The Whisper in Wind, page 9
Lucy’s eyelids fluttered open, and she slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.
Disoriented, she couldn’t remember where she was or how long she’d been there.
Alarmed, she tried to sit upright, but her sluggish brain protested.
“Easy.”
Vick…. She recognized his husky voice.
He propped a few pillows against the wooden headboard and helped her lean against them.
She gazed up at him, her eyes struggling to focus in the shadows.
His handsome features were twisted with worry. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I played chicken with a brick wall and lost.” She attempted a wry smile, and some of the tension in his clenched muscles relaxed.
“Here. Drink this.” He handed her a glass of cool water.
She gulped most of it down and passed it back to him. “Thank you.”
He set it on the nightstand, then leaned forward, his forearms braced against his thighs. “What happened, Luce?”
Her heart trembled at the sound of her nickname rolling off his lips. He’d never called her that before.
It suddenly occurred to her that they were in his bedroom and he’d taken care of her during the last few hours. He’d been gentle and nurturing and… tender.
Her pulse stuttered again.
Was it possible Vick Johnson had real, tangible feelings for her?
Or were her fuzzy, addled thoughts playing tricks on her?
She tried to focus on his question. “It was a headache.”
“I’ve never seen a headache like that before.”
“Technically, I guess you’d call it a migraine. They’re worse than a headache.”
“What caused it?”
Lucy stared at her hands, realizing she’d twisted the edge of the throw blanket into a tangled knot.
Should she tell him about her doctor’s appointment? She could still hear Dr. Dunlap recite all the potential causes, his voice faltering when he got to the most serious possibilities—the reason for the MRI.
She met his gaze. His dark-gray eyes glinted with apprehension, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth.
Why worry him needlessly? There wasn’t much point in both of them being overly concerned before she had any real answers.
She reached for the glass of water and took another sip before settling on a half-truth. “Probably a combination of too much sun, being on my feet all day, and dehydration.” While all those reasons may not be the root cause, she had a feeling they’d contributed to the severity.
Her response seemed to ease some of his anxiety, and he straightened. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.” She tried to hide her disappointment over missing their romantic dinner that evening.
“You stay here and rest, and I’ll throw something on the barbecue.” He grabbed her glass and stood. “First, I’ll get you some more water. Do you want to keep the drapes closed?”
“Can you open them a smidge? Just to let in a little light, but not too much.” Everything still ached, especially her eyes, but she wanted to be able to see him better.
“Sure thing.” He pulled them back an inch, before returning to the kitchen for more water.
He set the full glass on the nightstand and cast one last wary glance in her direction before disappearing from sight.
In his absence, Lucy took the opportunity to study the oddly shaped room, looking for any insight it might offer into the man of mystery.
She spotted a hoodie draped over a high-backed chair, a stack of books on a worn leather trunk, and a compact weight rack set up against the wall.
No photos, letters, or postcards.
Zero personal mementos of any kind.
Besides the fact that he liked to work out and read, his bedroom told her very little about him. Other than what she already knew—he was extremely private and guarded.
Disappointed with her lack of new insight, she searched for something to occupy her time. Her purse—and hence, her cell phone—taunted her from across the room on the antique dresser. But she didn’t feel well enough yet to attempt retrieving it on her own.
The books were also out of reach, not that she particularly cared for Westerns or legal thrillers.
What she wouldn’t give for a romance novel or even the latest issue of Vogue.
She noticed a faded map on the nightstand beside her. Not the most riveting reading material, but it would do in a pinch. Besides, she didn’t think Vick would mind her looking at something as impersonal as a roadmap of the United States.
She unfolded it across her lap, and immediately noticed the red circles drawn around several small towns, Poppy Creek among them.
Her gaze drifted to a tear in the upper left-hand corner near the state of Alaska. The city of Unalaska was circled in the same red ink as the others, and the words Dutch Harbor and Lucky Lure were handwritten in pencil beside it.
A floorboard creaked, and Lucy glanced up, her pulse spiking as though she’d been caught snooping.
Vick stood in the doorway with a plate of crackers and a magazine featuring national parks. “I, uh, thought you might like a light snack and something to look at while you wait for dinner.” His gaze landed on the map, then flitted back to her face, his discomfort evident in the flex of his jaw.
“I’m so sorry.” She rushed to refold the map, fumbling over the creases. “I was looking for something to occupy the time and didn’t think—”
“It’s fine,” he cut in, sliding the plate onto the nightstand.
He hovered beside the bed, and a nervous energy sizzled through the room.
The cautious part of her brain said to leave things be, but her curiosity won out. “Are these all places you’ve lived before?” she asked, watching his expression closely.
“Most of them.”
Something about the city in Alaska had stood out to her, and she wasn’t sure why. On a hunch, she said, “Except for this one,” and tapped near the torn edge. “This is where you’re going next, isn’t it?”
He nodded, shifting his feet.
Why wouldn’t he look her in the eye?
“I’ve heard Alaska is beautiful.” Somehow, her voice sounded calmer than she felt. “When do you leave?”
