Not All Family is Blood

Danny’s ears rang, eyes blinking fast. Never had he ever witnessed such a perfectly executed, verbal bitch slap.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly took Claire in with all new eyes. The straightness of her spine. The hat brim putting an edge into her features while the point of her nose tipped up. That blood-red mouth pursed as she glared at the front door.

This poised, sophisticated woman just decimated a man without lifting a finger. Without spilling a drop of wine.

Who was she, really?

“Oh. My. God.” Emelie squealed, startling all of them from their shock. She threw her arms around Claire’s neck, tipping her backward.

Danny caught the chair, and Claire’s hat collided with his stomach, knocking it sideways. “Sorry.”

She smiled up at him, pulling out pins before removing the hat. More caramel waves tumbled down over her shoulders, and Danny took a step back, swallowing.

“Thank you, thank you,” Emelie continued squealing and hugged her again.

Claire laughed into her shoulder, the sound huskier than usual. “I can honestly say the pleasure was all mine.”

“You’re everything I knew you would be.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

Emelie released her and cupped her shoulders. “You, as a woman and successful writer, really inspire me.”

“Wait,” Ian said. “You know who she is?”

“You wouldn’t shut up about her books, so I read them.”

“You listened to me?” He looked up, circling his eyes around the ceiling. “Are pigs flying?”

Danny continued studying Claire as her smiling eyes bounced back and forth between Ian and Emelie’s banter.

“But how did you know she was her,” Ian asked Emelie.

“I looked her up on this thing called the internet.”

He gasped. “You’re not a true fan.”

A small laugh came from Claire, and Emelie bent down, taking her by the shoulders again. “You, my author heroine and now best friend, are so badass.”

Claire’s smile wobbled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I just know men like him, and it was nice to use that useless knowledge for something useful for a change.” Her fingers vibrated as she reached for the wine bottle.

Danny caught it first. “May I?” he said.

She nodded, and while he poured, her tentative eyes lifted to him and stayed.

He wanted to tell her how grateful he was for what she’d done for his cousin. For him. But the adrenaline still coursing through his body stole all his coherent words.

He’d dealt with pricks like Trevor before, but always managed the situation with better control. He didn’t normally let them get under his skin while he threatened to break their faces. He’d only silently, and if necessary, physically removed them from the premises.

Something twisted in his stomach. What if he was permanently broken now?

Ian suddenly blurted, “You’re my favorite writer.”

Claire fumbled her wineglass, and the tension in her shoulders left as she laughed. “So you’re a true fan?”

“I’m a ridiculous fan. Ask Danny.” He dropped to his knees in front of her and cradled one of her hands. “I’ve been to every comic-con and QA you’ve been to. You may or may not remember the dork who’s asked a million questions at each meeting.”

“Wait, you’re the Raging Scotsman?”

He grinned despite several snickers around him. “That I am, lass.”

“You found all my Easter eggs.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, it’s because of you that I spend so much time trying to hide them.”

“Because of me?” His voice cracked.

“There you go, making him fan-girl again,” Emelie said. “Now he’ll never shut up about this.”

“You’re just jealous.” Ian grinned, keeping his eyes on Claire. “I’ve always wanted to meet you and thank you in person. Your first book saved my life.”

Danny slowly inhaled, the memory of that time still tightened his chest.

“How is that possible?” Claire gripped the front of her dress.

“It’s a long story.” Ian waved a hand. “Some other time, maybe. But for now?” He stood and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “That’s for who you are and what you just did. God, it was beautiful. I only wish I had it on video so I could watch it several times a night. I’d have the best of dreams.”

“I’ll send it to you,” Fin said, holding up a phone, grinning. “Seriously, Ms. Cooke, that was priceless.”

“Finlay?” Ian asked. “If you’re here, who’s tending bar?”

“Oh, shit.” Finlay raced back to the confused patrons looking left and right for service.

Danny started to make his way there too.

“I got it,” Ian said. “Relax and have some wine.” He winked.

“Just friends,” Danny mouthed, and Ian grinned.

Emelie said, “I’ll help too.”

“Hold up.” Danny caught her arm. “Sit for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

All lightness left her eyes and she sighed. “Look, I know it was stupid not to tell anyone he threatened me, but Pappa’s worked so hard for that inn.”

He took her hand in one of his and covered it with his other. “Em, Solsken hasn’t been able to stay a simple town for all these years because no one has tried to buy it out before. We have laws in place to preserve the history. No out-of-town businesses allowed. Only residents can own businesses, and no one can become a resident without the town voting them in. It didn’t matter how much money that bastard had. He couldn’t do what he threatened.”

She jammed her long nails into her hair. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. I only know because I had to learn all the laws when I took over this place.” He touched her cheek. “You’re extremely intelligent, strong, and capable. I couldn’t be doing any of this after what happened if you weren’t here helping me.” He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “I love you, kiddo. I only wish I could have hit him at least once.”

