Their bodies moved as one, each of them fully aware of the other's needs, each trying to please the other. Garrett kissed her almost continually, the moistness of his mouth lingering wherever it touched, and she felt her body began to tingle with the growing urgency of something wonderful. When it finally happened, she pressed her fingers hard into his back, but the moment it ended another one started to build again and she began to climax in long sequences, one right after the next. When they finished making love, Theresa was exhausted, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. She relaxed by his side, his hands still gently tracing her skin, and she watched as the candles slowly burned toward their base, reliving the moment they had just shared together.
They lay together for most of the night, making love again and again, holding each other tightly afterward. Theresa fell asleep in his arms, feeling wonderful, and Garrett watched as she slept beside him. Just before he fell asleep, he gently brushed her hair from her face, trying hard to remember everything.
* * *
Right before daybreak, Theresa opened her eyes, realizing instinctively that he was gone. She turned in the bed, looking for him. Not seeing him, she rose and went to his closet, finding a bathrobe. Wrapping it around her, she left the bedroom and glanced toward the darkness of the kitchen. Not there. She looked in the living room, but he wasn't there, either, and suddenly she knew exactly where he would be.
Stepping outside, she found him sitting in the chair, wearing only his boxers and a gray sweatshirt. Turning around, he saw her and smiled.
"Hey there."
She stepped toward him, and he motioned for her to sit in his lap. He kissed her as he pulled her to him, and she put her arms around his neck. Then, pulling back when she sensed that something was wrong, she touched his cheek.
"You all right?"
It took a moment for him to answer.
"Yeah," he said, quietly, without looking at her.
"You sure?"
He nodded, again without meeting her eyes, and she used her finger to make him face her. She said gently:
"You look sort of . . . sad."
He gave a weak smile without answering.
"Are you sad about what happened?"
"No," he said. "Not at all. I don't regret any of it."
"Then what is it?"
He didn't answer, and again his eyes shifted away.
She spoke softly. "Are you out here because of Catherine?"
He waited for a moment without answering, then took her hand in his. Finally he met her gaze.
"No. I'm not out here because of Catherine," he said, almost whispering the words. "I'm out here because of you."
Then, with a tenderness that reminded her of a small child, he gently pulled her close and held her without saying another word, not letting go until the sky began to lighten and the first person appeared on the beach.
CHAPTER 9
"What do you mean, you can't have lunch with me today? We've been doing this for years-how could you forget?"
"I didn't forget, Dad, I just can't do it today. We'll pick it up again next week, okay?"
Jeb Blake paused on the other end of the phone, drumming his fingers on the desktop.
"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me something?"
"There's nothing to tell."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Theresa called to Garrett from the shower, asking him to bring her a towel. Garrett covered the mouthpiece and told her he'd be right there. When he returned his attention to the phone, he heard his father inhale sharply.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Then, in a tone of sudden understanding: "That Theresa gal's there, isn't she?"
Knowing he couldn't hide the truth from him now, Garrett replied: "Yeah, she's here."
Jeb whistled, obviously pleased. "It's about damn time."
Garrett tried to downplay it. "Dad, don't make a big deal out of this. . . ."
"I won't-I promise."
"Thanks."
"But can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Garrett sighed.
"Does she make you happy?"
It took a moment for him to answer. "Yeah, she does," he said finally.
"It's about damn time," he said again with a laugh before hanging up. Garrett stared at the phone as he replaced it in its cradle.
"She really does," he whispered to himself with a small smile on his face. "She really does."
Theresa emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, looking rested and fresh. Smelling Coffee brewing, she went to the kitchen for a cup. After putting a piece of bread in the toaster, Garrett walked to her side.
"Good morning, again," he said, kissing the back of her neck.
"Good morning again to you, too."
"Sorry about leaving the bedroom last night."
"Hey, it's okay. . . . I understand."
"You mean that?"
"Of course I do." She turned and faced him with a smile. "I had a wonderful night."
"So did I," he said. Fishing a Coffee cup out of the cupboard for Theresa, he asked over his shoulder, "Do you want to do something today? I called the shop and told them I wasn't coming in."
"What did you have in mind?"
"How about showing you around Wilmington?"
"We could do that." She didn't sound convinced.
"Did you have anything else you wanted to do instead?"
"How about we just sort of hang around here today?"
"And do what?"
"Oh, I can think of a couple of things," she said, putting her arms around him. "That is, if you don't have a problem with that."
"No," he said with a grin. "No problem at all."
* * *
For the next four days, Theresa and Garrett were inseparable. Garrett ceded control of the shop to Ian, even allowing him to teach the dive classes on Saturday, something he'd never done before. Twice, Garrett and Theresa went sailing; on the second night they stayed out all night on the ocean, lying together in the cabin, rocked by the gentle swells of the Atlantic. Later that evening she asked him to tell her more adventure stories about early sailors, and she stroked his hair as the sound of his voice reverberated against the interior of the hull.
What she didn't know was that after she'd fallen asleep, Garrett left her side as he had their first night together and paced the deck alone. He thought about Theresa sleeping inside and the fact that she would be leaving soon, and with that thought came another memory from years before.
"I really don't think you should go," Garrett said, looking at Catherine with concern in his eyes.
She stood beside the front door, her suitcase beside her, frustrated with his comment. "C'mon, Garrett, we've already talked about this. I'm only going to be gone for a few days."
"But you haven't been yourself lately."
Catherine felt like throwing up her hands.
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm fine? My sister really needs me-you know how she is. She's worried about the wedding, and Mom isn't much help at all."
