Tara Randel - Honeysuckle Bride

Her stomach clenched. “Meaning?”

“Heard you had some trouble with a reporter back in LA.”

By the way he looked at her, Jenna knew he’d done more than just hear the news. “Then you know I have a restraining order. We came here to get away from him.”

He nodded. “If he does happen to show up in Cypress Pointe, I promise, he won’t be hassling you.”

Relieved to have someone in law enforcement on her side, she said, “I’m hoping that won’t happen, but with him...there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

“I’ll be ready.” He smiled, reassuring her again.

Before Jenna knew it, another hour flew by. Much as she appreciated the people who had come out to meet her, she wanted a few minutes to catch her breath. Maybe a walk by the outdoor pool would help.

She’d just started to head in that direction when she noticed Wyatt. When had he arrived? So busy chatting up her new neighbors, she’d missed him come in. Clean shaven, with his hair neatly combed, he was more handsome than she remembered. Her pulse leaped, despite her intention to remain unaffected by the man.

Tonight he dressed in a gray button-down shirt and black slacks, a far cry from his work clothes. He stood in a far corner of the room, clearly uncomfortable. She bit her lip. Should she go to him? Attempt small talk again? The decision was taken out of her hands when Max approached Wyatt, handing him a bottle of beer. They spoke briefly before Max rejoined his girlfriend. Curious, she watched as Wyatt looked down at the bottle then set it on a nearby table before walking outside.

Okay, she really should leave the man to his solitude, but when had she ever left a hurting person alone? Never. And she wasn’t about to start now. She strode across the room, grabbed the bottle and followed him outside.

* * *

WYATT TOOK A deep breath of the humid August air. He hadn’t shown up for any public gatherings since arriving in Cypress Pointe, and here he was with real shoes on, even though they pinched. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn anything but boat shoes.

He’d convinced himself that Jenna’s promise of her secret mac and cheese recipe drew him here, but he knew better. He simply wanted to see her again.

So far he hadn’t spoken to her. From the moment he arrived, she’d been monopolized by one person after another. Since he’d already had the pleasure of meeting her, he’d wait his turn.

Pleasure? As much as the word had become foreign to him, it fit meeting Jenna. Like no one had done in a long time, she piqued his interest. Was it because she understood what he was going through, having recently lost her friend? Most people didn’t get where he was coming from, couldn’t understand why he didn’t just buck up and face life without his son. She seemed to have a better insight into his state of mind.

Or was he intrigued by this single woman raising two girls on her own? He understood the sacrifice, worry and all-consuming joy of rearing a child. Knew that being a parent was a tough road. Admired her for attempting it on her own.

After engaging in conversation with people he hadn’t seen in a while, his shoulders had started to ache with tension. His chest had grown tighter still when his parents had joined him before he stepped outside.

“Wyatt, I’m so happy to see you,” his mother had said, hugging him. When he returned the gesture, she squeezed him again before drawing back, her gaze filled with concern. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“You’re eating? Sleeping?’

His father chuckled. “Liz, the boy looks healthy to me.”

“Don’t pretend you aren’t worried, Bryce. You’ve spent just as many hours wondering how Wyatt is doing as I have.”

“Both of you can stop worrying,” Wyatt said, trying to infuse humor into his tone. “I’m eating. Working.”

“But not sleeping?” his mother asked.

He sighed. “Mom, let it go.”

“I’m your mother. I never let go.”

Questioning his welfare was part of the dynamic he’d intentionally walked away from. What was wrong with him? They only wanted to help. Be a part of his life. They missed Jamie too. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t respond to them. His father laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t push,” he said quietly.

His mother’s eyes filled with tears. What a rotten son he’d become. She stepped closer to his father as Wyatt began to withdraw.

“Can we at least meet for dinner sometime? If I promise not to interfere?”

“Sure. I’ll call you.”

“Promise?”

He forced a grin for his mother’s sake. “I promise.” Guilt and sorrow tugged at him. He hoped someday he would be capable of spending more than a few minutes with his folks, but right now he needed fresh air.

Leaving behind the party chatter, he strode to the far end of the pool area, opened the gate to step onto the lush expanse of grass spreading from the side of the hotel down to the beach. The sweet scent of blooming honeysuckle filled the air. The soft glow from tiered garden lights bordered the neatly manicured foliage surrounding the building. The dim lighting allowed a better view of the moon shining over the calm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He hadn’t realized how on edge he was until the soothing sound of waves lapping against the sand relaxed him in slow degrees.

Heels tapping against the stone path drew his attention from the water. He turned, surprised and pleased to see Jenna walking his way. Pleased indeed.

She held out a bottle. “You left this behind.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want it.”

She lifted a quizzical brow.

Did he really need to explain himself? Probably. A stubborn part of him wanted to tell her to leave him alone, but the tired part of him wanted to talk to someone. Talk to her. So he started, haltingly at first.

“When my son died, I thought it would be easy to get lost in a bottle. You know, just forget.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged in an attempt to make light of the situation. “Funny thing is, I don’t really like to drink. So it never helped me not remember Jamie.”

“That was your son’s name? Jamie?”

“Yes.” Emotion clogged his throat. “You’d think after two years I could say my son’s name without getting choked up, but apparently not.”

“You miss him.”

“Every day with every breath.”

In the garden’s soft light, he saw Jenna’s rapid blinking. Was she fighting back tears? See, she got it.

“He was a great kid,” Wyatt went on. “Full of life. Loved adventure.”

“So Jamie wouldn’t want you to drown your sorrows in a bottle.”

“Probably not any more than your friend would want you to.”

“Carrie,” she said just above a whisper. “My friend’s name.”

As if by silent agreement, they strolled farther away from the building. Away from the music and numerous voices, heading toward a large magnolia tree with a bench positioned beneath. Pink luminous blooms dotted the limbs in the dark night. Wyatt bent over to pick up a fallen flower and handed it to her.

Their fingers brushed in the exchange. He lingered, enjoying the touch of her smooth skin. It had been a long time since he’d touched anyone. At Jenna’s shiver, he let his hand drop.

They took a seat on the cool wrought-iron bench, leaving a wide space between them.

“Most people don’t want to talk about Jamie,” he said. “They find it awkward or think I’m not ready.”

Jenna tilted her head and regarded him. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Sometimes it feels good to say his name. But other times...” he took a deep breath.

“I know what you mean. I find I have to walk a fine line with the twins. Sometimes we all have a good laugh over a shared memory, but other times the memories make us cry.”