That Second Chance Page 16

  But though my heart beats harder every time she closes the space between us, something stops me from making a move.

  Fear.

  An overwhelming sense of dread bites into my very soul, warning me to stay as far away as possible.

  Claire was young, healthy; she was supposed to live a long life. And yet after that trip to New Orleans, she passed from a massive heart attack.

  At twenty-five, I lost her so young, and even though doctors and my family tried to reassure me it was something I couldn’t have stopped, I can’t possibly believe that. After all, there was one thing I could have done . . .

  I was never one to believe in curses or hexes. I’ve always believed magic was bullshit, a hoax. But fuck, it’s almost impossible not to believe when you’re in my position. I lost the love of my life a few short days after the palm reader sentenced my brothers and me to broken love.

  It can’t be a coincidence.

  And I don’t think I can take the chance of letting that happen again.

  Not with Ren.

  But fuck, her smile, her laugh, the way she looks at me as if I’m the only man on earth, the only man she’s ever truly cared about. She’s making it difficult to stay away, to keep my distance, especially tonight.

  Usually at these events I make the rounds, catching up with everyone I know, but this time, I’ve been blissfully captured by Ren and have no intentions of talking to anyone else.

  One night won’t hurt me.

  One night spent soaking her in will be just what I need. Just a small taste, and I should be satisfied.

  “You’re taking way too long to think about it.” Ren interrupts my thoughts. “You’re either ready for my inquisition or you’re not.”

  “Hit me with the questions,” I respond, savoring the humor in her voice.

  She allows herself a soft, adorable fist pump and then sits up straight. “Okay, who’s your favorite brother?”

  “What?” I laugh, a little shocked at the balls it takes to ask that question. “Did you just ask me who my favorite brother is?”

  “I did. Are you scared to answer?”

  “No, just a little shocked, that’s all. You’re getting in deep, aren’t you?”

  She cutely shrugs. “At least we’re not fighting about soda anymore.”

  “That’s true.” I let out a long breath and grip the back of my neck. “My favorite brother? That’s tough because they are all special in their own right.”

  “Cut the crap, Knightly, and answer the question.” She can’t even hold the stern voice before the words fall out of her mouth, a laugh following closely behind.

  “Frankly, I’m nervous for your students in the fall.”

  “You should be. I’m a devil in the classroom. Now stop avoiding the question and give me an answer. If you had to choose, gun to your head, who would it be? Don’t think; just answer.”

  “Reid.”

  “Reid?” She scrunches her nose. “Really? I’m surprised. I thought you would have said Rogan.”

  “I’m closest with Rogan, but Reid has always made me laugh and knows how to make things interesting. He’s a big dreamer with an even bigger heart. I love Rogan, of course. He’s the guy I talk to the most, but he’s an asshole most of the time too. Carries a chip on his shoulder and refuses to brush it off. And Brig, well, whenever he gets a chance to annoy me, he does.”

  “The youngest-child syndrome, right? My friend out in California was the youngest of three, and she made it her mission to always annoy her two older sisters. The fights they would get into scared me sometimes. I was afraid there was going to be some serious hair pulling, and I wasn’t going to be able to break them up.”

  “There’s definitely something to that. It’s like they’re predisposed to be irritants and instigators.”

  “Very true. So Reid, huh? Does he know?”

  I shake my head. “Hell no. That would be like seriously telling your children who your favorite is. If I ever let out that information, I would never hear the end of it, especially from Rogan.”

  “Understandable. So if I were to accidentally say something, what would you do?” She slyly grins at me.

  My brow lifts. “Playing with fire, are we? If you were to tell them our little secret—yes, it’s our little secret now—I would march my ass over to your house and take a sledgehammer to your Adirondack chairs.”

  She gasps and clutches her chest dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

  I slowly nod, a smirk playing at my lips. “I so would.”

  “Oh, Griffin Knightly, you don’t play fair.”

  I tip my drink toward her. “Never said I did.”

  The crowd has died down, and the few people left are all sitting around the dimming fire.

  Not Ren and me.

  Instead, we’re sitting in the bucket seats of Brig’s 1965 Mustang convertible, our heads tilted back, the dull hum of people talking mixing with a light instrumental beat that plays in the background.

  The stars above us shine brightly against the midnight sky while crickets chirp around us, lightning bugs blinking in the far-off distance. It’s a typical summer night in Maine, but because I’m spending it beside Ren, it seems more magical than normal.

  “What’s one thing you wish you already checked off your bucket list?” I ask, hands in my lap.

  She turns toward me, curling her legs up, her cheek resting on the back of the chair. She’s so petite that she snuggles in perfectly to the leather of the chair.

  “Hmm, that’s a tough one—it’s a long list.”

  “True, but if you had to choose one.”

  She doesn’t answer right away, taking her time instead. I like that she puts thought into my questions, like she truly wants to give me a good answer. It’s like she’s giving me her true self, and I really like that. I’m learning all about the real Ren, digging in deep, not just hitting the surface.

  “This is going to sound so lame, I’m sure, and superficial.”

