Someone You Love by Kristen Granata
Charly
“You’re very predictable, you know.” I lean onto the center console of Bryce’s truck. “Big tough guy with a big manly truck.”
He smirks. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of hard to squeeze all this,” he motions to his body, “into a tiny sports car.”
On the outside, Bryce’s shiny black Dodge Ram looks like every other truck. On the inside, modifications have been installed to meet Bryce’s needs. The driver’s seat is an ergonomic bucket seat with armrests and padding along the back. The pedals also rise up higher than usual, and there’s a long lever with a handle to the left of the steering wheel, coming from the floor.
“It suits you.” I point a tentative finger at the lever, unsure if it’s okay for me to ask. “Can I ask what that’s for?”
“Sometimes, I have back spasms, and I’m not able to put pressure on my legs. If that happened while I was driving, I wouldn’t be able to step on the brakes. With this, I can use my hand to brake instead. I haven’t had to use it yet, but it’s there for safety purposes.”
“It’s great that people have created aids like this.”
He nods. “I’m lucky I can afford it. Not everyone has the luxury.”
The corners of my mouth pull down. “I can’t imagine what that’s like. Not being able to get the help you require because of money. That’s how it is for a lot of cancer patients too. We were lucky to have Mom’s health insurance, and even that didn’t cover all of the expenses. Not everyone is as fortunate.”
“There are some government-funded nonprofit agencies out there. They help people with disabilities in situations like that, but many don’t even know they exist.”
“That’s sad. I wonder how we can get the word out.”
His eyebrow arches. “We?”
“There has to be something we can do. I’m sure you donate to charity and attend events like that, right?”
His jaw muscles work under his skin. “I send a donation.”
“You don’t go to charity events? Isn’t that what all you football players do?”
“I’m not a football player anymore.”
“But you were. What about—”
“Look, I don’t need your judgement.” His words are terse, and slice through the air like a bullet.
Whoa. I hold my palms up. “Hey, no judgement here. I’m just making conversation. Trying to get to know you.”
“Well, you should stop.”
My chin jerks back. “Why?”
But he doesn’t answer. He glares out the windshield, and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
I suck in a steadying breath, and slump against the door. He did the same thing last night. We were having a great conversation—personal—and then he swam as far away from he as he could, and the conversation died.
Every time we take one step forward, Bryce shuts down and moves us two steps back. One second, he’s staring at me like he wants to devour me whole, and the next, he’s snapping at me for asking a simple question. I know I can’t truly understand what he feels, or what he’s been through, which is why I ask questions. If he doesn’t want to open up to me, that’s fine. I’m no one to him. But if he doesn’t open up to anyone, he’s missing out on the chance of getting close to someone. And that’s a lonely life.
Bryce is lonely. He has to be. The only person I’ve seen him talk to besides me—and I don’t count, because he’s being forced to live with me—is his grandmother. He spends his days working at the inn, and he doesn’t go out at night. It’s like he’s hiding himself away from the world, staying in his secluded little bubble.
It’s heartbreaking.
I shift in my seat, and turn to look at him. “I’m sorry for asking about your personal business. You don’t owe me an explanation for anything. It’s very generous of you to donate to charity. Let’s leave it at that.”
His harsh profile softens a fraction, and he gives me a quick nod.
I lean forward and twist the knob on the radio to raise the volume, letting him know I’m done asking questions.
When we reach the Bar Harbor marina, I follow Bryce onto a floating dock. The sun glistens off the water in the bay like a sea of diamonds as the boats bob up and down in the bay. The tension releases from my neck after the ride in, and the corners of my mouth tip upward.
Bryce slides on his Aviator sunglasses, and gestures to two men in rubber boots several feet down the dock unloading a large cooler from a boat. “We only buy our fish from them. Bill has been friends with Nana for decades.”
Bill is short and stocky, and almost fully bald. He looks like a grumpy old man with thick creases lining his forehead and between his bushy grey brows, but he smiles wide when he spots Bryce. “Hey, big guy. Wait until you see what we caught today. It’s going to knock Bea’s socks off.”
Bryce reaches out and clasps his hand. “Let’s see what you got.”
Bill’s eyes flick to mine. “Well, forgive me, little lady. I didn’t see you there behind this wall of a man. Who might you be?”
I shake Bill’s hand. “I’m Charly. I’m a friend of Bryce’s.”
The younger man standing beside Bill whistles. “I didn’t know B had friends. Especially not one as pretty as you.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I guess I’m more of an acquaintance. I’m staying at the inn for the summer.”
A Cheshire grin spreads across his face. “Welcome to town, then. I’m Jared.”
Bill claps him on the back. “He’s my grandson, and my right-hand-man.”
“Nice to meet you.” I point to the cooler, wanting to take Jared’s unwavering blue eyes off me. “What did you guys catch?”
Bill flips open the lid. “Tuna, halibut, flounder ...” He reaches inside, and pulls out a fat black fish covered with white spots. “And Bea’s favorite: Black sea bass.”
