“I’m pretty sure she had one in the car coming back here too,” he said, setting the stack of towels on the table.
Darcy shook her head. “At first, I thought the accident had been much worse, judging by her reaction. Like you lost consciousness or something.”
Dane crossed the room to the counter to fill his coffee pot with water. “No, I wasn’t even close. I slipped and fell off the pier. Pure clumsiness. She jumped in after me. We were out of the water and into the car pretty quickly.”
She gritted her teeth. “There’s a reason I’ve never done a polar plunge benefit. I can’t imagine how cold that water was.”
“I don’t care to do it again, I’ll tell you that much.” He dumped coffee grounds into the paper filter, slipped the filter into the machine, and hit the button. With caffeine at this hour, he wouldn’t sleep tonight. But there was still a chill in his bones, and a hot beverage might do the trick.
Darcy came over and leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles. “After she calmed down and apologized, I finally understood where she was coming from. Poor thing. It’s no wonder.”
Dane glanced at Darcy. What had he missed?
“What’s no wonder? I don’t know what you mean.”
Darcy looked up sharply. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Her husband drowned, Dane. He’s been gone two years.”
Chapter Eleven
Hilary didn’t talk about Will anymore. She avoided the mention of his name even before it came up in conversation, steering away from Will-related topics like college basketball, dogs, and hiking in the North Cascades. She’d gone to grief counseling for the better part of a year and truly felt it helped, but when a marketing-for-small-business class at the community college conflicted with her grief group, she chose marketing. She knew it wasn’t healthy, feeling like this, not being able to talk about him. Hilary intended to start up again with the meetings, but then it was harvest time, and she was laid up with bronchitis, and there were other excuses that didn’t show up on the calendar but were bigger priorities.
On the other hand, Jorie referenced Will at least a half dozen times each day. It was almost as if her brother was still alive and would walk through the kitchen door on his way in from the barn any minute, joking about why his dinner wasn’t on the table, wearing that crooked smile of his. Hilary’s heart ached with that mental image so she pushed it away as she’d done so many times before. It didn’t seem right to ask her sister-in-law to stop talking about him so much. It was no less normal to talk about him so easily than to not mention him at all. Grief took many shapes, especially in the Larkin household.
Hilary sat in one of the wicker chairs on the brick patio, mesmerized by the early morning sun lighting the tops of the cedars and firs near the shore. She shivered. It was still cold, so she pulled the wool blanket around her. She’d found it draped over the back of the chair when she’d come outside as if it waited for her. She smiled. Darcy seemed to think of everything.
Again, a solid sleep eluded her. She’d tossed in bed last night but managed to stay in her room this time, not wanting to confront anyone—including Dane—in the kitchen while making tea. She was still shaken from the accident yesterday. It was too similar to what she’d gone through already. Her two panic attacks proved that the manner in which she lost Will was still a trigger.
She’d been on the verge of telling him about Will and the accident before Darcy walked in. In hindsight, Hilary was happy for the interruption. Telling Dane at that moment would have been a gut reaction to their bad experience. Another panic attack gripped her upstairs and she’d already overshared with Darcy before she’d gone to Dane’s cabin. If she decided to tell him, she wanted to be in a solid frame of mind. Hilary didn’t trust herself not to break down again at that point.
But why did she feel compelled to share it with him at all? It weighed on her mind, keeping her up most of the night. Hilary barely knew him. Confiding in people was not something she did lightly. But she trusted Dane even after such a short time. Silly, she knew, but it was the truth. Dane had a quality about him that she’d only come across in a handful of people. He was genuine. She couldn’t think of a better word.
When Jorie called late last night, Hilary told her about the events from yesterday. Jorie listened quietly, not interrupting, even when Hilary mentioned how Dane pulled her out of the water and had been so concerned for her, even as he nearly froze himself. She might have gushed about Dane a little too much, judging by how uncharacteristically silent Jorie was about the whole event.
The French doors squeaked open behind her, snapping her back to the present. Hilary knew who it was before she turned to look. Her thoughts must have acted as a homing beacon, drawing him to her. She laughed to herself. Yes, she was definitely losing it.
Dane leaned over her shoulder. “Mind if I join you?” he asked quietly.
“I can hardly say no since I intruded on you the other night.”
He sat on the other ottoman, facing her. “Good, because I was going to sit down anyway.”
Hilary uncrossed her legs and stretched them out on the ottoman in front of her. She drew an uneven breath, folding her hands into her lap, and gave him a hurried look. He’d put on an olive plaid flannel underneath a dark gray quilted vest. With his hair mussed and light stubble tracing his jawline, he looked like he belonged in an outdoor adventure magazine ad. She pulled her attention away, determined to not get caught staring yet again.
“How long did it take for your clothes to dry out?” he asked. “I think mine will be damp for days, even after spending the night in front of the wood stove.”
“Darcy took mine and threw them in the dryer.”
“I see. Perks for staying in the inn,” he said, nodding slowly. “She sold me on the cabin by touting its privacy. Now I see that we’re the forgotten children in the backyard.”
She laughed. “I’m sure if you asked her—”
“I’m kidding. I don’t have a problem asking Darcy for anything. She’s used to my high-maintenance self.”
“You hardly seem like that at all.”
