Hungry for Life and Snacks

This certainly complicated Claire’s plan to avoid Danny. She reread the note for the hundredth time, pacing her still crumbling, but now clean, little home.

Claire, I’m sorry I left so quickly. I was embarrassed by how you saw me. Whenever you aren’t busy, maybe stop in so I can show you how good fika is with tea.

~Danny

“I don’t understand.” She sighed, arms dropping to her sides. She’d seen how he looked at her. The horror in his expression.

Embarrassed? She shook her head.

The familiar sting of missing yet another social cue dug in its claws. When Danny invited her to come the first time, he was just being nice. He didn’t actually want her there.

She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and read the note again with another sigh. Growing up in a museum of a home with only private tutors, she’d been purposefully isolated. As the only child of the Gregory Cooke, she was too good to attend even the best private schools and social events that other children in her social circle had.

Birthed through surrogacy to preserve her mother’s countless cosmetic surgeries, Claire understood she existed not because her parents wanted a daughter, but so she’d carry on a family name. A family business.

And as she’d sat by the fire in Danny’s tavern, the warmth gathering into her limbs again, she’d come to the conclusion that if she was going to do this, truly learn independence and stand on her own two feet, she’d have to do it without asking for help.

Pulling her cloak tighter, she glanced down at the dark living room fireplace. Every attempt she’d made to start a fire proved ineffective, and the truth of that sank colder into her bones than the temperature.

She was failing at independence.

Seabirds screeched and glided outside her window, getting her attention. Inside or out, she’d be cold, so she might as well try to harness a bit of peace with the view. She snatched her journal. Perhaps it would help her find clarity and forget about the note.

As she tucked herself between two boulders, pencil in her mouth, the wind picked up the journal’s pages with wild flaps.

“Little hard to write in this weather.” She pressed down the pages and lifted her eyes, soaking in the rocky cliffs and soaring birds. Try as she might, even the view couldn’t help her focus.

Every thought kept steering back to the enigma of him.

Danny snapping at her ... cuddling her in his sleep ... inviting her to visit ... running away from her when she did—and now the note.

None of it puzzled her more, though, than the moment on the plane when his eyes never wavered from hers while she spoke.

As if her every word mattered.

She inhaled a deep breath. Countless words and conversations in her life, yet no one had ever done that to her before. And no matter how hard she tried to silence it, his sincere act had shaken a thought loose.

That maybe a lifetime of being irrelevant to those around her wasn’t actually her fault.

She massaged an ache between her eyes. Or maybe she just needed more sleep.

The nightmares were getting worse. The one from last night was so vivid she swore she even smelled him and woke in a sweat, screaming, “Henderson.”

But only another phantom voice had whispered back, and she’d scolded herself—palms pressed to her ears, hiding under the covers—for letting her years of spooky-novel-writing imagination make her believe it was real.

She shuddered out of the memory. Picking up her phone, she ran a finger over Greyson’s baby picture. Wanting the calm his voice gave her, she’d almost called him after the nightmare. But then she remembered that the reason for her nightmare was also the reason he didn’t speak to her anymore.

It wasn’t Greyson’s fault, though. She hadn’t told him everything.

Rubbing the chill in her arms, her frown deepened. On most days, she was okay with being alone, but not on days that started like today. No. She realized she’d never fully be okay with being alone. Even if it meant admitting her mother was right. She was needy.

“It’s been a year,” she whispered. “What’s one more day?”

Tears threatened to spill, and she sniffed hard to hold them back. Danny’s note shook in her hand as she stared down at it and made her final decision. She wouldn’t be answering it. Not having the heart to throw it away, she neatly folded and tucked it inside her cloak.

Going back to her journal, she leafed through the pages. No matter how hard things got, her stories always brought the relief of an escape. A place where she could be free to release all the hidden parts of herself. Like desires, humor, passions, and fixable relationships.

But none of them freed her more than the story in her hands. A small sketch of a wild-haired little girl stared back at her. Shoes untied, one striped sock up, the other down. A determined smirk quirked her left cheek. Claire blinked hard at the image blurring in front of her.

“What do you think, Maddy?” she asked the drawing. “My agent says stories like yours don’t interest kids these days.”

Maddy shook her head. “Are you kidding? They’ll love me.”

Claire smiled. The image she sketched of the little girl crossing her arms and tapping her foot was so much like the character she envisioned. Feisty and adorable. “But he said no one will buy it.”

“Fiddlesticks.” Maddy harrumphed. “Does he have kids?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what does he know?”

“Quite a bit, I’m afraid.” Claire continued to sketch Maddy with a scrunched face and messy ponytail sticking straight up in the air.

“You have to try.”

“Yes, but you and I both know even if I did, I’d probably mess this up, and you’d never see the inside of a book anyway.” She stopped at the sudden truth of her words and her pencil tip slid down the page.

As if knowing she was riding the ocean of doubts, her phone buzzed. An email notification from her agent appeared, asking if she was on track for him to view the outline of her next novel by the end of the month. I hope you’re focused on that and nothing else. Or do I need to remind you of your contract? He placed a smiley after it, as if that would make his demand seem like a friendly reminder instead of a threat.

