Chapter 12

twelve

MARK

Nerves made my grip on the small Tupperware container unsteady, and I nearly fumbled it when I took the front stairs two at a time.

I needed to calm down.

It hadn’t taken long for the warm afterglow of my kiss with Candace to get snuffed out. Last night, on the drive home, reality had come crashing down with no room for subtlety or the tender, hopeful feelings I’d been entertaining.

Dread sunk like a weight, cold and heavy in my chest. We’d kissed and it had been perfect, but what the hell was I supposed to do now?

There were things about me that Candace didn’t know, and, even worse, things I couldn’t tell her. At best, she just thought I was private about my life. But more likely, she thought I had a daughter out there who I never saw or acknowledged.

In a delirious daze from her lips and her scent and her taste, I’d agreed to more kissing, but what did that even mean? We’d need to keep this—whatever it was—between us. If her family and the town found out, any sort of association with me would have a negative impact on her. They’d whisper about Candace behind her back. I couldn’t stand the thought of my reputation ruining hers.

But here I was, twelve hours later, heart in my hands along with some pumpkin scones .

Tightening my hold on the plastic container, I poked my head into Candace’s office. She wasn’t there, but she must have just stepped out. The overhead light was on and so was her electric heater. It was early, but she was an early riser. I’d wanted to stop by and talk this morning, try to figure out where we went from here.

As I stepped more fully into the room, I caught the scent of lavender that always seemed to cling to her hair and her skin. It was soft and delicate, but it had arousal flooding my system along with memories of her fingers firm around my belt loop and her nails on my scalp. All I could do was shake my head at myself. Shifting uncomfortably, I moved to place the scones on her desk.

I’d pack up my heart, but leave the scones.

It was a good thing she wasn’t here to accept the breakfast and my barely coherent thoughts. I’d probably just stand there staring at her like a lovesick idiot. I was fifteen with a crush all over again. Except now I knew her—the real her—not the half-formed idea I had in my head. She was kind and funny and beautiful in a way I couldn’t have known when I was simply an infatuated teenager.

Distantly, my brain warned that I was a little more than infatuated this time around.

I probably needed to get my shit together before we had this conversation anyway. If I was smart, I’d just put things to rest, tell her there was no point in moving forward and we should go back to being friends. I knew we had an expiration date with her plans to leave in the new year. But it was that same threat of her impending departure that made me think we could do this—keep this secret for a few short months.

It would be easier to keep a relationship under wraps if it had an end date. I wasn’t selfish enough to try to date her for all the world to see. I didn’t want to hurt her. She could leave Kirby Falls once more as one of its best and brightest—a hometown darling untainted by my past and my decisions.

Maybe Candace could be mine for a little while, and it wouldn’t hurt so bad when she left.

Intent on heading out, I stepped closer and placed the Tupperware on the desk. In doing so, I caught sight of her laptop, off-center on the scarred wooden surface and open to a webpage. My attention snagged on the job listings. Market research manager. Sales and marketing position. Product marketing. Brand manager and client relations.

I’d known Candace was leaving from the start. When her parents had mentioned the return of their youngest daughter, they’d said she was taking some time away from the city and was coming home. I didn’t know what might drive someone away from their city and current position, but maybe Candace was exploring her options, seeing what else was out there.

Either way, none of those job postings were in Kirby Falls.

It was a stark reminder—a disappointment I didn’t have any business feeling.

I glanced away from the computer screen to the mounted fish on the wall. Its large orange eye stared knowingly.

Shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I started for the door only to be stopped when Candace walked in, breathless and already grinning.

“Hi. Good morning. I saw your truck.”

She was wrapped in a green sweater that made her hazel eyes glow warm and golden. Candace looked so damn excited to see me that I nearly confessed to what I’d seen on her laptop.

I could feel the judgmental weight of Lance Bass’s lifeless, frozen gaze at my back.

Everything I’d planned to say this morning left my head in a rush. I cleared my throat. “Hey. I brought you some pumpkin scones,” I told her, pointing to the plastic container like a jerky marionette.

