Take Me All the Way (15 page)

“We do seem to be hitting it off.”

“I noticed,” she told him with a smile.

He tilted his head. “No Jeremy so far?”

“Nope,” she answered, trying to keep a small smile in place.

“Well, he's missing out if he doesn't get to see you in this dress, Tam.”

“Thanks,” she said, “but . . . whatever. It's all good.”

Though she knew Fletcher could tell she felt a little sad. “Worst case scenario, you see him on the job Monday, right?”

She nodded. “Actually, I was nervous about seeing him tonight, so I should be relieved, right?”

“Right,” Fletcher agreed.

“But . . . I'm not.” The honesty snuck out because with Fletcher, it could. More than with other people anyway. But she put her smile back on to say, “Get back to Bethany—I'm fine.”

Fletcher gave her hand a light squeeze and a small, consoling smile from the face it was still hard to reconcile as being his—but his eyes, she noticed, were filled with the same wisdom and kindness as always.

As promised, she sat with Reece and Cami at one of the round tables eating Polly's seafood buffet. Talk continued to revolve around things like Fletcher's big transformation and Polly wearing something other than her waitress uniform. And people kept telling Tamra how great she looked.

She hadn't realized it, but maybe somewhere along
the way she'd stagnated. And she supposed people who stagnated never realized it—that was part of stagnation. But she felt revived, re-energized, and like a long forgotten part of her had been set free: the part of a woman that simply wanted to feel pretty.

At some point she noticed a big gray cat standing at the leg of her chair, staring up at her longingly as she bit into a hush puppy. And oh—the poor thing was blind in one eye! So Polly hadn't been kidding about stray cats coming around. And Tamra didn't really want to encourage that sort of thing, but it was hard not to let a hungry, one-eyed cat tug at her sympathy, so she gave it a chunk of the crabcake she hadn't yet eaten.

“Well, look who just came rolling in,” Reece said then—and Tamra looked up quickly, a wisp of hope lifting her heart, but immediately realized Reece had meant the rolling part literally. Christy's grandfather, who lived in a nearby retirement home and was in a wheelchair, had arrived. He was the reason Christy had originally come to Coral Cove.

“Where's Fifi?” good-natured Charlie asked as his lady friend from the home, Susan, pushed him up to greet them. The old man always seemed fond of Reece's giant iguana.

“Thought I'd put her on her leash and bring her out in a little while, after dinner,” Reece replied. “It's good to see you out.”

Charlie grinned. “Wouldn't miss my grandgirl's party for the world.”

“Heard you're giving her away at the wedding,” Cami chimed in.

“You better believe it.” The older man beamed. “I'll
be there with bells on. Now, mind you,” he added, letting only a tiny shred of doubt show in his expression, “not sure how I'm gettin' her down the aisle in this thing. Wheelchairs, and even walkers, don't move too good in the sand. But where there's a will there's a way, so we'll get it figured out, that's for darn sure.”

After everyone else had gone through the buffet line, Polly and Abner joined them with plates of their own, sitting down on the other side of Tamra. “See you met Captain,” Polly said.

“Huh?” Tamra asked.

Then she followed Polly's gaze to the scavenging feline who still lingered. “He's been . . . what you might call an unwelcome customer at our place lately.” Polly's eyes grew bigger as she made a slight motion toward Abner, indicating the cat was more of a problem for him than for her.

“But you gave him a name anyway?” Tamra asked, a little perplexed.

“Oh no, not me,” Polly said. “That's what Jeremy took to callin' him. Don't know why, really. But they seem to be buddies.”

The mention of Jeremy brought her down a little. Why hadn't he come tonight? She knew it was only a party, but . . . it had also been an invitation to be part of their community. And if he chose not to, the same way he'd chosen to decline Tamra's invitation to the Sunset Celebration . . . well, it made it clear he didn't care much about getting to know any of them.

And if he was just her employee, it didn't matter much. But on a more personal level, it mattered. His not coming tonight meant passing up an opportunity to be around her, that simple.

Of course, that's probably your own fault.
She'd pushed him away. And she'd avoided him all week. So maybe she couldn't blame him. But . . . it would have flattered her, moved her, if he'd made just one more effort to give her a chance to change her mind, to try to win her over.

It doesn't matter, though. It's still a great night and a great party.

After dinner, the music was quieted for more toasts, and Tamra shoved thoughts of Jeremy aside in favor of letting herself enjoy everyone else's happiness.

Like Christy and Jack's as they again thanked everyone for coming—their love was evident as they stood hand in hand, addressing the crowd.