She looked back at Maddy, whose face was smudged from Claire’s disobedient tears, and gasped. Words she didn’t realize she wrote stared back at her.

You will mess this up.

The wind whipped a blistering chill that soaked the words into her bones. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter.

You have to stop daydreaming and start living in the real world, Madelynn. Brandon had never called her Claire, even though she’d insisted upon it when they first got together. If Allen says the book won’t sell, the book won’t sell.

Claire stared at Maddy’s smudged face, blinking drops from her eyes. Her agent knew what was best. Right?

“You’re never going to finish me, are you?” Maddy said through the tears Claire penciled onto her cheeks.

“I think I have to stop daydreaming.”

Maddy tucked her small hands into patched pockets and scuffed her Mary Jane’s against sketched gravel. Claire didn’t dare draw her with her face looking up. She couldn’t bear to see her own broken dreams reflected in the little girl’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Maddy.” She clenched her eyes closed and snapped the cover shut. Stumbling to a stand, and before she could question her decision, she threw the journal over the edge of the cliff.

Padding footsteps came running up behind her, and she twisted around right as a black, hairy creature lunged for her. She screamed and dropped to the ground. The beast sailed over her head and over the cliff. She screamed again when it disappeared.

It was him. The same creature who’d torn open her snacks had just leaped to his death in front of her.

A long, high-pitched whistle came from behind her and an elderly woman in a rain jacket with a hood pulled tight over her tawny, weathered face came over the peak of a rock-covered hill. Her long, coarse, gray hair dangled in a single braid that shifted over her shoulder as she looked left and right, stepping between rocks.

“Gunner?” she called. “Where ya at, boy?” She whistled again and Claire’s heart dropped.

How was she going to tell this dear old woman that she just lost her pet? What if the news literally broke her heart, and she keeled over from it? Claire would be chased off the island for killing a beloved resident.

The woman spotted her and froze. A moment later she moved—no, ran—fast. This person, old enough to be her grandmother, rushed toward her at breakneck speed.

“I said, are you hurt?” She dropped down in front of Claire, who remained sprawled on the ground.

“I ... ”

“Speak up, child. I can’t help you if you don’t speak.”

Claire brushed at the dried grass sticking to her cloak. “I’m fine, but I’m sorry. H-He’s gone.”

“What’s that you said?” The woman bent her ear down. “Who’s gone?”

“The animal. It ... ” She pointed over the rock, unable to say it.

“Oh, Gunner? Did he knock you over?”

She shook her head and slowly sat up. Technically, he didn’t touch her. “I’m really sorry. He’s gone.”

“That ornery ol’ bastard ain’t gone, he just doesn’t remember his age.” She stood and whistled again. “Gunner, get your ass back up here.”

Claire was certain the woman had become so overwrought with grief she didn’t hear her right. “But—”

Black appeared in the corner of her eye, and she yelled when the beast bounded over the edge and toppled her for real this time.

“Don’t eat me.” She buried her face in the grass, waiting for the tearing of her limbs. A cold, wet snout shoved in between her arms and face, and she screamed again.

“Come on, you old bat,” the woman said. “Git off her. You scared her enough.”

The animal began to whine in Claire’s ear, and a thump hit the top of her head. Warm, sticky saliva drenched the side of her face.

He was ... licking her?

Slowly looking up, she was greeted with a nudge of a wet nose to the side of her head. “But ... ”

“He didn’t mean to scare ya,” the woman said. “The old saying is true. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

Claire wiped her wet cheek and glanced down at what had hit her head. Her journal lay on the ground in front of her. A little wet with some fresh canine teeth marks pressed into the leather, but other than that, unharmed.

“Maddy,” she whispered, and a tear fell as she clutched the journal close.

She went still. She’d exposed all her needy emotions in front of a stranger, and now the teasing would start. Quickly poising herself, she prepared for it.

Gentle brown eyes met her instead and a pile of wrinkles appeared at the corner of her eyes as she smiled. “I’m Gertrude. Gerty for short. Solsken’s official tour guide during the summer months. And as I’m sure you’ve guessed, this here is Gunner, a trained rescue dog. Both of us are the oldest of our kind on the island.” She held out a hand to help her up. “You must be new here.”

Claire stood on shaky legs. “Yes. I came a few days ago.”

“I figured as much since you got lost. Most tourists don’t wander up this way. Old Sven’s place isn’t exactly welcomin’.”

“Oh, I’m not lost. I live here.”

Gerty cocked her head, looking her over. “Did you fall hard?” She checked her forehead. “’Cause you just said you live here.”

“I do live here.” Claire pointed to the cottage. “I rented this place for three months.”

“Three? Honey, I think you need your money back.”

She winced. “Non-refundable, I’m afraid.”

“Damn cheatin’ city folk. Sven’s kids never should have sold it to an out-of-towner,” she said. “You can’t possibly stay here.”