“Thank you,” she replied happily, already moving to retrieve them. “These look great.”

While she broke off a piece of crumbly breakfast pastry and popped it into her mouth, I tried to make the words come. But seeing her scrambled every option on the table.

Before I could decide on the best path forward, Candace finished chewing. “This is delicious. Thank you for making those for me. ”

I was ready to admit that Wenn had actually made them, and we’d been out shooting again last night at Craggy Peak, but then she said, “Would you like to go out to dinner tonight? Or grab a drink after work?”

She looked so fucking hopeful that my throat closed up. My frantic heartbeat was the only thing getting through, and I knew if I tried to speak, my voice would shake with the force of it.

Candace Judd was asking me out on a date. Like that was the next logical step after making out in the Apple House. And maybe, for a normal person, that was.

I didn’t have the luxury though. For a moment, I tried imagining what it would be like to be a regular guy on a date with someone like her. But as the town pariah, I was so far removed from that option, the daydream just wouldn’t stick. Hell, it wouldn’t even materialize.

Instead, I thought fast. How could I fix this? I didn’t go out in Kirby Falls. I avoided restaurants. I didn’t attend trivia nights or play rec-league softball. There was no frequenting of bars or breweries. That outing to Flyers’s grand opening had been an exception, not the rule.

Trying to extrovert myself now, with Candace on my arm, was a path to disaster. I’d make her look bad. People would judge her, gossip about her. Paint her with the same tainted brushstrokes they smeared across me.

The thought of what she’d be subjected to had my voice emerging too sharp, the edges jagged and forceful. “I can’t go out with you.” Regret was instantaneous. My hands balled into fists inside my pockets.

Candace’s bright, hopeful expression died a thousand deaths.

“I just mean,” I blurted inelegantly, “I’m more of a homebody. Why don’t you come over? I’ll make you dinner.”

“Really?” she asked tentatively, the light creeping cautiously back into her expression.

“Yeah. I’d like to have you over.”

Her grin turned sly. “Can I see your garden?”

I laughed—probably sounding unhinged—as relief flooded my system. We could do this. If she came to my house, I wasn’t putting her reputation at risk. “Sure. You can see my garden. You can even harvest some sweet potatoes and beets to take home.”

“I can’t wait.”

When I realized we’d just been standing there staring at each other for a full thirty seconds, I straightened. “I’ll text you some menu options today. Then I’ll pick up groceries after work. Is six thirty okay?”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

I swallowed uncomfortably but knew I needed to get this next part out. “I know this is new, and I know you’re leaving. I don’t have any expectations, Candace. I like you and want to spend time with you. But do you think we could keep this thing”—I motioned between us—“private for the time being? I don’t want to make things weird at work or with your family. Can it just be you and me?”

Candace's face stayed mostly the same, but I saw her swallow, the tendons in her neck going tight. Her warm smile became less defined, like a handout that had been photocopied one too many times. I hadn’t seen Candace’s copy-and-paste smile for weeks. Those initial brittle encounters had tapered off to genuine happiness during her time in Kirby Falls.

The fact that I’d put it on her face now made a hole open up in me.

But then her expression cleared like a summer day, and she said, chipper as a Girl Scout, “Of course. That makes sense. My mom would probably start planning our wedding if she knew.” She laughed at that, and it sounded so true and real that I started to doubt the disappointment and tension I’d witnessed just moments ago.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it,” Candace said.

I scrutinized her face, but she looked at ease. “I’ll text you in a bit. Think about what you want tonight. I’ll make it for you.”

She nodded.

Then I stepped close to her because I couldn’t not. My hand cupped her cheek, fingers threading into soft sable hair.

“Is it later?” she asked around a mischievous little grin that I ached to taste.

“Yeah,” I breathed, and gave in .

I felt her smile change, transform into something welcoming and wanting as her lips parted. She tasted like the tea I knew she favored in the mornings, honey-sweet.