  “I won’t judge you.” I speak sincerely, turning my head to look her in the eyes. “If it’s on your bucket list, then it means something to you. Who am I to judge what you want to accomplish in your life?”

  Her eyes meet mine, her lashes fluttering a few times. “You’re a special kind of man, Griffin, do you know that?” Unsure of what to say, I swallow hard, her words hitting me right in the chest. “As you know, I grew up in Los Angeles. Movies have always been a huge part of my life, not just because basically all of my friends wanted to be actors, but because the city lives and breathes entertainment. The Oscars were a huge deal growing up. We were invited to at least five viewing parties every year, and when it wasn’t award season, we were always running into some kind of film production.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “It was. Still is. Even at twenty-eight, I get excited about the possibility of running into a film set.”

  “We’ve never had that kind of excitement around here.”

  “Which is surprising. This town was made for movies.” She leans farther into the chair. “It’s silly, but I’ve always wanted to be an extra in a movie, to make it to the big screen in a small way. I put it on my bucket list, thinking I’d get the chance in California, but it never happened. Now that goal seems almost impossible.”

  “Hey, you never know. There have been film scouts here before.”

  “Really?” She perks up. “That’s really exciting. Why wasn’t Port Snow ever picked?”

  “Not sure.” I shrug. “But they do come in and out. Maybe one day a production company will be smart enough to film here. It’s also one of the reasons why we keep everything so impeccable; landing a movie set for the town would be huge.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that’s something you guys even thought about.”

  “Trust me, we’ve thought of everything when it comes to revenue.” I curl my finger around the steering wheel and lightly move it back and forth. “What held you back from becoming an extra in LA? There mus
t have been a lot of opportunities.”

  “School and work. I was dead set on making sure I aced every single test and got a good student-teacher job.”

  “Book nerd?”

  “Yeah, big time. I’ve been to the library in town at least three times already. It’s the most perfect building, like a little castle smack in the center of town. And it smells like heaven, like old books and knowledge. I love everything about it.”

  I can’t even remember the last time I stepped foot in the library, but seeing it through Ren’s eyes is giving me a new appreciation for the place, making me wish I hadn’t overlooked it so often.

  “Do you have any other happy places?”

  “My house,” she answers without even thinking about it. “Honestly, it’s so perfect. I love it so much. It’s quaint and quiet, not to mention it’s right by this guy I keep running into.”

  “Oh yeah?” I smirk at her. “Hopefully he’s not annoying you.”

  “No, he’s been pretty good to me. I just hope I’m not annoying him.”

  I turn my head completely toward her, a sense of seriousness lacing my answer. “You’re not.”

  Her smile sends electricity up my spine, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. Unforgettable, that smile, that look on her face—it immediately imprints in my mind, along with this night. The smells, the sounds, the light breeze that keeps blowing her subtle perfume over me, lighting me up inside: all of it makes for one of the most memorable nights I’ve had in a very long time.

  “I’ve never been out in Port Snow this late before. It almost seems magical to see the empty streets, the closed-down shops, just the streetlights lighting our way. Makes me want to dance out in the middle of the street,” Ren says, holding her heels in her hand, her bare feet padding across the concrete of the sidewalk.

  “So why don’t you? No one’s watching.”

  “You’re watching.”

  “So?”

  She walks backward. “No way am I about to start dancing in front of you, especially without any music.”

  Is she really going to hold out on me now? After the night we had? Everything we talked about? No way in hell.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, open up my music app, and play the first thing that comes up on my playlist. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” fills the quiet night air, a lonesome trumpet perfectly underscoring the grainy, beautiful voice.

  I step down off the sidewalk and hold the phone out, turning the volume up as far as it will go. “Here’s your chance, Ren.” I start to sidestep, showing her there is nothing to be self-conscious about.

  “Are you really dancing in the street right now?”

  I look down at my feet and then up and down the deserted road. “I am. Why don’t you join me?” I hold out my hand for her. She eyes it for a few moments before she sets her shoes down on the sidewalk and closes the distance between us.

  She’s hesitant at first, but the minute her hand slips into mine, the feel of her soft palm ignites a fire deep in my stomach, awakening every bone and nerve ending in my body.

  With bated breath I wait as she slowly moves her hand up my arm to my shoulder, where she rests it. Her eyes are cast down for a few moments before she tilts her head back and blinks up at me, disbelief in her gaze. Hell, I’m feeling the same way right about now.

  Phone in my pocket setting the mood of this serene night, I place my hand at her lower back and start to guide us back and forth.

  We don’t speak; instead we let Louis Armstrong speak the truth.

  The sweet melody is like a paintbrush stroking the canvas we’re dancing on, igniting the colors around us into vivid hues I forgot existed.

  The sky is washed in purple, dotted with electric-white stars.

  The pastel-colored shops glow in the golden light from the streetlights, more animated than I’ve ever seen them.

  And the potted flowers hanging above us move in the light breeze, illuminated, beacons of color along the dark, calm street.