He parted his lips, but before he could respond, his phone beeped in his back pocket. Drawing it out, he turned off the timer. “I need to flip the steaks. I’ll be right back.”
As he strode out of the room, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.
Whatever he’d been about to tell her, she wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter 15
Vick set both dinner plates on the coffee table, grateful he’d learned a thing or two working at the diner. He’d managed to whip up two steaks, grilled zucchini and red onions, and barbecue cheesy potatoes.
By the time dinner was ready, Lucy felt well enough to sit upright and eat, but Vick thought she’d be more comfortable on the couch than the cramped kitchen table.
Okay, so it wasn’t really a couch. It was more like a two-person loveseat, but he’d decided against using the more accurate term… for obvious reasons.
He feared his actions today already revealed his feelings for Lucy, without asking her to sit on symbolic furniture.
While he’d never doubted that he cared about her, he hadn’t been willing to admit how much. The roller coaster of fear and finding out if she’d be okay had forced him to face a hard truth.
And he’d come to a surprising decision.
Lucy rested the plate on her knees, her lips quirked. “You cut my steak for me?”
“Yeah, I hope that’s okay. I’m not trying to patronize you. I just figured it’d be easier to eat on the couch that way.”
Her smile grew, bringing some color back to her face.
Man, it was good to see her smile again.
“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you. It smells delicious.”
After some brief small talk about recipes and grilling techniques, they savored each bite in companionable silence.
Tucked in the back of the property, they could still hear faint sounds of the festivities, but Vick didn’t mind missing the rest of the events.
The only place he wanted to be was right here.
“You know,” Lucy said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I ever saw who won the pumpkin parachute contest.”
“Your guy won. The pumpkin cracked up the middle, but didn’t split.” He hesitated, his heart thrumming, before adding, “So, I guess I owe you dinner.”
“This doesn’t count?” Lucy sounded surprised, but he also noticed a twinge of pleasure in her inflection, which gave him the courage he needed.
“Nope. You earned a meal in a real restaurant. Any place you want.”
She smiled again, a full-on grin this time, before stuffing a forkful of cheesy potatoes in her mouth.
His chest swelled with an intoxicating mix of happiness and relief. Not only was her migraine a one-off, and not some serious ailment, she genuinely seemed interested in having dinner with him.
Time for phase two.
Setting down his fork, he gulped a few sips of water first, gathering courage.
Every rational voice inside his head screamed that he was making a mistake. Stick to the plan, they said. If you go through with this, you’ll regret it.
But he was tired of listening to them. Tired of running. Tired of wondering what if?
“About your question earlier,” he began, suppressing his mental protests. “My plans to leave town aren’t set in stone.”
“Really?” Her fork paused midair, eyes wide yet cautious, as though she didn’t dare get her hopes up.
He pushed forward, unsure how far he would go, how much he’d reveal. “I have a job lined up, but I’m not sure it’s the right move for me.”
Her hand drifted to her plate, but she didn’t look away, her gaze questioning.
He was so close to telling her more, to confessing his growing feelings, but his self-preservation kicked in, shoving a thought into the forefront of his mind like a shield. “What about you? I heard you might be leaving soon.”
For the first time, she broke eye contact, glancing at the floor.
His pulse faltered.
And he was no longer certain he wanted to hear her answer.
Lucy struggled to steady her nerves.
It was happening.
The moment she’d longed for—open communication about the future.
But even in her excitement, apprehension slithered around her heart, hissing an unwelcome reminder of her dim reality.
How could she pursue something with Vick when she couldn’t even confront her own fate?
“My plans aren’t set in stone, either,” she said softly, daring to meet his gaze again.
Her heart soared at the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
Now more than ever, she agonized over the tug-of-war between discovering the truth about her condition and the need to protect her bubble of blissful idealism.
But deep beneath the shiny surface of optimism, she feared what would happen if the bubble burst.
“I guess we’re both playing things by ear, then.” His voice carried a hint of hesitation, as though he didn’t know what to say next.
Truthfully, neither did she. It felt like they were standing on the edge of a precipice, but she wasn’t sure if either of them had a parachute.
Either way, if they jumped, they may end up like the pile of smashed pumpkins from earlier.
She smiled for lack of anything better to say.
“Ready for dessert?” Vick stood and cleared the dinner plates.
“What’d you have in mind?”
“I have a weakness for Eliza’s caramel pecan espresso bars, but they have caffeine, if you’d rather not have any this late in the day.”
“I don’t mind. They sound amazing and the caffeine should help with the aftereffects of the migraine.” A dull throb lingered inside her head and a thick fog weighed down her thoughts, which was the worst timing considering the intense nature of their conversation.
While he rummaged around the kitchen, Lucy pulled the blanket tighter around her legs. As dusk fell, the air grew noticeably colder. Wind howled through the trees, mingling with the hum of farm animals settling in for the night.
Vick returned with a pastry box full of the most decadent-looking dessert bars and two steaming mugs of spiced apple cider.