Releasing a small, watery laugh, she threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, man-ape.” She kissed the side of his head before bending to his ear, whispering, “Besides, she punched him where it really counts. Pretty amazing, don’t you think?”

“Just friends,” he whispered back.

She grinned as she left.

Danny shook his head and turned toward Claire, ready to ask if she needed another glass of wine. She quickly looked away to the fire, wiping under her eyes.

“Hey, you alright?”

She nodded and cleared her throat. “You have a wonderful family. Do you have siblings too?”

“Yeah, an older sister. She married a Faroese man and moved from this island to that one.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. Beautiful rocky cliffs and ocean view. Kind of reminds me of Solsken.”

“But with far fewer trees.”

“And a lot more sheep.”

“More sheep than people, I hear.”

She laughed and finally faced him.

His smile dropped when he saw the glistening of her eyes. Out of nowhere, he had the urge to touch her face, and his grip tightened on the edge of his chair. “How about you? You’re close to your dad, right?”

She shook her head. “Only child. And the truth is, I owe you an apology. I wasn’t exactly honest about my relationship with my father.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything you said or did.”

She lifted her glass, but instead of sipping, she studied the drips running along the inside as she absently swirled it. “I can’t do what I threatened because I didn’t follow in my father’s footsteps. More like ran from it into a marriage—” She paused, like she hadn’t meant to let that last line out. Then cleared her throat. “Anyway, he’s never forgiven me.” She stared off into the fire.

“For choosing to be a writer?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Not a Cooke profession. But I knew Trevor wouldn’t know any of this, so I figured the threat would work.”

Daniel began putting some of the fragmented pieces that were Claire together. The familj sign over the bar. Her reaction after he spoke to Emelie. She had a family yet came here alone.

“You know, not all family is blood.”

She met his eyes and searched them.

“Take Merv and George, for instance.” He motioned to them sitting across the room, playing chess. “They came to the island in the mid-seventies. Merv is a retired combat medic. Saved George’s life in Vietnam. Both of them are widowed, fight like cats and dogs, yet they’re always together. Closer to each other than their own kin.

“And see that group of three over there by the dart boards?” He pointed. “That’s Clark and Ian’s aunt, Annie, the doctor and nurse here. They always wanted children but couldn’t have any. Yet they helped raise more children than most here on Solsken through fostering, medical care, and donations to the school. And Gene there with them had two sons, one died in Afghanistan, the other to cancer. Annie and Clark took him in and they became his family.”

“Oh, Daniel,” she said breathlessly. “What stories.”

“Families aren’t always born, Claire.” He cautiously reached out and covered her hand. “Sometimes they’re made.”

She glanced down at his hand, and for a moment, he thought she’d pull away. Instead, she flipped her palm up and wrapped her long fingers around his before locking soft eyes onto him. “And sad stories can change,” she said. “Even if we’ve made the wrong choices.”

Blinking fast, he cleared his throat of the sudden emotion. Slowly, he pulled away and grabbed the bottle. “You need more wine?”

“Only if you join me.” She smoothed her hands down the lower half of her dress and his eyes tracked the movement. “You don’t want to see what happens if I have a whole bottle to myself.”

He paused with the bottle hovering over the second glass. “Actually, I do.”

She laughed and snatched the bottle from him. “No.”

“Damn.” He smirked, loving that he made her laugh again. “So, Ian invited you here to get to know some of the locals. Who first?” He gestured to Merv and George. “Now their game of chess can be brutal, but they’re always up to showing a ‘young-in’ how it’s done.”

She bit her twitching lip.

“Or if you’re more of a throw-sharp-objects-into-a-corkboard kind of gal, then that group by the dartboards is always up for fresh blood.”

She chuckled.

“Or, if you’d like, tomorrow I can take you for a walk downtown. We can hang with some locals at Ylva’s bakery while you sample more of her pastries.”

She slowly smiled and touched the rim of her glass again, making her finger run along the edge. He watched the slow movement, remembering the first time he’d seen her do that in The Pit. The scar he noticed on the plane slipped out again below her sleeve. The jagged pattern of it didn’t sit right with him.

He went still. Nothing sparkled on her left hand anymore. Does that mean—

“I’d like that.” She interrupted his thoughts. “Any of it. All of it. If it’s no trouble.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” He tore his eyes away from her empty finger and shifted in his seat. “Besides, what are friends for?”

“Friends?”

“Is it okay if I call you that?”

“Yes.” She took a long sip of wine and stared at him over the rim. “I think I’d really like that.”

He smiled fully and drank from his glass, enjoying the warmth of the fire and her lingering gaze. A loud gurgle went off in her stomach and she gripped over it.

“Are you hungry?”

She looked up through her lashes. “Maybe a little.”

He sat up straight. This was something he could fix. “What do you like? I have chicken or beef. Hell, I’ll even go out to Solsken farms and kill the fatted pig if you want it. We kind of owe you.”

She chuckled. “Chicken is fine.”