Bryce nods in approval. “She’ll be excited.”
While Bryce packs the fish into his own cooler, and pays Bill, Jared nudges me with his elbow. “What’s your favorite kind of fish?”
I shove my hands in the back pockets of my shorts. “Probably salmon. I do love fluke though, if it’s cooked right.”
“Ah, fluke is delicious in a garlic and butter sauce.” He crosses his toned arms over his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Charly?”
“Manhattan.”
“Who are you visiting with?”
“That’s his way of asking if you’re single.” Bill rolls his eyes. “Subtlety isn’t his strong suit.”
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I’m—”
Bryce cuts in. “We should get going.”
He’s standing so close to me, I can smell his natural cedar scent mixing with the salty air. The hairs on his arm brush against mine, tickling my skin. His body is angled toward me like he’s guarding me, and I wonder if he realizes it.
I arch an eyebrow as I look up at him. I wish I could see behind those big, reflective sunglasses of his.
“Where are you off to?” Jared’s question is directed at me.
“Bryce is taking me to sign up for canoeing lessons.”
Jared’s eyes light up. “You don’t need to pay for lessons. I can take you canoeing.”
My eyes bounce between Bryce and Jared, waiting for my disgruntled roommate to object. But he doesn’t.
I wave a hand. “Oh, no. That’s okay. You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than teach a tourist.”
“Better than spending the day on the water with a beautiful woman?” Jared grins. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
I don’t know Jared, and he’s a little too forward for my liking. But he’d save me the money I’d spend on lessons. Plus, Bryce said Nana has known his family for a long time. What’s the harm in letting a cute guy take me out on the water for the day?
“Sure.” I swallow. “That’s very kind of you.”
Jared pulls out his phone, and takes my number. “I’ll give you a call this week, and we can set up a time.”
Bryce rolls his cooler halfway down the dock by the time I hand back Jared’s phone. I hustle to catch up with him, and wait for him to say something after he slides the fish onto the truck bed. His muscles are spring-loaded, and his teeth gnash together. Still, he says nothing.
What’s his problem?
We make it halfway home before the silence gnaws a hole through my determination to stay quiet. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
“Nope.”
“You’ve been acting weird since Jared offered to take me canoeing.”
He takes in a deep inhale, his chest expanding as it fills. “I thought you wanted to learn how to canoe, not go on a date.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “I’m not going on a date.”
“Uh-huh.” He glances at me over the rim of his sunglasses. “Just remember rule number two. Don’t bring him back to my house after your day on the water.”
My jaw drops open.
That’s what he’s mad about? “Okay, first of all, I’m not going to sleep with a man I just met, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t insinuate something like that. Secondly, is there a reason I shouldn’t hang out with Jared? He seemed nice.”
“It’s obvious what he’s after.”
I lift my chin. “Maybe I didn’t mind it.”
“You did.”
I hate that he’s right. “Well, he actually talks to me without snapping at me, unlike someone I know.”
Bryce clamps his mouth shut.
Exactly.
I sit back against the seat, and cross my arms over my chest. “You know, this hot and cold routine of yours is really getting old. Besides, it’s not like you offered to teach me how to canoe. You don’t have the right to get mad when someone else does.”
He rolls to a stop at a red light, and stares straight ahead. “You want me to take you?”
“I’d rather you than Jared.”
And I hate how pathetic that sounds, but it’s the truth.
“But you didn’t ask me because I have a disability, so you assumed I couldn’t row a boat.”
“What?” I can’t help the edge in my voice. “The reason I didn’t ask you has nothing to do with your disability, but thanks for assuming the worst of me.”
“Then why?”
I pick at my thumbnail. “I’m enough of an imposition already. I’m living in your house, and you clearly don’t want me there. I didn’t want to bother you and ask you for more than you’ve already given me.”
He slides off his sunglasses, and sets his dark eyes on mine. “You’re not an imposition. I’m sorry I’ve been making you feel like one.”
“It’s fine.”
He reaches over the console, and clasps my hand. “It’s not fine.”
Sparks of electricity shoot up my arm, and my heart thumps against my chest. He holds my gaze like he’s willing me to understand what he isn’t saying.
But I’m not a mind reader, and I need him to give me something. “So, you’ll take me because you want to? Or because you don’t want Jared taking me?”
“Both.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“I’d like to teach you how to canoe, Charly.” The traffic light turns green, but Bryce keeps his attention on me.
A small smile pulls at one corner of my mouth. “I’d like that too.”
“Someone’s jealous.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not jealous.”
Jenny shoots me a dubious look through the phone screen. “Bryce doesn’t want fish boy taking you out. That sounds like jealousy to me.”
I flop back onto my bed with a groan. “I don’t get him.”
“It’s simple.” She takes a bite of her apple. “He doesn’t want anyone else to have you, but he’s too chicken shit to make a move on you. The question is: Do you want him to make a move on you?”