Before sitting down, he turned on a small space heater in the corner of the room.
Lucy eyed the potbelly stove, thinking it would be the perfect addition to the idyllic setting. “Do you ever use the fireplace?”
“No.” The single syllable sounded stiff, almost defensive.
How strange. She’d never met anyone who didn’t prefer the warm glow of flickering flames or the scent of burning logs. “Any particular reason?”
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. Although, the noise came from somewhere near the bottom of the frame, which was odd.
Vick set down his mug, a knowing smile on his lips, as though he anticipated their guest.
Lucy buried her disappointment at the interruption of their cozy, intimate evening.
“Hey, Buddy,” Vick said in greeting, and a miniature goat trotted across the threshold.
He made a beeline for Lucy, wagging his short, stubby tail in introduction.
“Well, hello there.” She laughed, setting down her mug as the goat nuzzled her leg in a shameless ploy for head scratches.
“I see how it is,” Vick said with a playful grumble, rejoining her on the couch. “There’s a pretty girl in the room and suddenly I’m invisible.”
Her heart somersaulted. She’d been called a lot of things in her life, from stunning to breathtaking to gorgeous, but hearing something as simple as pretty come out of Vick’s mouth topped all the other compliments combined.
She tried to moderate the thrill in her voice when she asked, “I take it he’s a frequent houseguest?”
“Buddy stops by every day, usually more than once, and almost always when I have food.”
“He’s adorable.” She scratched his chin this time, becoming fast friends.
“You appear to be his new favorite person. Did you have pets growing up?”
“Sadly, no. I’ve always wanted a dog, but Mom and Dad had a hard enough time raising six kids. What about you?”
“Not officially. But we had a house mouse for a while that hung out in the bottom cabinets of our kitchen. Mom used to talk to her like she was one of the family.” A softness stole over his features, and the happy mood shifted.
“You and your mom were close?” she asked gently.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded far away, and something in his inflection told her not to press.
He cleared his throat. “What about you? Are you close with your mom?”
“Yes, although we frequently butt heads.”
“About?”
“All sorts of things. Mostly over her aspirations for my life that aren’t anything like my own.” Although she found the constant unsolicited advice tiresome, she knew her mother meant well. After struggling to make ends meet most of her life, Elaine Gardener valued security above all else, especially for her only daughter.
“And what are your aspirations?” Vick asked, his curiosity palpable.
Petting Buddy with one hand, she lifted her mug with the other, inhaling the sweet, spicy aroma of Vick’s homemade cider.
She took a sip, stalling while she scoured her brain for an appropriate response. Even without the grogginess from the migraine, she knew she wouldn’t find one. Finally, she released a heavy sigh. “Honestly, I have no idea. I was an art major and studied set design, thinking I might work in Hollywood or maybe on Broadway in New York.”
“You changed your mind?”
“I guess. Although, it wasn’t that intentional. I’m not sure I had the drive or passion to fully pursue it. Then, when my parents wanted me to join the family business, I didn’t have a reason to say no.”
“And now?”
“Now…” She trailed off, desperate for the answer to materialize on the tip of her tongue. Per usual, none came.
“I don’t know what I want to do. But I’d like it to be something meaningful.” Her thoughts drifted to Jayla and her selfless job traveling the country helping others. Maybe she should consider something similar?
“What about your YouTube channel?”
“Oh, that’s just a hobby,” she said quickly. “Nothing serious.”
“Could it be something serious?”
“Definitely not.” She internally cringed at the idea. While she had fun with it for now, she could never take the so-called social media influencers seriously. And she didn’t want to be lumped in with the vain look-at-me crowd.
No, she’d have to find something else to do with her life.
For now, she’d add her career to her long list of uncertainties.
Along with her health concerns and whatever was happening between her and Vick.
Chapter 16
As Lucy pushed through the front door of Sadie’s Sweet Shop, the welcoming scent of caramelized sugar and rich, buttery chocolate swirled around her, evoking memories of her childhood.
She’d loved coming here as a young girl. And not simply because of the delectable sweets. Sadie’s grandmother, Brigitte “Gigi” Durand, treated Lucy like a second granddaughter, arranging elaborate tea parties for them in the small courtyard behind the shop and teaching them all her tricks, like how to pull taffy and expertly dip caramel apples. She also knew Lucy’s parents couldn’t afford luxuries like artisan chocolates and other special confections, and frequently sent boxes home with her, claiming the batch “didn’t turn out quite right.”
“Hi!” Sadie waved from behind the counter, wearing her long red apron with the store’s name printed across the front in swirly letters.
When Gigi opened the shop over twenty years ago, she named it after Sadie, her only grandchild, and bequeathed it to her on her eighteenth birthday. Some people thought Sadie was too young to handle so much responsibility, but Gigi had practically raised Sadie in the shop after her parents died. Plus, the fiery, globe-trotting eighty-six-year-old still helped Sadie run the place in between her jaunts to Italy, New Zealand, and most recently, Costa Rica.