Claire didn’t know what came over her. Perhaps she did hit her head because instead of agreeing, she lifted her chin and said, “I can, and I will.”

Gerty laughed. “Well, you got spirit, that’s for sure. And spirit is what you need if you’re goin’ to stay that long in this place.”

Claire went speechless. This woman didn’t try to force her to leave or tell her she was incapable—but that she had what it took?

“I’m your neighbor.” Gerty pointed over the small ridge of stone and grass. “Only neighbor, actually, so if you need anything, just holler. Oh, and don’t let Gunner bully you into giving him snacks.” She ruffled his matted coat. “He’s a glutton for junk food.”

That explained her devoured munchie bag. The dog sat panting happily up at her and Claire didn’t have the heart to rat him out. Not after he’d risked his life to save Maddy.

A burst of air gusted around her, and Claire almost expected to hear her name again, but it merely blew. She swayed to catch her balance.

“Careful near these edges or the wind’s liable to throw you over the cliff.”

Claire stepped away and pulled her cloak tighter. “Does it get much colder here?”

“Bitter cold. My bones can hardly take it, but I think I’d die faster if I left.”

Claire gazed at the cottage, empty of wafting smoke from the chimney. If it got much colder, she’d freeze to death long before learning to survive on her own. “Do you know anything about fireplaces?”

“Sure do. This one giving you trouble?”

“I tried to start a fire and the house filled with smoke.”

“Sounds like the flue is closed. Let me help ya.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother—”

“There’s no shame in asking for help when you need it.” Her steady gaze penetrated Claire’s. “Solsken may be beautiful, but not a single one of us would survive here long without getting help from our neighbors now and again.” She turned and marched straight into the house.

Claire looked down at Gunner, whose tongue hung to the side. “She’s right. I want to do this alone, but the truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He nudged her hand with his nose.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell her you ate all my snacks, but can we call a truce? My snacks for saving Maddy?” She cautiously reached toward him, and he licked her hand. She laughed, taking that as a yes, and headed toward the house.

When she opened the door, a fire blazed, filling the home with a welcoming warmth. Gerty pointed to where the open and close was for the flue, showed her how to operate it, then took a moment to scan the place.

Claire felt a pang of embarrassment. She’d done what she could with everything inside. Swept, re-stuffed the cushions, and pinned the holes shut. Even taught herself how to hand wash her sheets and line dried them.

She’d been so proud of what she’d accomplished, but how insignificant it must look to Gerty.

“I hope to get it nicer.” She squeezed her hands together.

“It looks much better than it did,” Gerty said, and Claire let out a breath. “Sven built a solid home here. Roof’s in need of repair, but should last one more winter.” Gerty smiled, looking around again. “I told Gunner all this place needed was someone to love it.”

He whined when he heard his name, and Gerty patted him. “I know, old boy. I’m sorry we don’t get out here as much, but you know how I get in the colder months.”

“Does he like it here?”

“It was his home. He was born from Sven’s last litter and still sees this place as his.”

Claire stopped herself from exclaiming how that explained why he used her home and food as his own and smiled when an idea hit her. A way to say thank you for her help. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to bring him here sometime.”

“I wouldn’t want you to go through any trouble.”

“A wise woman once told me that one can’t survive here without help from their neighbors.”

Gerty laughed and pointed a wagging finger. “Making me eat my words.”

She smiled. “When’s a good time?”

“Well, I ain’t got much goin’ on, so just stop by anytime you feel like it.”

“Thank you for the fire.”

“Anytime. Though, what’s left of that cord of wood won’t last long. Just talk to Danny Larsson at Flygande. He’ll set you up with regular deliveries.”

“Daniel?” Heat crept up her neck. “I-I couldn’t ask him.”

“Of course you could. His cousin owns the local sawmill and lumber yard, and he buys all the scraps that don’t go for building materials for his bar fireplace. He sells it at cost for those who don’t have oil heat, like this place. He’ll be happy to help.”

“I’m sure he would, but ... ” She chewed on her bottom lip.

Gerty watched her for a long moment and slowly smiled. “Good-lookin’ man, isn’t he?”

Yes. Yes, he was. To her, one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. Pure, unforced masculinity seeped off every inch of him, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t erase the image of his beautifully sculpted, tattooed body sprawled on the floor.

Gerty cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, what?” She touched her heated cheeks. “Oh, I wouldn’t know if he’s good-looking. I mean, yes, he is, but I-I wasn’t looking.”

Gerty smiled wider. “You can’t freeze to death just to avoid him.”

Claire stuttered a few times and fell silent. That had been her exact plan when she’d been told how she needed to see him again. Even weighed the option of telling her that she had to avoid him if she was ever going to forget the image she’d just re-pictured in her mind.

“You know where I’m at if you need me.” Gerty gently squeezed her arm.

Claire huffed as she waved goodbye. She was out of excuses. At least this visit with him wouldn’t seem desperate and needy. Firewood could be a business transaction, nothing more, nothing less.

Wanting to see his heart-stopping, tropical ocean eyes looking at her again had absolutely nothing to do with it.