"But I need you, too."
"Garrett-just because you have to be at the shop all day long doesn't mean I have to stay here, too. We're not joined at the hip."
Garrett took an involuntary step backward, as if she'd struck him. "I didn't say we were. I'm just not sure whether you should go when you're feeling this way."
"You never want me to go anywhere."
"Can I help it if I miss you when you're gone?"
Her face softened just a little. "I may leave, Garrett, but you know I'll always come back."
When the memory faded, Garrett walked back inside the cabin and saw Theresa lying under the sheet. Quietly he slipped in beside her and held her tightly against him.
* * *
The following day was spent at the beach, sitting near the pier where they'd first had lunch. When Theresa got sunburned by the early morning rays, Garrett walked to one of the many shops right off the beach and brought back some lotion. He applied it to her back, rubbing it into her skin, as gently as if she were a child, and even though she didn't want to believe it, deep down she could feel that there were moments when his mind was drifting somewhere else. But then, just as suddenly, the moments would pass and she would wonder whether she'd been mistaken.
They had lunch at Hank's again, holding hands and staring at each other from across the table. They talked quietly, oblivious to the throngs around them, neither one of them noticing when the check was brought to the table and the lunch crowd emptied out. Theresa watched him carefully, wondering if Garrett had been as intuitive with Catherine as he seemed to be with her. It was as if he could almost read her mind whenever they were together-if she wanted him to hold her hand, he reached for it before she said anything. If she just wanted to talk for a while without interruption, he listened quietly. If she wanted to know how he was feeling about her at any particular moment, the way he looked at her made it all clear. No one-not even David-had ever understood her as well as Garrett seemed to, yet how long had she known him? A few days? How, she wondered, could that be? Late at night, she thought about the answer as he lay sleeping by her side, and the answer always came back to the bottles she had originally found. The more she had come to know Garrett, the more she believed that she was destined to find his messages to Catherine, as if there were some great force that had directed them to her, with the intention of bringing them together.
On Saturday evening Garrett cooked another dinner for her, which they ate on the back deck under the stars. After making love, they lay in his bed, holding each other. Both of them knew that she had to return to Boston the following day. It was a subject they had both avoided talking about until now.
"Will I ever see you again?" she asked.
He was quiet, almost too quiet. "I hope so," he said finally.
"Do you want to?"
"Of course I do." As he said it, he sat up in the bed, pulling slightly away from her. After a moment she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.
"What is it, Garrett?"
"I just don't want it to end," he said, looking down. "I don't want us to end, I don't want this week to end. I mean, you come into my life and turn it upside-down, and now you're leaving."
She reached for his hand and spoke quietly.
"Oh, Garrett-I don't want it to end, either. This has been one of the best weeks I've ever had. It seems like I've known you forever. We can make it work, if we try. I could come down here or you could come up to Boston. Either way, we can try, can't we?"
"How often would I see you? Once a month? Less than that?"
"I don't know. I think that depends on us and what we're willing to do. I think if we're both willing to give a little, we can make it work."
He paused for a long moment. "Do you really think it's possible if we don't see each other very much? When would I get to hold you? When would I be able to see your face? If we only see each other once in a while, we won't be able to do the things that we need to . . . to continue feeling the way we do. Every time we saw each other, we'd know it's only for a couple of days. There wouldn't be time for anything to grow."
His words stung, partly from the truth and partly because he seemed to want to simply end it here and now. When he finally turned to her, a regretful smile on his face, she didn't know what to say. She released his hand, confused.
"You don't want to try, then? Is that what you're saying? You just want to forget everything that's happened-"
He shook his head. "No-I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. I don't know. . . . I just want to see you more than it sounds like we'll be able to."
"So do I. But we can't, so let's just make the best of what we can. Okay?"
He shook his head almost dismissively. "I don't know. . . . "
She watched him closely as he spoke, sensing the presence of something else.
"Garrett, what's wrong?"
He didn't answer, and she went on. "Is there a reason you don't want to try?"
Still he remained quiet. In the silence, he turned toward Catherine's picture on the nightstand.
"How was the trip?" Garrett grabbed Catherine's bag from the backseat as she stepped out of the car. Catherine smiled, though he could tell she was tired.
"It was good, but my sister's still a wreck. She wants everything flawless, and we found out that Nancy is pregnant and her bridesmaid's dress isn't going to fit."
"So what? She'll just get it adjusted."
"That's what I said, but you know how she is. She's making a big deal out of everything."
Catherine put her hands on her hips and stretched her back, making a small grimace as she did so.
"You okay?"
"Just stiff, is all. I was tired the whole time I was there, and my back's been kind of achy for a couple of days."
She started toward the front door, Garrett right beside her.
"Catherine, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I acted before you left. I'm glad you went, but I'm even happier that you're back."
"Garrett, talk to me."
She stared at him, concerned. Finally he spoke:
"Theresa . . . it's just so hard right now. The things I've been going through . . ."
He trailed off, and Theresa suddenly knew what he was talking about. She felt her stomach tighten.
"Is this about Catherine? Is that what this is about?"
"No, it's just that . . ." He paused, and she knew with a sudden sinking sureness that she'd been right.
"It is, isn't it? You don't want to even try with us . . . because of Catherine."
"You just don't understand."
Despite herself, she felt a flash of anger. "Oh, I understand. You were able to spend time with me this week, simply because you knew I'd be leaving. And then, once I was gone, you could go back to what you had before. I was just a fling, wasn't I?"