Her hand found its way to my chest, resting on the soft flannel I wore. I wondered if she could feel my racing heart. It hadn’t calmed since she’d stepped through the door, eager and breathless, happy to see me in her space.

The kiss stayed slow and intent. I wasn’t about to let things get out of hand when her dad or her brother could walk by at any moment. I wanted her, but I respected her too.

Finally, when my hands shook from the effort to keep myself in check, to stop myself from moving down her body, I placed a tiny bite on her bottom lip and pulled back, resting my forehead against hers and breathing the same air.

“More kisses later?” she asked.

My eyes were closed, but I knew she was smiling.

“More kisses later,” I confirmed.

Then I made myself leave before later came too soon.

Eleven hours later, I opened my front door and forgot what I was doing.

Candace stood there, outlined by the setting sun, and I wondered how I’d ever get through dinner. She looked so beautiful. I felt like I’d been hit with a tranquilizer dart, right in the chest, and it was trying its best to take me down.

She’d done something with her hair. It hung in long loose waves that were somehow both elegant and casual.

The jeans she wore had a rip at the knee, and I felt like a damn Victorian viscount getting a glimpse of forbidden ankle.

Clearing the addlebrained desire from my throat, I finally managed, “Come in.”

Candace beamed, her curious gaze bouncing all around.

Instead of stopping to let her snoop, I took her coat while she toed off her shoes, and then I led her into the kitchen. “Can I grab you something to drink? I have a red ale from Trailview, the cranberry seasonal from Firefly, and a bottle of pinot noir. Or water or sweet tea.”

“You don’t have to stipulate that the tea is sweet,” Candace said with a grin. “We’re in North Carolina. That’s a given.”

“It actually took me a while to warm up to it. I drank unsweet until after college.”

She gasped dramatically, teasing me before finally answering, “I’ll have that cider, please.”

I grabbed the bottle from the fridge and popped the top before pouring it into a glass. I could feel her amused gaze on me the whole time, and I only barely managed not to spill anything.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting her drink. Her pleased smile hadn’t gone anywhere.

“What?” I asked.

“I could have drunk from the bottle, Mark. You didn’t need to put it in a glass.”

Warmth crept into my cheeks. “It gave me something to do with my hands.”

She laughed. “Stop being nervous. It’s just me.”

Just her . God, if she only knew. There was no just about it.

She’d made me a nervous wreck at seventeen. And now, the sight of her in socks, standing in my kitchen, was a daydream so casual and devastating that I wasn’t sure I’d recover.

I busied myself checking the doneness of the potatoes I had on the stove.

Candace gave me some space and sat down at the table, sipping her cider. “So what did you make me?”

She’d only mentioned a cashew allergy when we’d texted earlier, and she insisted that she liked every kind of food except for celery because “that shit tastes like chewing on wet hair.” Since I hadn’t had much to go on for menu options, I made something relatively easy that I usually put together for myself a couple of times a month. I knew it had a high success rate .

“Oven-roasted pork loin, steamed red potatoes, and a basic table salad with red wine vinaigrette.”

“Wow,” Candace breathed.

I chuckled. “It’s pretty simple.”

“Not for the uneducated,” she argued. “Let me guess. Did you grow those red potatoes yourself?”

I kept my back to her as I pulled said potatoes off the stove. “Uh, yeah.”

“And did you make that red wine vinaigrette from scratch?”

I drained the water into the sink. It was mostly the steam from the potatoes that made my face flush, but I eventually admitted, “Maybe.”

Candace cackled happily. “I knew it.”

I tossed the quartered root vegetables in a bowl with fresh herbs and a bit of olive oil, then covered it with aluminum foil to keep warm.

Before Candace could tease me any further, a sound came from the back deck, just beyond the screen door. It was a strange but familiar combination of rusty car door and crying baby.

I couldn’t believe I’d been so distracted I’d forgotten to put his food out.

“What was that?” Candace asked.

