When We Touch

His assumptions actually make me laugh. “I’m not a killer, Dad. I never have been.”

“Well, you’ve done a fine fucking imitation of it up to now.”

With an exhale, I sit in the lower, quilt-stitched leather chair across from his desk. “I buried myself in the work, but I uncovered something. They’re dishonest. They—”

“Ahh!” My dad holds up his hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t tell me anything. You’re not thinking clearly right now, and you might regret sharing it later.”

Leaning forward, I prop my forearms on my thighs. I study my palms and think about how the only person who has ever seen me for who I am is Ember. She’s the only person who has ever cared to know the real me, not the guy they want me to be.

“I’m thinking clearer than I have in a long time,” I say, still studying the lines in my palm as if reading the future. “I’m moving back to Oceanside Village permanently. I’ll paint. I’ll consider taking on small cases, but only because I’m going to marry Ember Warren. I’m going to help her achieve her dreams, and we’ll live our life. The life we dreamed of having together ten years ago.”

He laughs and the derision is like sandpaper against my skin. “Ten years ago, you dreamed something you never would have had if you’d stayed there.” He pushes out of his chair, and walks around the desk, leaning against it. “So you’ll do what? Wills and estates? You’ll paint and marry the town baker? What about her kid?”

My jaw clenches, and I cut angry eyes at him. “I’m warning you. You interfered in our lives once. Don’t do it again.”

Both hands go up this time. “I have no interest in interfering. I’m only asking the obvious questions.”

“Her daughter is a beautiful little girl. I want her to like me and think of me as a father.” Rising from the chair, I start toward the door. “I’d like to give her brothers and sisters as well.”

“Jack,” his voice changes, becomes placating. “Stop… don’t leave angry. You haven’t been home in years. Let’s get lunch.”

My throat is tight, and I’m frustrated with his attitude toward my plans and Emberly, but at the same time, it’s been just Dad and me ever since the accident.

“I came to you for advice. You’re in the business world. I’m facing a serious decision, and I need to do the right thing. I’m not sure how.”

“You always do the right thing, Jack. It’s who you are.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Come, let’s have lunch.”

* * *

The task ahead of me weighs on my mind the entire drive back to Oceanside. Perhaps Dad was right about not telling anyone yet. Perhaps I should wait on telling Ember what I’ve planned to do.

In his mind, waiting means not burning bridges for when I “wake up” and return to my life in the city, return to the firm. In my mind, I simply don’t want Ember to worry. I shouldn’t be implicated in what happened, but it’s possible I might have some liability if I can’t prove I didn’t know about the hidden files.

Also, there are the circumstances of the case. I don’t want to dredge up painful memories for her. We’ve never talked about her sister and how she died. Ember was so young, I’m not even sure if she remembers. She was about the same age as her daughter when it happened…

Her bike is parked outside the bakery, so I stop there first. It makes me laugh she doesn’t own a car.

“Did you even learn how to drive?” I ask, pushing through the old door.

She’s across the room at that massive wooden table in front of her shelves of ingredients, and I swear, every time I see her, I forget everything clouding my mind.

A spot of flour is on her cheek—at least I think it’s flour. Her long dark hair is swept up on top of her head, and she’s dressed in those cut-offs again, which reveal her sexy legs. Ember isn’t tall, but she has great legs and of course, those curves.

I want to lift her onto that table and taste everything she’s hiding in those shorts then sink my cock…

“What?” She’s pouring something white into a bowl of more white, and when she looks up, I see she’s troubled.

Shaking away my dirty thoughts, I go straight to where she’s standing and lean beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She’d planned to confront her mother today, and her mother is one powerful force. My girl is pretty powerful, but locking horns with someone like that still takes the wind out of your sails.

She shakes her head and continues pouring. “I’m just… thinking about this recipe.”

I’m not convinced it’s the whole truth, but I’ll let it go for now. “What is it?”

“Tabby called about an hour ago. A couple in Oceanside Beach need a gluten-free birthday cake. I saw this on a TV show—it’s called a Hazelnut Dacquoise.”

My eyebrows rise, and I look down at the bubbly white foam rising in the bowl as the silver beater turns. “What’s in it?”