. He groaned. Or was that me?

I trailed my fingers down his chest as I felt myself falling, letting go. Of everything safe and familiar.
God, I’m here for James.
I shoved him, breaking our kiss.

His eyes, dark and stormy, bore into mine. He showed me everything.

“Ian . . .”

“I love you.”

“. . . don’t.”

“Love me, Aimee.”

My world crumbled. “I can’t.” I burst into tears and ran from the lounge.

I found a darkened corner in the lobby and sank onto a wicker chair. My blood thrummed and heart raced. Ian hadn’t cracked the barrier I’d erected around myself. He’d blasted the wall with dynamite. Blown it to bits. He had made me see
him
.

Movement across the lobby caught my attention. Ian headed toward the elevators, his expression grim. He was going up to his room and he’d forgotten his camera.

I jumped from the chair and returned to the bar, convincing the bartender to give me the camera. I returned to my corner in the lobby, unable to resist skimming through the digital photos. They were phenomenal, split seconds of life caught in brilliant color. Every image had a story to tell, including mine.

I stared at the picture Ian had taken at dinner and saw someone I didn’t recognize. Actually, someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Me. Pleasantly at ease. Unguarded. A woman in love.

Air rushed from my lungs. My stomach tightened. I shook my head in denial, but the truth stared back at me. When he snapped the picture, I’d been thinking about how much I loved Ian’s passion for his work. About how much I loved him.

Oh, Ian.

I turned off the camera and rushed to his room, knocking loudly. He yanked open the door and my breath snagged. He glared at me, shirtless, with pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. I was done for.

“Can I come in?” I showed him the camera.

He nudged the door wider and kept it open after I’d entered. I lifted the strap over my head, but didn’t give him the camera. Not yet.

“I looked at your pictures,” I admitted.

Loud, raucous laughter drifted from the hall. Late-night partiers returning to their rooms. Ian let the door swing shut and crossed his arms, his neck muscles flexing. He wasn’t happy.

I swallowed. “I’m sorry, but once I started I couldn’t stop. I know you don’t like to exhibit portraits. Something about it makes you uncomfortable. I get that. But your work is amazing. Beyond brilliant.” I moistened my lips and dared a step closer. “They moved me.”

He motioned for the camera.

I took another step closer. “You move me.”

“Aims,” he growled. “I can’t do this. I can’t start with you and have you push me away. I’d rather stay friends if you don’t want me that way. Give me the camera.”

I put it on the chair beside me. “I won’t push you away.”

Our gazes locked. His jaw tightened. It was the only warning I had. One second he was by the door, the next he was pressed fully against me. His fingers plunged through my hair and his mouth landed on mine. The storm I’d awakened in him earlier took over.

My hands skimmed up his chest and curved around his neck and head. I didn’t want him to end the kiss. His hands raced over my shoulders and down my back. He unzipped my dress. The material floated to the floor and he followed, pulling down my panties. Then he stood in front of me and I couldn’t stop touching him. The smooth plane of his chest, the shallow dip in his lower back. He was hard where I was soft, strong where I was weak. He was my friend, and I couldn’t stop myself from falling for him.