And when dancing began, Cami pulled Reece into a slow dance, her arms looped around his neck, and Tamra could see how in love he was and was so glad her longtime friend had found that.

Fletcher and Bethany stood beneath a streetlamp talking, laughing, looking like people who might be on the verge of falling in love. Maybe she was romanticizing that, but no matter
what
it was, it was the happiest she'd ever seen him.

And even Polly and Abner seemed a little bit romantic tonight—Tamra watched Abner take Polly's hand, the older woman's eyes lighting with surprise as he led her to the dance floor. “Didn't break out my fanciest hat for nothin',” he said, and it made Polly laugh.

Tamra sat alone, taking it all in. Sometimes watching someone else's life, someone else's happiness, was enough—if it had to be. The party was in full swing now—most of Coral Cove was mingling and dancing away a beautiful autumn night beneath the stars next
to the bay, the tall sails and rigging of the boats along the dock providing the backdrop.

Everyone was having so much fun, in fact, that Tamra realized they'd forgotten to cut the big sheet cake from the Beachside Bakery. They'd already gotten pictures of it, though, so she decided to make herself useful and start slicing and handing out dessert.

She'd gotten through the first row, cutting and placing little slabs of white cake on yellow paper plates—when someone touched her arm. She looked up, slicer in hand, to see a handsome man with short, sandy hair and a small, well-groomed beard. “Hi,” she said politely.

But then she stopped, froze. Because . . . his eyes. She knew those eyes.

“Hey,” he said deeply, gently.

She sucked in her breath. “Jeremy?”

“Yep, it's me, Mary.” Then he let his gaze run the length of her, head to toe and back again. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She sucked in her breath harder. “Um, you too.” Because he did. He really, really did. But then she shook her head nervously, because that wasn't what she'd meant to say at all. “I mean . . . what happened? What's this all about?” She found herself motioning to his much-shortened beard and tidy hair with the cake slicer as if it were a pointer and he were a chalkboard.

“The night we kissed you said you couldn't see me,” he said. “So . . . guess I wanted to let you. See me.”

Wow. It was a night for miracles in Coral Cove.

When new beautiful thoughts began to push out of the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him . . .

Frances Hodgson Burnett,
The Secret Garden

“Y
OU . .
. DID
this for me?” She found herself blinking, repeatedly. Nervous and still trying to wrap her head around this new and improved Jeremy Sheridan. He
looked
improved anyway. He looked like . . . a hot, sexy dream come true.

“It was time,” he said. “But . . . you gave me a reason.”

She sucked in her breath once more, and finally let it out in a rush. Crap, she kept forgetting to breathe. But it was hard with him standing in front of her suddenly looking so . . . wow. Drop dead gorgeous. She could really see him now. And she couldn't get over how much she liked what she saw.

“Wanting to let me really see you,” she clarified, still taking that in, too.

He nodded. “After you said that, I guess I wanted to let you see me more the way . . . I used to be. More like I used to see
myself
.”

She didn't know how to respond. It seemed like a profound gift at a moment when she'd least expected it.

“In case it matters,” he went on. “In case it fixes anything. Between us.”

When she pulled in her breath this time, she reminded herself to let it back out. And she was honest. “It matters,” she said. And it wasn't just that he was suddenly so much more attractive to her—Lord, he even wore a short-sleeved button-down shirt with nicer-than-usual shorts—it was that he'd
done
it. He'd made the effort. For her. A big one.

“There's something about you,” he continued. “Something about
us
.” He moved his fingers back and forth between them. “War changed me. It made me see things clearer—but not in a good way. It made my life feel . . . small. And pointless. And like I didn't deserve to be happy. But since I came here, I've started . . . feeling a little better. Sometimes. And a little more normal. Sometimes.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, then shook his head. “Maybe I should shut up. Maybe I'm saying all the wrong things when I want to say the right ones. But . . . I'm trying. Because you make me want to do that. You make me feel things I haven't for a while. And maybe I just don't want to let that go.”

A lump had risen to Tamra's throat. Because he was pouring his heart out to her. He was doing exactly what she'd asked of him and never expected him to do—really let her see him. And not just on the outside, either.

So even as hard as it was—and had always been—to let herself be that open, too, she knew she must. And not only because she'd promised Fletcher. But because
Jeremy made her want to. He made her feel like she could be real with him. Like she
had
to, in fact. Because if someone was real with you and you couldn't give that back to them, at least a little, what was the point in even living? “You . . . make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, too.”

“Why?”

“Huh?” she asked.