“Chicken it is. Come hang out with Merv and George while I make it.” He stood and held out an arm for her, and she slipped a hand around his bicep.

He had to swallow ten times in a row when her fingers touched and made light circles on his skin. Spontaneously flexing, he found himself gently squeezing her soft fingers between his side and arm.

Just friends, he reminded himself.

“How’s our hero?” Ian asked when Danny pushed through the kitchen door.

“Hungry.” He peeked into the freezer, then the fridge, and shook his head. “I’ll be right back.” He ran up the stairs to his apartment and was down moments later with fresh chicken.

Ian didn’t say a word while watching him pull out pans, fresh butter, dried thyme, mushrooms, and garlic. Flygande didn’t make fried food because Danny couldn’t cook. He was great at it—he just didn’t want the stress of cooking full-time.

He placed the pan over the flame. “What fruit do we have?”

“Citrus mostly. A few winter strawberries from down south too.”

“We still have vaniljs?s?”

“Yep.” Ian pulled the small pitcher of vanilla sauce from the fridge.

“Where’s Fin?”

“Mattie and Dean stopped by and said they’d help him take out the trash.”

Danny peered over his shoulder. “When have you ever known Mattie and Dean to be helpful?”

“It surprised me actually. They were even excited about—” Ian smacked his forehead. “Oh saints, they were excited. He must’ve texted them about Trevor.”

Danny flipped off the flame and shoved the pan from the heat. They both rushed toward the back door just as Fin waltzed in, rubbing his knuckles.

“Finlay?” Ian said. “What were you doing?”

He shrugged and edged around them. “Dealing with the trash.”

They both eyed the bruising of his jaw, the bleeding cracks on his knuckles. “Trash, huh?” Ian side-glanced Danny, who hid a small smile beneath his hand.

“Hey,” Danny called, and Fin spun around. “You may or may not see something extra in your paycheck this week for your ... trash duties.”

He grinned.

“But don’t make it habit,” Ian added.

“You got it, bosses.”

He left, whistling, and Ian turned to Danny. “You know that bonus will only encourage him.”

“Yeah, but Trevor now has another reason never to come back to Solsken.”

“Aye. I might be a tad jealous the kids got to beat him and not us.”

“Aren’t your fighting days over, priest-to-be?”

Ian crossed his arms. “Saint Nicholas once punched a man as a bishop.”

“I thought it was a slap.”

“I prefer the embellished version.”

“You aiming to be the next Santa Claus?”

Ian shrugged. “A man has to have goals, Danny.”

He laughed and flipped the chicken.

With the food plated, they made their way to the dining area, and Ian grabbed a few more bottles of wine as they went. They both stopped short when they noticed everyone had cleared out except a horde of locals surrounding Claire.

“Crap,” Ian said. “You think she’s overwhelmed by all of them?”

“No. That’s her real smile.”

Ian did a double take of him. “Real smile?”

Without answering, Danny squeezed between bodies and placed down his simple masterpiece in front of her. Sliced grilled chicken with wild mushrooms smothered in herbed white wine and butter sauce. Next to it lay a pile of glazed baby carrots and a glass bowl filled with cut-up strawberries in vanilla sauce.

She clapped her hands together. “Daniel, this smells delicious. Thank you.”

He smiled and pulled a chair up behind her, forcing his eyes not to linger on the soft valley between her exposed shoulder blades. She wasted no time digging in.

George crossed his arms. “How come you never give us food like that?”

“’Cause you ain’t as pretty,” Merv said.

Danny’s eyes snapped to Ian. Rumors were about to soar.

“Actually,” Ian said. “This meal is a thank you for helping to rid Solsken of ugly polo shirts.”

“Good riddance,” Annie said. “One of them brats came through and smacked my ass.”

“What?” Clark bolted upright. Even for a man of sixty, no one on the island would ever dare challenge him in a fight. He stayed physically fit with a punching bag, running five miles a day, and climbing the cliffs of Solsken for fun.

Ian waved his hand and got Clark’s attention. He pointed at Fin, who grinned and held up his scabbing knuckles. Emelie did a double take, and Fin quickly dropped them.

Clark grunted his approval. “I think this calls for more beer.”

“Whisky.” Gene held up a glass.

“Ale,” George and Merv chimed in.

“Water,” said Annie, and they all grumbled at her. “What? Someone has to get up and do the Lord’s work tomorrow.”

“And I love you for it.” Clark slid his arm around her and gently patted her rear-end, whispering in her ear. She flushed and nudged him with a chuckle.

Claire picked up a bottle of wine and filled a second glass, handing it to Danny. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, eyes snagging on the color flushing up the curve of her neck to her cheeks. Clearing his throat, he inched his chair closer and leaned over her shoulder. “Is the food alright?”

She turned and their noses bumped. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and his followed, but neither of them moved to separate.

He should probably move to separate.

“I’ve never had anything more delicious in my life,” she whispered, still staring at his mouth.

Just friends, he told himself, as he absolutely didn’t move an inch.