My mouth flaps open and closed. “I ... well ...”
“That’s a yes.”
“No. It’s an I don’t know.” I rub my forehead. “It would make everything awkward between us—even more than it already has been.”
“Maybe it’ll break the tension.”
“So, what then? We kiss? One kiss leads to more.” I shake my head. “And I’m only here for a couple of months.”
Jenny shrugs. “Sounds perfect. Have a summer fling, and live in the moment. Enjoy your time together for as long as it lasts.”
“I don’t know if I’m capable of no-strings-attached. I don’t think I could be intimate with someone I just met, and then never see him again.” My mind drifts to thoughts of my father. “You know, I’ve always wondered how my dad could just leave us like that. He had a family. How could he let go, and never look back? Like we meant nothing to him.”
Like I meant nothing to him.
“You don’t know that he’s never looked back. Maybe he regrets it. Or maybe he’s still an addict, and his brain is all sorts of messed up.”
My eyes follow the slow turn of the ceiling fan. “Why do I still think about him?”
“Because you never got closure. Because he’s your father. Because you don’t understand what happened.”
“Well, I’m done with it.” I peel myself out of bed. “I want to spend my time thinking about happy things, like my bucket list.”
Her bottom lip juts out. “I’m jealous. I want to help you with your list.”
“You’re coming with me to see Taylor Swift when her tickets go on sale.”
“Deal.” She takes one last bite of the apple. “All right. Gotta go, babe. Fifty bucks says your roommate makes a move on you within the next week.”
I choke out a laugh. “No way.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Fifty bucks.”
“I thought you had to go.”
“You’re scared of losing your money.”
I stick out my tongue, and end the call.
It’s Bryce’s turn in the kitchen tonight, but I’m cooking to thank him for agreeing to help me with my bucket list. Beatrice helped me devise a plan earlier to keep him out—one he’s not too happy with when he bursts through the kitchen door.
“What are you doing?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Cooking.”
He rolls his lips together, and breathes out through his nose like a bull. “I can see that. Why are you cooking?”
“Because people need to eat.”
“Charly.”
I deepen my voice to mimic his. “Bryce.”
“You’re painful.”
“You’re no walk in the park.”
His lips twitch. “It’s my night to cook.”
“I wanted to make my famous tacos to thank you for helping me.”
“Famous?”
I wave a hand, and roll my eyes. “Well, they’re famous at the diner, and that’s good enough for me.”
“Can I help at least?”
I place the tortillas on the tray in front of me. “Nope.”
He heaves a sigh, and rests his palm on the island. “You’ve turned my own grandmother against me. She lied to me to help you with your scheme.”
I laugh. “I was young when my grandmother passed, so we didn’t get much time together.” I push the knife through a crisp green pepper. “I know we just met, but I feel a connection with her. She’s so open, and wise, and kind.” My words halt on my tongue when I notice Bryce’s scrutinizing gaze on my pepper. “Look, mister. I’m not claiming to be a renowned chef. This is how I chop. If you don’t like it, then you can—”
He rounds the corner of the island, and steps behind me, his warm breath dancing along my neck. “May I?”
My brain goes fuzzy, and I can’t remember what I was in the middle of saying. I squeak out a sound that sounds like, “Yes.”
Bryce’s hands trail down my forearms, singeing my bare skin, until they cover my own, swallowing them up. “Rock the knife like this, keeping the tip of the blade down.”
All I can register are words like rock and tip, and his body is so close, I break out in a sweat.
“Fold these fingers in, so you don’t chop one off.” His fingers curl around mine, holding my fist in the palm of his hand like it’s a golf ball.
I’m engulfed by his sheer size, and his fresh scent of cedar mixed with something sweet. My heart thrashes against my chest, and I swallow, my throat as dry as the desert.
“Like this. Understand, Charly?”
My stomach flips at the sound of my name coming from his gruff, raspy voice. “Yes.” I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for him to step back, waiting for the rush of cool air at the loss of his touch.
Instead, his hands trail back up the path they came from, over my wrists, along my forearms, and up my biceps. He stops there, like he’s holding me in place—or holding himself back.
A low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my back. “You smell like peaches.”
My voice shakes. “Do you like peaches?”
“They’re becoming my favorite fruit.”
Oh, lord. My knees threaten to buckle.
The kitchen door flies open as Beatrice pushes it with her cane. “How’s everything going in here?”
Bryce and I jump apart, like we’re guilty teenagers who shouldn’t be caught together.
“Fine. Good. Great. Chicken’s almost done.” A nervous laugh escapes me as my eyes dart to Bryce. But he leaves me hanging with his back turned, pulling down plates from the cabinet.
Beatrice smiles like she stumbled upon a juicy secret. “Well, then. I’ll let the guests know dinner will be out soon.” She practically dances out of the kitchen.
My skin hums like a beehive for the rest of the evening. But Bryce moves around me like the moon orbits the earth, never coming close enough to touch.
Which is a problem, because now I want him to.