Jack Hudson had first made her smile when she was fourteen years old. And he still did.
21
Jack pulled into Rachel's driveway at exactly six o'clock. The cooler sat in the back of his SUV alongside the picnic basket his mom had helped him pack that afternoon. She'd smiled knowingly when he'd told her his plans before sending him off with fresh brownies and a blanket.
Looking up, Rachel appeared at the top landing as he hurried out of his vehicle. She was wearing jeans and a soft green sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Jack's heart kicked against his ribs the way it always had when he looked at her.
“Hi,” she said, her smile tentative but real.
“Hi.” Jack met her halfway up the steps and leaned in to kiss her cheek, letting himself linger just a second longer than necessary. “You look beautiful.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
Jack grinned and offered his hand. “Ready?”
“More than ready.”
The drive to their beach was familiar along roads Jack could have navigated blindfolded. Neither of them said much. The silence was comfortable in the way it had always been between them. When Jack turned onto the narrow access road that wound through scrub pine and marsh grass, he felt Rachel shift beside him.
The water opened up ahead, silver-blue in the early evening light. Jack pulled into the small clearing where the sand began and cut the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Rachel stared out the windshield at the stretch of beach, her hands folded in her lap. “You brought me here,” she said quietly.
Jack turned to look at her. “I did.” He paused, suddenly uncertain. “Is that okay?”
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the water, on the dunes, on the place that had been theirs for as long as they'd known each other. Finally, she nodded slowly.
“Have you… um… been here recently?” Jack asked, unable to hide his hesitancy.
Rachel shook her head. “No. Not since the last time we were here.”
Five years ago. George's funeral. The memory of that day hit Jack square in the chest. They'd sat on this beach in silence, both grieving, both lost. Then they'd gone back to her apartment and fallen into each other with a desperation that felt like goodbye. Hell, it was goodbye.
“Can I ask why?” Jack's voice came out softer than he intended.
Rachel shrugged, but the gesture was anything but casual. “In all honesty, I never really think about coming here. But I suppose that it always seemed like our place, not just a place.”
The words settled between them, heavy and true. Jack reached over and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Does that make sense?” she asked, finally turning to look at him.
He held her gaze and nodded. “Yeah. Same here. Some things are tied to memories, and to try to force a new connection seems...” He searched for the word that wouldn't come.
“Expunging what it meant to us?” she offered.
“Yeah. Exactly.” Jack grinned and squeezed her hand. “You always were good with words.”
Rachel's laughter broke through, real and bright.
They threw open the doors, both eager. Jack grabbed the cooler, the blanket, and the picnic basket while Rachel kicked off her shoes at the edge of the sand, then bent to carry them. They walked down to their spot near the dune grass, the place where the sand was soft and the view stretched wide.
He spread the blanket and sat, unpacking the simple picnic dinner. Sandwiches piled high with deli meat and cheese, fruit, pasta salad, and the brownies his mom had insisted on. He opened two beer bottles and handed one to Rachel as she settled onto the blanket beside him.
“So,” she started, then turned the bottle up and took a drink. “Tell me about your first days as a detective.”
Jack unwrapped his sandwich, grateful for the easy opening. “It's weird. Being in the bullpen with some of the best men I remember from years back.”
“Do you feel like a fraud?” Her voice was gentle, without judgment. “Because you're not.”
“Yeah, I do.” Jack took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, thinking about what she said. He was glad she seemed to understand. “Like I'm not almost thirty and am still a teenager.”