“Why haven't you felt them? I know why
I
haven't felt them—but why haven't
you
felt them, Mary?”

Just then, John and Nancy Romo came walking up. “Cake!” John announced happily, like it came as a surprise.

As his wife said, “Why, Jeremy Sheridan as I live and breathe. I heard you were here—why haven't you come and seen us?”

Once again, Tamra let out a breath she hadn't quite realized she was holding.

“John, Nancy—hi.” He lifted a small wave, and Tamra could feel him being as nice as he could but also wishing they hadn't been interrupted.

“I owe your mother a phone call,” Nancy was saying now. “I'll have to tell her I saw you. You look wonderful, by the way.” She was reaching out, grabbing his hand. “You'll have to come over—we'll grill out, make shish kebobs. You know how John loves his shish kebobs. And I want to hear how you're liking our little town—we were thrilled to hear you'd come down to stay for a while. And you know if you need anything, you just give us a call. Or knock on the door, for that matter. You're family, after all.”

After a little more small talk, the Romos departed and Tamra asked, “Family?”

“My sister is married to their son. And our parents are close friends. I visited here with my mom and dad once.”

She nodded.

And he said, “You didn't answer my question.”

“I didn't have a chance before they walked up.”

“You have a chance now.” His eyes burned with the same intensity as the sun shining down from a bright, clear sky—even though it was long past dark and the lighting behind the motel was dim, so it was something she could feel more than see.

And when it looked like more people might be heading toward the cake table, Jeremy removed the slicer from her grip and set it down, then took her hand and drew her away into the shadow of a palm tree near the dock.

His question, though, was a complicated one, and she didn't know how to make her answer simple. But she bit her lip, thinking it through, and tried her best. “I . . . I was raised in a commune out west,” she began.

“Wow,” he said.

And she appreciated that he instantly grasped the gravity of what a different sort of life she'd led than most people.

“Yeah—wow,” she repeated numbly. “It's . . . not the most normal environment.”

“I can imagine.”

“Relationships of all kinds there were . . . strange. I trusted the wrong people a couple of times. And I guess I just let it . . . harden me or something.”

He stepped closer, their eyes locking. “I felt that. That you were softer underneath. Under whatever made you act so tough on the outside.”

“Really? You could?” Tamra didn't know
anyone
could see that part—sometimes she forgot it was there herself.

He nodded, his sexy eyes falling half shut, and she thought maybe he was going to kiss her—until she heard Christy's voice. “Jeremy! Oh my God, is that you! Look at you! You look fabulous!”

One more breath Tamra had to let out—as Jeremy spun to face Christy. “Yeah,” he said, “thought I'd try to make myself a little more presentable for your party.”

“You look so much more like I remember you now!”

And then Reece approached behind Christy. “Whoa. Is that really you?”

“Guilty as charged, bro.”

And Reece just shook his head. “I can't handle much more of having my mind blown tonight.”

And when Jeremy looked at Tamra, confused, she explained, “You're the third person, including me, who's shown up here tonight looking different.”

“We seriously need to start throwing more parties around this town,” Reece said. “Apparently it really makes people clean up.”

Everyone laughed, and Tamra stepped up and gave Reece a teasing slug in the arm.

“The good thing for you,” Reece told Christy, “is that everyone in your wedding pictures is going to look like they came off the cover of
GQ
.”

And Christy playfully lowered her chin to reply, “Um, speaking of that, you could use a trim. It didn't seem important when everyone else around here was looking so shaggy, but you might be the weakest link now.”

More laughter erupted, and the next thing Tamra
knew, Grand Funk Railroad's version of “Locomotion” blared from the speakers, and Tamra spotted Polly trying to move Fifi out of the way in the area serving as a dance floor.

“Polly, Polly, Polly,” Reece said, leaving them to approach her, “you can't make a conga line with an iguana.” And he grabbed her, spun her around, and put his hands on her waist. “You can make one with an iguana
owner
, though.”

Tamra laughed, beginning to realize Reece had downed a few mojitos.

“Come on, people,” he said, “don't make me and Polly look foolish.”

“Um, you might be managing that on your own!” Cami called laughingly, but fell into line behind him. And the rest of the party joined in. Even Riley. Even Charlie in his wheelchair. And even—holy crap—Abner!

Though Jeremy and Tamra still stood on the sidelines. He looked at her said, “I'm not much of a party guy these days, but . . . if Abner's having more fun than we are, something's wrong.”

“We should probably join in,” Tamra agreed, and they fell in at the back of the line, Jeremy behind her. And she couldn't deny immediately liking how his hands felt on her hips.

