It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time Ryan and Emily finally left Saint Bart’s. Chloe had left with Gigi an hour ago, and now the moon was high and the sky sparkled with stars. Off in the distance Ryan could hear music coming from the park, but that would be ending soon. He had learned that things on the island quieted down well before midnight, with only a few pubs staying open into the wee hours. Now they were walking down a flower-lined avenue without another person in sight. Emily was wearing a white dress that seemed to shimmer under the few streetlights, and fireflies were everywhere.
“They’re pretty, aren’t they? The fireflies?” she asked.
“Mm-hm.” In truth, he wasn’t really thinking about the fireflies. He was thinking about her skin. And her hair, and her mouth. Pretty much all of her.
“I used to love seeing them. When we were little, my mom would turn off all the outside lights and we’d sit on the back porch and try to count them. She told us that the ones that glowed bluish weren’t actually fireflies at all. They were angels waiting to go on up to heaven.”
Her tone was wistful, and no wonder. Her mother had died when Emily was just a kid. Far too young. His mother had died last year when he was thirty-three, and even as a grown man, it was hard to take.
“That’s sweet,” he said softly.
“Yeah. Sort of. But I remember the day of her funeral. No one would really talk to me. The adults just kept trying to give me something to eat. I’m sure they had no idea what to say, and I’m not sure I really grasped the situation anyway. She died so unexpectedly.”
Ryan felt a sudden pressure in his chest that had nothing to do with wanting to kiss her and everything to do with wanting to hold her tight and squeeze her sadness out, if only that would help, but of course, grief didn’t work that way. You couldn’t squash it out or get over it. You just had to get through it, but it was like a spider’s web. It clung to your skin. Sometimes you could barely feel it, but you knew it was there. He slipped his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze anyway, and she went on, speaking slowly, as if she was just dusting off an old memory she’d found in an attic chest.
“As soon as it got dark that day, I came outside with a jar and tried to catch as many fireflies as I could because I thought for sure one of them was her.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah, I tried really hard, then my dad came outside and yelled at me for chasing fireflies on such a sad, terrible day. I wanted to explain, but he just yelled louder and then sent me to my room. For the longest time I thought he’d ruined my chance to say goodbye to her.” Her sigh was soft and shallow, her tone contemplative. “I was mad at him for so long after that, and he had no idea why. Then I got older and realized they were just bugs, so I got mad at her for telling me a lie.”
Emily gave another short, abrupt sigh, as if blowing the thoughts away. “Anyway, it’s no one’s fault. Dad didn’t understand about the fireflies, and she was just trying to be fanciful.”
“Did you ever tell him that story?”
She looked up at Ryan, her eyes luminous under the glow of the moonlight. “No. Actually, I’ve never told anyone that story. I never think of it anymore, but I guess seeing the fireflies reminded me.”
“Maybe you should tell him.”
Her laugh was soft but full of dismissal. “I don’t see much point in that. Effective communication is not really in our DNA, and it doesn’t really matter anyway. But look—here we are.” Her smile brightened considerably as she pointed to a pale blue house just up the lane.
“That’s where I’m staying. Gigi’s house.”
He turned the corner with her, still holding her hand. He had no intention of going home without a few more of those kisses, especially after she’d shared such a sad story. He had every intention of cheering her up.
“I can probably make it from here,” she said, stopping and turning toward him.
He pulled their clasped hands up between them. “I’m sure you can, but since this is such an old-fashioned place, I’ve decided to act like an old-fashioned gentleman. I’m going to walk you all the way to the front steps. Then I’m going to hope you invite me up to sit on the porch swing for a spell.”
His lame attempt at charm seemed to do the trick. “For a spell?”
“Isn’t that what they used to say in the old days? I think I saw that in a movie once.”
“Uh, sure. I guess I can’t argue with that. So, Mr. Taggert, would you care to join me on the front porch swing and sit for a spell?”
“I would like that very much, Miss Chambers.”
“Delightful.” They walked the short distance up the street and climbed the porch steps. A sconce light near the front door glowed amber, but the inside of the house was dark. Ryan spotted a swing off to one side, covered with flowered cushions. It looked very inviting and just the sort of place where a guy like him could steal a kiss. Even better than at the top of a lighthouse, although in truth, he was not that picky. He’d kiss her just about anywhere.
“I think we are fresh out of mint juleps, but I do believe there’s some cold beer in the fridge. Or a glass of wine?” she asked.
“Why, Miss Chambers, do you intend to get me intoxicated and take advantage?”
Emily smiled. “You sound very optimistic, Mr. Taggert. So, beer or wine?”
Well, now he was feeling optimistic. “Either. Whatever you’re having. As long as it’s beer.”
The porch swing gave a charming, predictable creak as he sat down, and a few minutes later the porch light turned off and Emily returned with two bottles of beer. She sat down next to him, turning sideways and bringing her bent leg up to rest on the cushion between them. She handed him a bottle.
“Thank you, miss.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
They clinked bottles and drank, and Ryan couldn’t help but think of how things were so different here. Slow and quiet and peaceful. If Xanax were a village you could visit, then this was it. Damn it all. Tag was right. He liked this place. It pulled on him like a magnet, subtle but steady.
Ryan stretched his arm along the back of the swing and rested his hand against Emily’s shoulder.
“Why did you turn the light off?” He hoped it was because she had illicit intentions.
“To keep the moths away.”
So not what he was hoping to hear. He took a drink.
“So who was the guy in the military getup? Tell me about him.”
“Oh, that was just Reed.”
He didn’t believe that guy had been just anything. “And? Let’s hear that story.”
“You don’t want to hear that story.” She shook her head, making her hair slide over her shoulders.
“Sure I do.”