Rhiannon had the strongest urge to bring her lips to the graceful neck, the flush giving it such a delectable allure, the pulse beating there double time, fluttering like a caught bird?—
Well, well, well…
Rhiannon leaned in, just an inch, and inhaled. The scent did something to her mind. It was instant and she felt addicted. The words sent her reeling were not enough to describe her back teeth aching with the sweetness of it, with the recognition of it. She felt drunk on the fresh, warm, ready smell of woman, of…her. She inhaled again, deeper and closed her eyes, savoring, almost tasting. Prudence actually moaned. A quiet note, barely there at all, and the biting of the lower lip suggested she didn’t mean it to slip out, didn’t mean to make that sound that almost floored Rhiannon. Another second and one of them would be on her knees. And, well…that image did nothing to clear Rhiannon’s head. It only made her mouth water, the vision ofPrudence at her feet, hiking Rhiannon’s skirt up, bowing her head, her hands trembling on Rhiannon’s thighs…
A seagull swooping and stealing the ice cream cone from a tourist’s hand down on the Market Square and the answering, pitiful cry of a disappointed toddler pulled Rhiannon from the reverie. She blinked, watched her fantasy, which she could almost feel still slowly pulling her thong to the side before devouring her whole, disappear into the thin air. Prudence’s eyes, still blown wide, as if they were seeing the same images, were beginning to clear.
This was getting out of hand, and fast. And because it was getting out of hand, and because it was doing so very fast, faster than Rhiannon was comfortable with, faster than she could control, judging by her own reactions to this woman, she chose the easy way.
Wasn’t her code of honor dependent on her mood when all was said and done? And her mood was fickle and cruel and currently miffed by her own inability to stop watching the gentle blush creep up that gorgeous long neck without wanting to leave her mark.
Screw responsibility. In the long run, this woman would thank Rhiannon. Prudence didn’t need the burden of the craft. Nor the burden of Rhiannon being the one to introduce it to her.
Decision made, she gave Prudence the most placid smile she could muster.
“I came up to tell you that it’s nothing to worry about. This place is known for some of the crazy stories and fantastical legends. I think people get influenced by that.”
Prudence’s eyes flew open and the ash in them was cold, all fire extinguished.
“And I think this is the very first lie you’ve told me, Rhiannon Crowhart.”
With that, Prudence turned around and walked into her apartment, shutting the door to the balcony with a loud snick of the lock.
8
PRUDENCE, FATHERS & (BADLY EXECUTED) APOLOGIES
“Idon’t think that cat likes you very much, Patches.”
Pru opened the blinds and set the new coffee carafe to brew. The scent filled the room as the sun’s first rays made their way through the lines of shelves lined with books. She watched them filter through the space she called her own and felt suddenly unmoored. A little bit lost. It was a new sensation, a not entirely welcome revelation. She had been so certain of her place in the world. Her life, her family, her store, her town. Why did it all feel just a touch tilted, as if in recent days a door had opened and the wind scattered the memories, making them all seem different, blurry?
Book Nest had been a labor of of love for Pru. Every shelf, every book a careful selection, but she suddenly felt like she was wearing someone else’s clothes. Her grandmother, despite never being heavily involved in Pru’s life, left the bookshop to her, so why did it feel like it had been something she was forced to accept? Her grandmother being…quite a notorious piece of work could’ve had a lot to do with it, Pru thought. But all of this wasn’t new, so why this acute sensation of missing something? Of being the square peg in the round hole? Her palms were warm, and asshe looked down, she could catch the slow silver shimmer cover them for a few moments. It blinked away, like a bunt-out bulb, but Pru felt she could bring it back. How, she didn’t know, but the certainty of it was overwhelming.
She listened to the birds and the bluff, the island waking up around her. The sounds were louder, clearer. Somehow more dear. She closed her eyes and listened to the town coming to life. Soon the shopkeepers on Market Square and Broad Street would follow suit. She knew the fishermen on the wharf had already gone out into the eerie morning fog of the Atlantic. A passing thought of probably getting something fresh for dinner crossed her mind and was gone—way too early to really make to-do lists, her brain refusing to focus on anything but this extraordinary feeling just yet. Everything was magnified. And everything was in such sharp relief to all the days that preceded this one.
And so the least she could do, no matter what had been awakened in her, Pru thought as she sipped her coffee, was to be honest with herself. The bookshop had been a labor of love but also familial guilt and obligation. The place had been in her family for as long as there had been a Fowler on the island, and if her father was to be believed, that had been a forever kind of thing.
Pru didn’t question that. But she wished Jedidiah Fowler would at least on occasion leave some room for her to make her decisions herself. Or appreciate those decisions. Yet after she returned to the island and despite him mostly staying out of her life, he never stayed away far enough. She watched him limp his way along the still sleeping Broad Street, a smile crossing his handsome, fair features the moment he noticed her standing in the doorway of Book Nest.
“The prettiest girl on in town. And she’s my pride and joy!”
Pru rolled her eyes at the greeting he had been producing every day for decades.
“Father, your leg?” His limp was more pronounced today and Pru bit her lip, wondering how much she should push. When was the last time he saw a doctor? Predictably, he waved her away as he entered the store.
“It’s the storms, we should be past them by now. Something’s in the air this year.”
He kept looking out the window and Pru turned back into bookshop, a touch too quickly, hoping earnestly that he wouldn’t question her hasty retreat. What would she tell him? That the storms were indeed characteristic, native, in fact, to the island and that she suspected they simply have not been in residence for the past twenty-two years? That they were unlikely to pass anytime soon, unless Rhiannon Crowhart suddenly decided to pull up stakes and leave?
Predictably, thoughts about Rhiannon brought a sharp pang dead center of her chest that made her heart stutter, and she shook her head, reaching for her coffee yet again.
“For all the asking about me, you don’t look so good, Prudence. Have you been staying up late working on the little shop? You know you could join me as Deputy Mayor, Prudence. Sure, the family business is important, but a Fowler had always been in the town hall at the Nest, dear. That’s our legacy. And I’m not getting younger.”
His tone didn’t betray their age-old argument, and she was not in the mood to dive into it yet again. She had refused every overture he had attempted over the years at getting her involved in local politics. Pru didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. She wasn’t interested in his politics. The fact that she hadn’t voted for him this past election since he started to become more and more conservative in some of the policies he was promoting…
She looked up to see him watching her closely and hurried her answer.
“No, Father. The store is doing well, so am I. As you said, the storms have been quite disturbing, is all.”
