Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)

Tears scalded her throat and because she was on her own, she let them fall. What the hell was the matter with her? She never cried, and suddenly it was all she seemed to be doing.

She closed the book carefully so that she didn’t damage the pages, scrubbed at her face with a dusty hand and then stilled as she heard someone at the door.

Emily.

Sky had obviously called her and Brittany felt a rush of warmth because if she’d ever needed a hug from a friend, it was now.

Cradling the book under her arm, she scrambled down from the attic, guarding her arm.

Wondering why Emily hadn’t just used her key, she opened the door and was confronted by Zach.

“Oh—”

His eyes raked her face and his expression darkened. “What the hell is wrong?”

Crap.

He was the last person she’d expected to see. She hadn’t heard from him in three days, and here she was standing in her dusty sweats with windblown hair that hadn’t seen a brush or a straightener all day. “Nothing.”

“You don’t cry about nothing. If something upsets you, you’re more likely to shoot it in the butt than cry over it. So I’m asking you again—what’s happened?” He used that same firm, patient tone he used when he spoke to nervous children and frightened animals. The tone that told her he wasn’t going to give up until she answered him.

He’s a good man, Brittany, but he doesn’t even know it himself.

“Honestly, I’m fine.”

His gaze shifted to the book under her arm. “What’s that?”

“It’s one of my grandmother’s diaries. I found it when I was clearing out her things in the attic.”

“You were doing that alone? Why didn’t you call Emily or Skylar?”

“Because I was fine doing it on my own.”

“Bullshit.” Without waiting for her to respond, he nudged her gently back into the cottage and closed the door behind them. “You’re not fine. You’re feeling sad and lonely and you miss the hell out of your grandmother.”

She didn’t know whether it was his words or an overload of emotions but her vision blurred, she felt the salty sting of tears build in her eyes and the next thing she knew the diary was being gently tugged from under her arm and she was hauled against Zach’s chest and hugged tightly.

Enclosed by the tensile strength of hard male muscle, it was impossible to keep the emotion in. She closed her eyes and let herself sob.

Through the storm of emotion she felt him holding her, felt the gentle stroke of his fingers on her hair and heard the rough tone of his voice as he told her everything was fine, that she should let it out.

And she did. She buried her face against his chest and cried, her tears soaking his shirt. She breathed in the warm male smell of him, felt the secure circle of his arms and wondered how a man who claimed to feel no emotion should be so attuned to the emotions of others.

“Sorry.” The word was muffled against his shoulder. She knew she should pull away but she felt safe and warm.

“Why are you sorry? You loved her. You miss her. You don’t have to apologize for that.” He eased away slightly and dragged the backs of his fingers over her damp cheek. “She was a special woman. Kind and wise.”

“Yes, she was.” She sniffed. “She always liked you, did you know that?”

He gave a short laugh. “Then maybe she wasn’t as wise as I thought.” He smoothed her tangled hair back from her damp face with gentle hands. “You need coffee.”

“I can’t be bothered to make it.”

“I’ll make it.” He urged her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. Then he fetched a box of tissues from the shelf and placed them next to her. “Sit there and don’t move.”

She wondered what he was doing at her door.

She was about to ask him when her eyes strayed to the photo of her grandmother, taken on a windy day on the beach.