Page 34 of Brass Anchor Inn

“It is. At the lowest point in our lives, my mother reached out to her sister and was rejected. We were living in the streets.” As soon as his confession came tumbling out, he pressed his lips together. He never ever meant to admit that to Jo or anyone else.

Some successful people liked to refer to their lowest point in life to show people how far they’d come. He didn’t do that. No one needed to know about his past. It was horrendous to live through. He didn’t want the painful memories dogging him the rest of his life.

And yet try as he might to keep the past exactly where it should be—behind him—there were moments like this when it came rushing up and smacked him in his face. It was bad enough he had to deal with his dead aunt’s things, but he drew the line at looking over a bunch of junk that some long-lost relative buried in the ground.

Jo stepped toward him. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Her touch was warm. The sensation spread until it reached his chest. The warmth flowed to the cracks in his heart, making it feel whole.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and full of compassion. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I won’t pretend to understand what you went through, but if you need anything while you’re on the island, all you have to do is ask. The islanders watch out for each other.”

The very last thing he wanted was her to feel sorry for him. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. He was now a powerful businessman. He’d made it through the worst time in his life, and he was stronger because of it. He was no longer a kid searching trash bins and begging for money. He was rich and strong.

He pulled away from her touch. “I don’t need anyone.”

Her gaze searched his. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Why wouldn’t she believe him?

She continued to look at him with pity reflected in her eyes. What did he have to do to convince her that the past couldn’t hurt him any longer—and neither could the memories of his relatives?

“Fine. Let’s go do this,” he uttered before he had a chance to think through his words.

Jo was unusually quiet as they made their way to the inn. He felt as though he should say something to her—to explain his spontaneous admission. But what could he say?

There was no way to explain away his past. It was a matter of fact. Still, he couldn’t bear her feeling sorry for him. It dug at him.

In the midst of the path through the heavy vegetation, he turned to her. “Stop.”

Her gaze searched his. “Stop what?”

“You know what, feeling sorry for me.”

There was that pitying look again. It tore at his heart. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not that little boy anymore. I’m rich. I have my own business. And a nice house. I…I can eat whatever I want whenever I want. I can buy as many clothes as I want.”

As the words tumbled out of his mouth, the horrendous memories tore at him—memories he strove to hold inside all of these years—memories he’d thought he’d conquered. He remembered begging his mother to take them home. She said they’d been locked out of their apartment.

He remembered sleepless nights, afraid of the other people living in the streets. It was why he now regularly made large donations to food banks and shelters. Flashes of his past played out in his mind. The old scabs were torn away, and the searing pain stabbed at him. In his mind, he was no longer on beautiful Bluestar Island. His thoughts spiraled back to when he was a kid with no idea where his next meal would come from. He’d tried to act meaner and tougher than he was so people would leave them alone. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

The next thing he knew, Jo stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him. He embraced her as though she were an anchor in a storm. One arm encircled her waist while his other hand cupped the side of her face. He felt a wetness drip onto the back of his hand. It was only then he realized the moisture was coming from him. He swiped at his eyes.

Jo pulled him close and rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel the gentleness of her breath upon his skin. The rhythmic sensation calmed his racing heart and grounded him.

Her touch brought him back from those dark, nightmarish streets where he’d done everything he could to protect himself and his mother. Jo grounded him in a safe and caring world. He felt a connection to her that he’d never felt with anyone else.

When he pulled back to thank her for her moment of kindness, the words clogged in his throat. His gaze dipped to her lips. In that moment all he wanted was to feel her mouth pressed to his. He was certain that was what he needed to make the disturbing memories of the past disappear.

But there was something else driving his overwhelming need to kiss her—he wanted to see if her kiss was as sweet as he imagined. Surely it couldn’t be. Nothing could be that good.

The only way to find out was to lean down to her. His heart pounded so loud it echoed in his ears. He wondered if she could hear it. Did she know what was about to happen? Did she long for his kiss the way he ached for hers?

His eyes closed as he went to press his lips to hers…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The sound of the ringing bell was so loud. It was almost as if it were right next to them. His eyes sprang open. Jo jumped out of his arms. She took a step or two back.

When he looked at her, she averted her gaze. It took him a moment to gather himself. He blinked. Had they almost kissed, or was that just a part of his imagination? The pink stain of her cheeks was evidence that it was far more than his musings.

“We need to go,” she said. “That’s the signal the ceremony is about to commence.”

---