Page 4 of Always Be an Us

"You’re making it worse," he says and his deep voice once again sends a languorous heat flowing through me.

I look up and find my gaze is ensnared in his. His eyes are an interesting color, not quite black but too dark to be brown. Are they like a dark blue? Is that a fleck of gold I see? I'm not sure.

And those lips framed by his beard...

My eyes travel there next.

I can’t stop staring at them

I don't know if I imagine that his tongue comes out to lick the bottom one. Or that his eyes flicker to my lips.

Or that they're actually getting closer, the arms around my wrist tightening, his eyes darkening.

The ringing of a phone, his phone, breaks the moment.

And then suddenly, the man backs away and releases my wrists like he got burned.

There's a single moment of silence as we stare at each other, both shocked and horrified by what almost happened.

And then, before I can say anything, he's gone.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to my home, and I enjoy every second of it. Summers in Laketown, Michigan are beautiful and fall is even better. We’re nearing the end of July, so we’re in between the best seasons, with the reds tinging the corners of leaves, a constant gentle breeze blowing and the sunset turning the top of the lake into iridescent orange.

"Grandpa!"

As I get closer to the cottage along the shore of the lake, I wave at the spry, elderly man in the distance, his conical Asian-style straw hat (a.k.a. “Chinaman’s hat” around here) shielding his features. He's by the side of the lake, setting up his boat to go fishing, and he waves back. When I get closer, I spot the smile on his wrinkled face.

"You're home early," Grandpa Crane says, his green eyes twinkling.

"Yeah. We closed early because no one else came in. Plus the plumbing is messed up and I needed to call Rick to get the plumber."

I don't tell my Grandpa that the toilet is likely backed up due to Mrs. Peach, because I don't want to embarrass her. Grandpa isn't exactly known for keeping secrets and the whole town would know by nighttime.

Besides, the poor woman was mortified enough about the whole thing. I tried to calm her nerves and tell her it was okay. But internally I was a little bummed out because I knew this was going to be another expense.

The expenses keep piling up at the tiki bar, and we're not getting enough customers. At this rate, we won't even be breaking even anymore.

And then there's all the debt I'm carrying from college, all to not even graduate.

Disappointment and self-loathing churn in my stomach. This is all my fault.

"How was work, honey?" Grandpa asks, drawing me from my morose thoughts.

"It was fine," I say. "Except I dropped a burger on this one guy."

"What guy?"

"Some out-of-towner," I tell him. "I was embarrassed at the time, but now I'm not so sorry about it. He was rude as hell." And hot as hell. But I don’t mention that part.

Grandpa chuckles. "You don't have enough patience for people, honey. And you have a temper. Just like your father."

"I thought Mom was the angry one."

"Never," Grandpa answers. "My baby had the patience of a saint."

That's not what the people in town say, but I smile. I love it when Grandpa tells me stories of my parents. It makes me feel closer to them even though they've been gone for years now.

"Tell me again how they met," I ask because Lord knows I need something to boost my mood.

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