“Cold? Really? My father’s one of the warmest men I know. He’s not at all a typical military guy, I don’t think. In fact, I’m sure of it. He’s very forgiving of his children. Probably too much so.” She noticed tension lines around Kurt’s mouth that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Do you and your dad get along?”
He shifted his eyes to her. “Yeah, sure. He’s a good guy, and I respect him for all he’s done. He’s just…He pushed us all pretty hard when we were growing up. You know the type. Do better. Do more. Be the best at whatever you do.” He stopped to pick up a stone and tossed it into the water. “I think it’s what’s driven me to be so focused on my career, so it was a good thing. At least for me.”
“If my dad had a little of that in him, then it might have helped me,” she admitted.
He pulled her close and gazed into her eyes. She loved his face, the soft crease beside his nose, the sweet fullness of his lips, and she could look at his eyes all night. Kurt had kind, emotional eyes. She read a thousand things in them in the space of a breath. Happiness, hope, generosity, desire. What she didn’t see was what she’d seen earlier—the restrained yearning to be writing. And she was relieved.
“Helped you with what?”
She shifted her eyes away. This was the hard part. A little fear weaseled its way into her heart and kicked up her pulse.
When she didn’t answer, he took her hand and turned back in the direction they’d come. He didn’t push her for an answer or act as though he was annoyed by her silence. She added that to the growing list of things she really liked about Kurt.
“Do you have a big family?” she asked.
“Yeah. Four brothers and a sister. We’re all pretty close. I meet them for drinks about once a month, and we all have dinner with our parents every few weeks. You?” he asked.
“Mm-hm. Three brothers and a sister.” She stole a glance at him, and he draped his arm around her shoulder.
“I’m not going to judge you, you know. Not that you have to tell me anything, but I can see you’re worrying about something.” He kissed the side of her head. “I like who you are.”
“You might not after you get to know me better.” She held her breath, and when he squeezed her shoulder, she relaxed a little. They made their way back to the blanket, and Kurt tied Pepper’s leash around his ankle.
“Sit,” he told Pepper. Pepper lay down with his head on his front paws.
“I still can’t believe you can get him to do that.” She held the plastic wineglasses as he filled them.
“I think it’s all in the voice. My father used that trick with us. You know, the one tone that had you shaking in your shoes.”
“I guess, but my dad never used that with us.” She watched him closely, looking for signs of his wishing he were elsewhere.
He leaned his elbows on his knees, and for a few minutes there was only the sound of the waves.
“I’m not thinking about writing, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“What makes you think I’m wondering anything at all?”
He turned to look at her and smiled. “You’ve got an assessing look in your eyes. When you look at me, you’re kind of sizing me up, or weighing what you should or shouldn’t say. I can feel it.” He took a sip of wine. “Am I wrong?”
She traced the line of a muscle up his arm. “No. You’re right. Here’s the thing. I’m twenty-eight, well educated, well traveled, and besides being with Pepper, I’ve never found a single thing that I knew without a doubt was right for me. I’ve gone through eight jobs in the last two years. I’ve moved to three states in four years, and my Sweet Treats business is my latest effort in finding a fulfilling career. And I know that’s totally not the type of person you are, so I was a little afraid to tell you.”
He nodded and took a sip of wine. Then he wrapped his arm around her. She snuggled in against his warm, muscular body, one arm draped across his stomach, her head against his chest and arm, and she waited for him to say something. Anything. For the longest time, he was quiet. He was careful, she realized. Words were his life, and he seemed to choose the most meaningful words, or the ones that most accurately reflected his thoughts. Another thing to add to her Like List.
When he finally spoke, his tone was thoughtful and tender.
“Sometimes it’s the interest we take or don’t take in things that makes them fulfilling—or not.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Well, like with writing. If I wrote about characters or topics I didn’t enjoy, writing wouldn’t hold my interest. But writing is such a personal endeavor that I make a conscious effort to write about the things that do hold my interest. I break the rules. My work isn’t formulaic, and if people don’t like what I write…” He shrugged. “They don’t have to read it, but at least I’m happy while I’m writing.”
“But not every job is like that.”
He set down his wine and turned to look at her. “Tell me about your business. Why did you choose it? Do you enjoy what you’re doing?”
“I love what I’m doing. It’s creative and fun, and I get to meet a lot of interesting people. I have flexible hours. I mean, I really love it, and I know that’s weird, because I’m just making jam.”
“Just? I couldn’t make jam. And you’re not just making jam; your jam is incredibly sweet.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m dying to know how you chose that path.”
“It’s kind of weird, I think. There was this really sweet old man, Al Black, and he used to sell jam at the flea market. We were friends for years. I was just a kid when we met, but every summer I’d spend a few hours a week with him at the flea market, and I really came to love him. Like a grandfather, you know? He told me stories about his family, and when he spoke of making jam…” She shook her head, remembering the look in Al’s eyes. “The way he looked, his eyes. It was like making jam was the most romantic thing in the world.” She ran her finger along his forearm, tracing a vein. “He died last winter, but before he passed, he called me and shared his recipes, and I don’t know. Everything came together in my heart. I knew I wanted to do the same thing. It only made sense to do it here, you know, to honor him?”
He cupped her cheek, his eyes laden with compassion. “Leanna, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Do you miss your friend?”
No one had thought to ask her that, and she had to swallow past a growing lump in her throat. “Yeah. I do. This summer is the first summer he hasn’t been here, and I find myself looking for him sometimes. You must think I’m weird.” She looked down at the blanket, and he lifted her chin with his finger and drew her eyes back to his.
“Not even close. I think you’re smart, and kind, and funny, and…special in the very best way.”
She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m not. I’m just trying to find something…”
“Are you fulfilled?” He searched her eyes.
She inhaled deeply before answering, letting the salty sea air fill her lungs. “I guess I don’t know. I always feel like I want to do more.”