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and grabbed the cat’s bowl from beneath the sink. Busy with opening the can and dumping the contents, I didn’t notice Candace going for the back door.

“Wait,” I said, but it was too late.

She slid the door open, and the cat darted right in. “Ohhh. A kitty. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I don’t. Don’t touch him,” I cautioned. “The cat’s feral.”

She looked down at the gray beast who sat placidly in the middle of the kitchen and then back at me.

I rolled my eyes and set the bowl down for him before backing away slowly. Holding up my left hand, I pointed to a white slash beneath the knuckle on my middle finger. “See this? He did it two years ago. I was feeding him inside because it was rainy out, and the wind blew the door closed. Ornery thing thought he was trapped and went wild. He jumped up and knocked over everything on the counter, and then clawed the devil out of me when I tried to help him down.”

Candace watched the big cat as it crouched over the bowl, chewing politely. The traitor.

“Maybe he’s experienced personal growth,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps this cat is ready for a second chance to be rehabilitated.”

I let out a disbelieving sound that made her laugh. Then she wandered over to the open doorway and peeked out on the deck. “So, what’s his name?”

My brows lowered in confusion. “Who?”

“The cat.”

“It’s not my cat.”

She glanced back to me, eyes alight. “You feed it?”

“Yeah.”

“Every day?”

I shifted on my feet. “Most days, yes. He doesn’t always stop by for a visit.”

Candace’s glossy pink lips suppressed a smile. “I’m assuming you built that multi-level cat mansion out there on the back porch.”

I hesitated and her grin erupted. “Well, yeah. But it’s only for bad weather, and I read you should never put out soft pet beds for feral cats in winter. So there’s hay instead to keep him warm.”

“Riiiiiight. No name. Not your cat. Got it.”

I ignored her teasing and tried to distract her. “Want to see the garden before it gets dark?”

“Yes,” she replied enthusiastically.

I had a couple pairs of shoes lined up on the entryway rug for when I went outside. Candace slipped her feet into a pair of my oversized clogs without asking, and another little dart whistled straight into my chest .

The damn cat followed her out and meandered over to its water bowl.

Candace’s borrowed shoes thumped across the wooden decking until she reached the top step. Then I waited as she stopped and stared.

My throat was tight with anticipation, and I couldn’t say why—couldn’t put a name to it—but I felt helpless and raw. She was seeing the most important parts of me, I realized. The things I kept private, kept for myself, in my home—my sanctuary.

I stepped up beside her and tried to see my garden through new eyes. The planter boxes now held autumn vegetables: leafy collards, beets, vibrant butternut squash, pumpkins, and more. Some were ready for harvesting, while others, like the bok choy and cabbage, would need another few weeks.

Candace’s head turned toward the back corner of the yard where the greenhouse stood. I’d built it two summers ago. It wasn’t very big, but it suited my purposes. I had some small projects in there, but mostly it was where I started everything from seed, giving plants a safe place to take root.

Then her head swiveled to the other corner, where the rope hammock hung between two sturdy tree trunks and the stone circle of my fire pit sat. I had a couple of chairs over there as well, and wood stacked against the fence line for burning. It might be chilly later, but we could have a fire after dinner if Candace wanted. I envisioned her socked feet propped up in my lap while she sipped another cider. The amber flames glowing across her skin. My jacket draped across her shoulders.

Yeah, maybe a fire was a good idea.

Eventually, Candace turned and met my gaze. I saw a mixture of wonder and quiet disbelief on her pretty face. “This is amazing, Mark.”

Pride burned warm in my chest.

I liked my home. I’d made it mine after Hannah left. But I hadn’t shown it to anyone else in a long time. I loved it, but I didn’t expect that others would too. However, it suddenly seemed important that Candace liked my house and my garden and my space. I wanted her here...for as long as I could have her.

“Will you show me your plants? What you have growing? ”

“Sure.” I placed my beer bottle on the deck railing and reached for her hand, intending only to help her down the porch stairs in my unfamiliar and ill-fitting shoes, but when we reached solid ground, she kept her hand in mine.

