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I’d had one goal when I left Marblehead, and now I didn’t know what to do. All I wanted to do was get my house back. Nothing had gone according to plan since I woke that morning.
I wandered along the water until the breeze kicked up. By the time I looked at my phone, I’d missed two more pickups from the subway. I’d walked so long that I ended up near the aquarium. I followed the after work crush of people onto the Blue Line and wedged myself in the corner.
This
part of Boston I could do without. I’d gone to school here, so I knew my way around, but I definitely preferred Marblehead.
Lady’s Cove was one of the waterways that ran along the main highway, and it had been my home for a long time. I knew the families, went to the parties, understood the politics. Now I was the poor relation. With the small town feel of Marblehead came the same Massachusetts gossip. I hated how my grandmother had been reduced to old money, minus the money.
Annabelle Stuart had been a proud woman—so proud that she hadn’t told me just how much trouble she was in. She’d loved that house. I wasn’t going to let it go to some suit who didn’t know how to smile, let alone enjoy the ocean.
No way, no how.
Four
The thunder shook the house at 4 a.m., driving me from my bed to the front porch. I’d been tossing and turning for hours anyway. The heat had followed me out of Boston, and I’d felt the storm brewing all night. Lightning speared across the night sky, and the flashbulb brightness gave me a snapshot of boats bobbing and struggling against their anchors in the distance.
I moved closer to the windows, pressing my hand to the damp screen. I wanted to be outside on the beach, but the lightning was too close to a fireworks show. When the thunder rolled off the water, the house shook. This was what living by the ocean brought.
Wonder, and a little touch of magnificent fury in the face of beauty.
These were my favorite days to work in my little space on the side of the house. What used to be the maid’s quarters had become my studio right after college. That should have been my first clue to the financial strain.
My grandmother had a caretaker for as long as I could remember. Mrs. Stephens had been getting older, and I’d just assumed she’d retired.
A lot of things had gone over my head in the last few years. I couldn’t even use the flighty artist excuse. I was driven and always on the lookout for new work to keep me busy. That was my sin. Working too much.
How many days had I lost with my grandmother because I’d locked myself away in my workshop?
I rested my forehead against the screen. The spray off the water soaked into my skin and the faded cotton tank I wore to bed.
They’d turned the gas off this afternoon and air conditioning was a thing of the past. I should count my lucky stars on the warm snap. All too soon, the cold would settle in, and I’d be layering up with fisherman’s sweaters to survive.
If I didn’t get kicked out first.
My nipples tightened as the cold front battling with the warm won out. Was that because of the air or because the idea of getting kicked out ended in thoughts of Blake Carson?
His hazel eyes had chased me into dreams for the few hours I’d managed to sleep. The first crack of thunder had saved me from whatever shenanigans my subconscious was trying to start.
He was the enemy.
I had to remember that.
No matter what my poor, neglected breasts thought about that subject.
The mist turned to an all-out downpour, and I had to finally step back. My clothes stuck to me, and I shivered against the brutal wind. I crossed my arms, and again, my breasts reacted. Where was the fairness in this? Even an innocent brush against the tight tips made me moan.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been wound up like this. To the point that I’ve often wondered if something was wrong with me. I’d never had that indefinable pull to get horizontal with anyone. The moments of loneliness had pushed me into accepting a few dinner dates, but the lack of chemistry had fizzled any action I’d been tempted to take.
One lover in college and one since I’d graduated had been enough to convince me I just wasn’t a sexual woman.
Ten minutes with Blake Carson was not the kind of reassessment I was looking for. In fact, it was dangerous. I had to remember that today when I reported for work. I flicked on the light switch as I entered the kitchen.
Nothing.
“Fuck.”
Evidently, they’d cut the power now too.
