“Maybe he deserves it.” She tilted her head, giving me a sympathetic look. “How serious were you about the girl?”
“I was considering marrying her.” It was true, wasn’t it? So why did that feel like a lie?
“Shit.” She reached out and put her hand on my arm. It was slender and tanned, her nails short and unpainted. The nails of a woman who liked to dig in soil. You’re Never too Old to Play in the Dirt. “I’m sorry. On his behalf.” She looked so incredibly sincere and I felt a small knock in my chest.
“You can’t apologize on someone else’s behalf.”
Our eyes locked for several moments and something passed between us. Something I had no idea how to interpret. Sympathy? Understanding? “No,” she finally said. “I know. I know that. Sometimes I feel responsible for his behavior, though. I practically raised him. For so long, it’s just been him and me. He’s . . . well . . . I don’t even know what to say.”
Haven looked away and I studied her profile for a moment, taking in those runaway curls that definitely had a mind of their own. I wondered what her hair would look like down . . . all that wildness dancing around her face. “What are you two doing here?” I finally asked.
Her gaze found mine again and she gave me a very slight smile. “We left California—where, as you know, we’re from—two years ago.” She shrugged. “We’ve been exploring the country together, stopping for a couple months here, a few months there when we got short on cash.”
I whistled. “Nomads. How’d you choose Pelion as the place to enjoy the summer?”
She smiled and tilted her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We saw the lake through the trees as we came upon the sign for Pelion and we stopped to stretch our legs. Standing there, the roofs of the buildings just within sight, the sound of the lake lapping the shore, and the smell of pine all around . . . it just felt so peaceful, you know?” She glanced at me and smiled. “Well, of course you know.” She shrugged. “Anyway, we checked in here, and then found the jobs at the club the next day. It just worked out.”
I was mesmerized by her description of Pelion, the way she made it sound so calm and picturesque. Did I see it the same way she did? In some ways, yes, but in other ways, there were so many locations that held painful memories. Why had I never jumped in my truck and left town? Seeking something that Pelion could not provide? I loved my job, and the people of Pelion, but I could have been a police officer anywhere. I’d never considered leaving, and that suddenly seemed like an interesting choice I’d never even pondered on.
What kept me here?
There was a whole world of other places where I wouldn’t be “one of those Hale boys,” or “that asshole Travis,” or “the guy who lost the town,” or “the one with the crazy, bitch of a mother,” or even “second best.”
“When do you plan on stopping for good?” I finally asked. And how do you know when you’ve landed in that spot?
She shrugged. “At some point, I suppose we’ll head back west. But for now, we’re fully enjoying ourselves.”
“That’s definitely true of your brother. I saw just how fully with my own eyes.”
Haven grimaced again.
I held up my hands. “But you, you are here in our town doing the good work of rescuing plants from landfills.”
She tipped her head. “Everyone has a part to play.” She smiled, playing idly with the fringe on a throw pillow. There were secrets in her eyes and I wondered what she wasn’t telling me about this trip they were on. I remembered that Archer’s wife, Bree, had ended up in Pelion because she’d been running away, and wondered if Haven was leaving something specific behind as well. “And what about you? What parts, other than chief, do you play?” she asked, turning the subject to me.
“Uncle, for one. I have two six-year-old hellions for nephews, and a six-month-old niece who is still suspicious of me.”
Haven laughed. “Family,” she said, and I detected a wistful note in her tone. “Sounds like you have a close one.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that. I could tell you some family stories that might curl your toes,” I said, attempting to make light of life-changing events that, in all actuality, would follow me—and my brother too, hell, most of the population of Pelion—all of my days. But family dynamics that, at least, would end with my generation. Maybe my half-brother and I weren’t the closest siblings on earth, but our relationship had grown over the years, as his trust in me had been rebuilt, and I knew for sure that Charlie and Connor would have each other’s backs forever. Bree and Archer would tolerate nothing less.
Haven gave me a rueful smile. “I suppose all families have their issues.”
“What about yours? What do they think about this two-year-long adventure you’re on?”
“Oh, well, it’s just Easton and me, which, you know, is why we’re especially close, despite that I want to sock him in the gut sometimes. A lot of times, actually.”
“No one at all?”
She cleared her throat, looking away momentarily. “No, like I said, just us.” She put her hand over her mouth and let out a big yawn. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting,” she said, beginning to stand.
I stood too. There was no reason I should want more from her, but I felt an almost fundamental need to have answers. Who were your family? How can you not have roots? But I wouldn’t push. Yet. Mostly though, I was disappointed she was ending our conversation because I liked talking to her. “I’m going to get to bed as well.”
“I enjoyed chatting with you.” She tilted her head, biting her lip. “I really am sorry about what my brother did and well, the repercussions. And you know, just for the record, I’m not opposed to putting a mild amount of fear into him.” She paused. “If you need any help in that endeavor, let me know.”
I raised a brow. “What makes you think I don’t want more than to put a mild amount of fear into your brother?”
She smiled and it was soft. “I just have a feeling that’s not really you, Chief Hale.”
I laughed, leaning in and speaking softly. “Maybe you don’t know me so well, Haven Torres.”
For several moments our eyes held, breath mingling and a spiral of heat whirled through me. “Maybe,” she conceded, pausing. “But maybe not.” She leaned away, and held out her hand. “In any case, can I consider you a friend?”
The whirling spiral of heat cooled and fizzled.
I gripped her hand. It wasn’t as if I was even very attracted to her. She was pretty, I could see that now. But she was far from my type.
I dated prom queens.
This girl was a plant lady.
A plant lady with a penchant for pushing horrific things called wheat germ on me, an uncontrolled riot of haphazard curls that sometimes likened her to Medusa, and a lone family member—my now sworn enemy—who’d seduced my girlfriend and was apparently the best.
“Friends,” I agreed.
We said goodnight to the room at large, a chorus of farewell greetings rising as we left—some sober, some not so much—parting ways at the top of the stairs, me turning left, Haven turning right.