  Everything seems more real, more alive, just like the feeling in my heart, pounding, reminding me that no matter how often I deny it, the woman in my arms has a profound effect on me.

  Like I’ve come back to life after a long stint in purgatory.

  For the entire song, we stay silent, just enjoying the gentle sway of our dancing, and with each shift of her feet, she draws closer and closer until she’s only a few inches away, her feminine scent eating a hole in my already weakening facade.

  What would happen if I tilted her chin up? If I pulled her in one inch closer?

  Would she rest her head on my shoulder? Would she hold on to my body tighter? Would she sigh up against me, content with the way I keep her close?

  The song comes to an end, and so does our shuffling. Once again, she looks up to me, silently seeking out my next move. Even though staying out here, dancing to a few more songs with no one else to bother us, sounds like something I really want to fucking do, I know we need to walk the rest of the way home. It’s late, and I have an early day tomorrow.

  Reluctantly, I release my hand from her back and turn off the music. But instead of releasing my hand from hers, I link our fingers together and firmly hold her palm against mine as I nod toward our street. “I better get you home.”

  “Yeah.” She takes a short breath and nods. “Probably should.”

  She moves to release my hand, but I stop her. I should let her go, I really should, but I can’t seem to drop her hand. Instead, I cautiously pull her in even closer.

  She glances up at me, a little shocked, searching for answers I don’t have. I wish I could tell her what this means, why I won’t let go, but for the life of me, I can’t formulate any sort of reasoning.

  So instead, I lead her to the sidewalk and pick up her shoes, and together we walk across our neighbors’ yards, the grass a nice cushion for her bare, sore feet.

  Up ahead, the mighty roar of the waves as they crash into the rocky shoreline vibrates in my chest, the sound comforting, addictive.

  We make our way to Ren’s house, where I stop at the beginning of the walkway leading to the front door. Her hand still clasped in mine, I turn toward her, handing over her heels. She takes them, a soft thank-you falling from her lips as she holds them to her side.

  “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you for hanging out with me.”

  “No need to thank me, Ren. I had a great time too.”

  “You did? You weren’t annoyed that I bogarted you for the entire night?”

  I shake my head as our bodies move in closer. “No, I was happy you did.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod, my hand itching to brush her cheek, to feel her soft skin against my palm. “Yeah.” I watch in fascination as she leans forward some more, her tongue peeking out, licking her lips.

  The night air stills around us as my hand finds its way up her arm. She shivers under my touch, from the graze of my finger up past her bicep to her shoulder, past her neck, where I halt at her jawline. Her lips part, and her eyes flutter shut for a second before they open, her pupils wide, waiting.

  Needing more, wanting more, I move my hand up a few more inches and cup her cheek as I take another step forward. The hand holding her high heels inches around my waist as my breath catches in my throat from the intimate position.

  I stare down at her lips. Plump and ready, enticing me, begging me. Just one taste.

  That’s all I’ll take.

  One.

  Single.

  Taste.

  My thumb runs across her jaw to her chin, slowly pulling it down, encouraging her mouth to part even farther. From where my elbow rests closely against her heart, I can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her breath just as charged as mine.

  She swallows.

  So do I.

  Her hand slides up my back.

  My hand cups her cheek.

  Her chest presses against mine.

  My heart hammers so goddamn rapidly th
at it almost feels like I’m about to have a heart attack as I close the last few inches.

  All I want is to treat myself this one time, to see what it’s like to indulge in the woman who captured me the moment she appeared in my life.

  All I’m asking for is this one moment, this one instance, when I can forget about the past, forget about the curse, and live the life I wish I could have.

  On a deep intake of breath, I go to close the last few inches, bringing my lips so damn close to hers—just as a boom of thunder sounds off in the distance, startling us away from each other.

  “Oh my God, that was loud.” She presses her hand to her chest, looking over my shoulder. “I didn’t even realize there were clouds.”

  I grip the back of my neck, peeling myself away. No, there’s no way that could have been a sign. It was just an odd coincidence that a random boom of thunder sounded the very moment I was about to kiss Ren. Wasn’t it?

  All coincidence.

  Even so, it’s an inconvenient reminder of why I should keep my distance.

  I take another step back and give her a quick wave. “Uh, I should go. You’re okay getting into your house?”

  The happiness on her face falls as I take another step backward. I can see the question on the tip of her tongue, the question of where the hell I’m going, but before she can ask me, I take a few more steps backward. “Okay, I’ll, uh . . . I’ll see you around, Ren. Have a good night.”

  Confusion and disappointment in her eyes, she resigns herself to my quick departure. “You too, Griffin,” she says, her voice heavy.

  Hating every bone in my body, I turn away from her and make the short walk back to my house, which feels like miles as I put more and more distance between me and the good-night kiss my body is still humming for.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  REN

  “Wow, you’re doing such a good job in here,” a voice says. I turn to find Kim Wells, the social studies teacher, standing in my classroom’s doorway. “I love all the colors.”

  I glance around, pride filling my chest. “Thank you. I had my mom mail out some of my decorations from my old classroom, and they look great in here. I hope it’s not too much.”