As is wont to happen during a conga line, there were occasional stops and starts that caused people to bump into the person in front of them. And when Jeremy bumped into Tamra from behind, it was . . . nice. Warm. It sent ripples all through her. Especially when he refastened his hands to her hips. His thumbs pressed into her flesh, just a little, more than if the person in front of
him were a stranger. And then—mmm—his body came flush against hers, resulting in . . . a firmness against her ass.

She looked over her shoulder, found his face right there, an inch or two away. She dropped her gaze from his eyes to his mouth, his jaw, his chin—all visible now, even through his short beard. And she liked them. And she liked that they were so near. To
her
mouth. If she wasn't mistaken, his hold on her hips tightened, his fingers splaying wider, somehow feeling as if he was touching a little more of her.

When the song ended, Meghan Trainor's “All About That Bass” took its place and everyone fell into dancing the normal way—except for Tamra and Jeremy, who stood facing each other uncertainly. “I'm not much of a dance guy, either,” he said.

“We have that in common,” she informed him. And yet, she sort of wanted to. Maybe it was the mojitos. Or maybe it was just the vibe of the night. If she couldn't release her inhibitions tonight, when miracles were taking place right and left, when could she?

So that was why it made her happy when he said, “But . . . when in Rome, what the hell, right?”

She laughed and said, “Right. Let's dance like fools and not give a damn.”

And that's exactly what they did. They danced to fast songs, and they danced to slow ones, too, Tamra melting gingerly into Jeremy's arms, secretly happy when the tempo slowed and Colbie Caillat began singing lyrics that told her she didn't have to try so hard. And it was true—she didn't. It was . . . easier than she could have dreamed even a few hours ago to lean against Jeremy, feel his warmth, welcome his embrace as his
muscular arms cocooned her. It was no less new, but it was less . . . scary. Because . . . he'd let her see him now.

They laughed together, talking about nothing and everything. She knew people wondered who she was dancing with—she felt them watching, whispering—but she didn't care. She was simply having fun. A kind of fun she couldn't remember having had . . . ever.

When they took a restroom break, Tamra came out first and spotted Fletcher, also on the dance floor, looking like he was having as much fun with Bethany as she was with Jeremy. On impulse, she grabbed up a black pen to write on one of the little yellow napkins at the cake table:

It's a night for miracles!

And she whisked past the two of them on the dance floor and gently tucked the napkin into Fletcher's pocket. Just because. Whenever he found it, she wanted to remind him. Things were shifting. For both of them. Suddenly nothing seemed impossible. A happiness she'd never quite envisioned—for both her and Fletcher—seemed within reach.

And yes, she barely knew Jeremy. But as Fletcher had said, this was just about being open, having fun, living. She was taking this one moment at a time and enjoying the hell out of it.

When a hand closed over her wrist, she turned to find Jeremy—looking as handsome and strong as he had all night. She still couldn't believe this was the same unkempt man she'd come to know on the jobsite. She still couldn't believe he'd changed that—for her. “Dance with me some more, Mary?”

Another slow song was starting. “Yes,” she said.

Her arms circled his neck as his closed around her waist. As they swayed back and forth, it held all the tension and heat and new intimacy of a pair of teenagers dancing at the prom. But Tamra had never been to the prom—this was her first time dancing like that. She never wanted the music to end.

But when it did, Jeremy whispered in her ear, “Take a walk with me.”

It never occurred to her to refuse—she wanted to be alone with him, wanted to know him better.

When he took her hand, she didn't balk—she let him hold it, liking the connection. Even that, just holding a man's hand, was something she'd done so little of, and something in the simplicity of it felt special.

They walked in silence for a few moments, up the dock, away from the party, the noise and music fading as they strolled past the line of boats.

“I met your cat friend,” she volunteered.

She felt him look at her in the dark, then refocus his attention ahead. “I wouldn't say we're really
friends
. We just . . . hang out some. I'm more of a dog guy.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling inside as he tried to hide his affection for the cat.

“What made you change your hair?” he asked.

She considered her answer carefully, but it was hard because there was so much else to concentrate on and feel—his hand in hers, the soft breeze, the stars overhead. “I guess I was just trying to . . . embrace change. Be open to new things.”

“New things like me?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“New things like . . . kissing me?”

She pulled in her breath. Hesitated only a second. Then admitted “Maybe,” once more.

“It looks great,” he told her.

“You . . . look great, too.” It wasn't easy for her to be openly complimentary of a man that way—she simply wasn't accustomed to it and she'd spent so much effort trying to convince
this
one that she wasn't into him.