Page 36 of Indigo

“Are you okay?” he repeats, sounding a little amused by my lack of word forming.

“Hmm?” I respond quietly, still staring, completely hypnotised by the intensity of his gaze.

With a shake of his head and a quick look over his shoulder at my mum and Mrs Neil, who are standing in front of the counter, watching the show in amusement, he whispers, “Up you get.”

His hands wrap around the smell of my waist and haul me off the floor in one smooth motion.

I stand, my front plastered to his, and crane my neck up to look at him. His grip on my waist tightens for a moment and then releases and he steps back, giving me some breathing room.

It feels like we’re in limbo, him and I. Neither of us has done anything about thisthingbetween us, but I know we both feel it equally.

“You hurt?”

I shake my head and clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

Looking anywhere but at him, knowing if I do, I may just bloody throw myself at the man, I take in my surroundings as if this is the first time I’ve been inside.

The tables are lined with red and white striped tablecloths, the windowsills display Mrs Neil's large collection of ceramic animals playing instruments, and the antique clock hanging above the kitchen door reads 2:35pm, same as it did the day I left town.

“Paxton, you’re going to be late, young man,” Mrs Neil calls from behind us, drawing both of our attention.

She smiles at us both and smoothes down her shoulder length silver hair. She hasn’t aged a day since I left, looking no older than fifty.

Pax chuckles and pulls me back to him with one hand on the small of my back. He kisses the crown of my head and inhales deeply, as he always does, and then releases me and walks over to the counter.

Mum grins wide at me from beside Mrs Neil as Pax approaches and takes the three brown paper bags she’s holding out for him.

“Ladies, I’ll see you later, I’m sure,” he says, winking at my mother and then me before he walks his delicious ass out of the diner, leaving me standing there in the middle of the room wishing he’d come back.

“Well, well, well,” Mrs Neil says, forcing me to look away from the closed front door and at her. She tucks her hands into the front of the baby blue apron she has wrapped around her waist and adds, “Who would have thought, after all these years…”

???

After talking to Mrs Neil for far too long, considering the hour of the day, and sculling one full cup of coffee, Mum and I walk out of the diner with two fresh cups and a bag of donuts in hand.

Twenty minutes into what Mum calls the ‘scenic tour of Scarlett Bay’, we stop, and I watch her take a seat on a bench that looks like it was made in a high school woodwork class by a fifteen-year-old who really didn’t really want to do the assignment.

Looking over the chipped wooden planks, I run my hand over a small engraving on the backrest. “It has your name on it,” I whisper, tracing over the letters with my finger.

She wiggles her shoulders at me and smiles. “Isn’t it adorable?”

That’s one word for it, sure.

“How the hell did you land this?” I laugh, looking at her curiously.

She takes a large sip of her coffee and looks out at the ocean. “Pax made it for me,” she replies as I sit beside her, hoping the bench is sturdy enough to hold the both of us without collapsing.

“Not another word about it,” she scolds, pointing her finger at me as I open my mouth to insult the craftsmanship. It’s clear that Pax is a mechanic, not a carpenter. “Just look,” she says, nodding her head toward the water.

“Wow…”

The trees in front of us fall in the most perfect way, making it seem as though the leaves are framing our view of the jetty.

As the water hits the shore, the sound is only just audible, and the salty breeze fills my lungs as I take in a deep breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks, smiling at the sight.

“Absolutely.”

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