Capture (Seaside Pictures 1)

"Seventeen." She winked. "Don't forget that very important part of the scenario, not that I think you're in danger of it, considering you repeat it to yourself when you think I'm not listening."

"Question." I braced my hands against the granite and leaned forward. The smell of rain floated through the room. "Have you always been this snarky?"

"Always." Her blonde head bobbed.

I fought to keep my grin small, so as to not scare her into thinking I was going to attack her or turn into the Joker, because, I couldn't stop smiling in her presence. She just seemed so… alive. And in days previous, it was as if death was a better description of the way she carried herself. "Is it getting easier?" I asked softly while she chewed on her thumbnail, like a teenager. At least she was reminding me of one, the way she was focused in on gnawing the thing off and ignoring me.

"What?" She dropped her hand and stared me down, her blue eyes penetrating mine with such clarity I averted my gaze.

"The talking." I licked my lips and stole a glance at her mouth.

"Only when you stare at my mouth like I have something on it."

Damn, I wish she did have something on it — me. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said in a quieter voice. "So cleanup and then crabs?"

"Is this your way of getting me to change the subject?"

She pushed away from the counter and breezed past me, making her way toward the fridge. "Yeah." She poked her head inside. "I figure if I talk about it, then I may freak myself out or jinx myself. I know it's a huge deal, really. Jay and Pris would freak, not to mention Demetri. I imagine he'd dedicate a song to me or something, at least pet a bird."

It was hard to keep up. "Pet a bird? What?"

She pulled her head back from the fridge and grinned. "It's true he really is that terrified, I wasn't exaggerating."

"Noted." I crossed my arms, staring at her because it seemed so natural. Talking, being in the kitchen, making dinner.

I could get used to that. God knew I needed normal in my life after having such a demented childhood and not being able to stay in one place for any length of time.

I wanted to take her out.

But not in my truck.

I made a mental note to have my car brought up from Malibu.

"It is a big deal, Dani," I whispered.

Her hand gripped the front of the fridge, tight enough for her fingers to turn white. Hanging her head, she slowly closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a soft, "I know."

"And being scared…" I took a cautious step toward her. "… it's normal, you know? I mean, this is the first time you've spoken in a while and I can't imagine what's going through your head right now."

She let out a painful laugh. "A lot."

I reached out to her, meaning to touch her arm; I tugged her against my body and kissed her instead. "Ignore the fear. Embrace the triumph."

Her body relaxed against mine. "How do I do that?"

"Easy." I ran my hands slowly up and down her arms. "You choose to look at the mountains rather than trying to concentrate on the valleys. It's easier to glance behind you and see the peaks, but it takes actual effort to look down into the darkness of where you've been."

"Sage advice." Dani pulled away, tilting her head up toward mine. "Thanks, old man."

I knew she was teasing, but I had the sudden feeling that she was twisting the knife into me while I reached for my walker and reading glasses. Holy shit, was this how she felt when I called her young?

The thought stung, and I pulled back. "Okay, so I'll stop making a big deal out of your age if you never call me old again." I popped my knuckles.

"Careful," she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief, "you may get arthritis."

I choked out a "Ha" and shook my head. "And, for the record, I'm not old. I'm only a few years older than you."

"I know." She rolled her eyes. "My point exactly. Stop treating me like I'm still in diapers. I own a thong for crying out loud, and I'm pretty sure I can kiss the crap out of you so…" She nodded. "… no more talk about talking tonight. Let's just… hang."

Hang? How about strip? That sounded like a much better option.

Thong. Diaper. Kiss. Hell, my brain didn't know what to focus on anymore.

"I'll just… go get cleaned up." I turned on my heel, nearly running into a wood beam I could have sworn had appeared out of nowhere. Sidestepping it, I ducked through the bathroom door and slammed it behind me. Thank God, it was the actual bathroom and not the closet.

"Focus." I stared at my reflection in the mirror. "Seventeen." Yeah, that number no longer had any effect on me. Well, damn.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dani

HE'D FINALLY LEFT. NOT THAT I wanted him gone, I just needed some time alone to process the fact that, in the last two hours, I'd said more sentences than I'd manage to accomplish in the past year.

Deep breaths. That's what my therapist always said. "And when that fails, try counting to ten while envisioning yourself walking along the beach and watching the waves."

Sometimes it felt like psychobabble crap.

But right now? I needed something — anything — to center me. I quickly glanced out the window and started counting the waves as the tide rolled in, my hand clenching my cell phone.