I led her along and pointed out the vegetables in the various beds, explaining how I cycled them out and what would be there in the spring and summer months. I showed her where I had different berry bushes and a small patch of asparagus near the porch lattice.

Then I led her over to the greenhouse, so she could see the lettuce seedlings and the herbs I grew in there year-round for cooking.

“Were those herbs for the steamed potatoes from in there?” Candace asked after she’d exited the small structure. There wasn’t enough room in there for the both of us to move around, and I’d wanted to give her space to explore.

I nodded. “Yeah. Italian parsley, basil, and oregano.”

“What do you do with all your produce?” she asked, her hand sweeping wide to encompass the backyard.

“I have a neighbor I share some with. In the summer months, I usually bring some to your family. Your mom makes pickles with the cucumbers. I have a friend who likes to bake, so he gets some of the zucchini and pumpkin harvest. Then I can a lot and donate to the food bank downtown what I can’t eat myself.”

Her hazel eyes brightened, and she took a step closer to me. “I would love to learn how to can.”

“I can show you,” I offered. “I make jams and jellies too.”

Candace shook her head in amusement and moved right into my space, her slender arms wrapping around my waist. “Jams and jellies. Mark Mercer, you are the perfect male specimen, I fear.”

I barely had time to wonder what to do with my hands before she pressed her lips against the underside of my jaw and then stepped away. Holding out her fingers, Candace said, “We better get inside. Don’t want that home-cooked dinner to get cold.”

I followed her across the yard, up the porch stairs, and back into the house. The cat was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual for this time of day .

Side by side, we toed off our shoes on the entryway rug. Candace insisted on setting the table, so I pointed out the necessary cabinets and drawers. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d remember her way around the next time.

It was definitely too soon to start thinking that way, but I didn’t seem capable of casual at this point. Despite all my internal warnings and self-assurances, temporary was going to have to be enough where Candace was concerned. And if I found myself heartbroken come January, I only had myself to blame.

She asked me more about the house and the garden during dinner. We talked and ate, and Candace complimented everything I made. It was nice making a meal for two instead of meal-prepping for one and freezing leftovers.

I liked having her in my space and seeing her comfortable enough to ask for seconds and offer to help wash dishes. I didn’t let her, but I liked that she asked.

While I loaded the dishwasher, I told her to go snoop around the living room. “I know you’re dying to.”

Her cheeks went pink, but she laughed and made a beeline for my bookshelves.

I kept one eye on her as I rinsed our plates and cutlery. Her attention was focused on some of the framed photographs I had positioned around the room. They were mostly landscapes that I’d taken, several from Craggy Peak, others from Juniper Point and Lake Archer.

As I was closing the dishwasher door, I noticed Candace take a step back and survey the room, a frown drawing her dark brows together. It was almost like she was looking for something or doing a final once-over for an item she’d missed.

The paranoid part of me thought she was probably confused, checking for photos of a daughter I didn’t have. She probably assumed that here, in the privacy of my own home, there’d be some evidence of the little girl I never mentioned or discussed, even if I didn’t feel comfortable sharing her with the world.

I realized, all at once, that this wasn’t going to work. If Candace and I were going to have something—even temporarily—I couldn’t keep lying to her about my past. I didn’t think I could stomach it.

It was one thing to have strangers and neighbors gossiping about me behind my back, or to my face, in some cases. I didn’t really care what those people thought because they weren’t important. They could have the lies and chew on them for as long as they liked. It was unsettling to think Candace might believe those same rumors. And expecting her to swallow the lies made the thought of being with her impossible.

As I watched her turn in a slow circle to better take in the room, I knew I needed to make a choice.

I could put a stop to whatever was happening between us. Keep my secrets and my lies.

Or I could tell her the truth—something Candace deserved if we were going to move forward.

After drying my hands on a kitchen towel, I took a deep breath and walked into the living room.

“Can we sit down?” I asked. “I need to tell you something.”