Mark was dead. His life cut short in a single defining moment.
Six months before they were supposed to be married.
“It’s hard losing someone you care about.”
The words came out of their own volition, making her frown. She needed to change the subject before it brought back even more memories. Ones that were better off left behind her.
“So, your aunt is a good cook?”
He pushed away from the counter, his tenseness evaporating. “One of the best on the island. Besides managing this place, she caters special events here on the island.”
“Wow. I think I remember Theo saying something about the caterer being related to you. Is that your aunt?”
“If he called her Cecilia Patera, then, yes. She’s really the only woman on the island who cooks for a living. Her moussaka is out of this world. They even serve some of her meze at Stavros’s taverna. You’ve been there?”
“Only once. The owner was a little gruff.”
Deakin’s head tilted. “Really? That doesn’t sound like Stavros. But I guess everyone can have an off day.”
The man hadn’t been mean, he’d just answered someone a little more curtly than she’d liked and that had been enough for her. She hadn’t been back since.
“I’m sure that’s what it was. Anyway, since I have destroyed my sense of hearing as well as your frying pan, I think I’ll take you up on your offer of moussaka, if it’s really okay. I can just bring a portion home and eat it here, though. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if it was an inconvenience. Or I could make you a quick omelet if you have your heart set on eggs.”
“I actually love moussaka, so no. Eggs just seemed quick and easy.”
The right side of his mouth went up. It was then she realized that she couldn’t see his burns at all. Because that side of his face was angled away from her. But even if that crooked smile was a result of whatever had happened to him, it didn’t make it any less sexy.
“Not so quick and not so easy, from the looks of it.”
“Only because I was distracted,” she protested with a smile.
He glanced toward the television, which was off. “Oh? By what?”
By thoughts of orange juice and...and her mysterious neighbor. But she was not going to say that out loud. He would kick her out if he suspected she was daydreaming about him.
She wasn’t. She was just...thinking about life and the strange ways that paths intersected. And sometimes came to a dead end.
She shifted as a familiar heaviness in her chest made itself known.
There was nothing you could have done, Lea.
The voice inside her head came back with its customary rejoinder: How do you know that for sure?
She couldn’t know. She would never know. And even if she became convinced she’d missed a whole barrage of symptoms—which she hadn’t—it was too late now.
Deakin was still waiting for her response.
She glanced out the window over the sink and caught sight of the gorgeous sunset. “By that.” She motioned toward the sight, mentally crossing her fingers.
He put his elbows on the counter to get low enough to look out the window. “It is beautiful. I have the same view from the kitchen in the main house.”
He might think it was a pretty view, but it didn’t go deeper than an objective observation. How did she know that? There had been no emotion in the statement. No softening of his eyes. No smile the way he had when she’d changed the subject a few minutes ago.
“It’s pretty breathtaking.” She tried again to prod him lightly, not even sure what she was looking for.
“Yes, it is. Are you ready?” He had already turned away from the window, was coming around to the other side of the counter and checking the knobs on the stove.
“I already turned them off.”
“Sometimes they stick.”
No, they didn’t. She’d heard the click as they snapped off.
Rather than be offended by his double-checking, she felt a rush of sympathy go through her. More and more she was convinced that something bad had happened to him very close to home. And those scars were old, so it had been a while ago. Long enough for him to have stopped needing to check knobs on a stove. Or was it...?
Leaving the cottage, he indicated the way down a cobblestone pathway that led to the main house. The harsh heat of the day was giving way to cooler temperatures now that the sun was going down. Even so, she was very glad the cottage was air-conditioned.
“Have you been in the house itself yet?” he asked.
“No, but it’s beautiful from the outside.”
“Yes, my parents did a nice job on it when it was built.”
Her eyes skipped to the white boathouse near the shore. “You’re very lucky to live so close to the water. It’s a shame you aren’t here very often to enjoy it. I would be in that boat every chance I got.”
His steps faltered for a second, before he continued on. “I go out in it every time I’m home.”
“I bet it’s gorgeous out there on the water.”
“I guess it is.” He glanced back at her. “I’ll probably go out at least once while I’m here. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”
“Oh, I wasn’t angling for an invitation. I’m sorry if it came across that way.”
“It didn’t.”
Lea wasn’t sure how she felt about going out on the water with him. There was something about him that made her uneasy.
She decided to sidestep the subject without making it too obvious. “Did you grow up in this house?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate, or tell her how long he’d lived there, but he didn’t. By the time she tried to think of something else to break what was becoming an uncomfortable silence they were at the front door. Dark and heavy, it loomed over the small porch.
Or maybe it was her thoughts that were dark.
The main house hadn’t seemed ominous before.
He opened it, motioning her through the entryway, and the feeling instantly went away. White tile flooring blended into equally white walls. It might have come across as spartan and cold except for the touches here and there of an azure blue that reminded Lea of the warm ocean waters that surrounded the island. It was there in a painting. In the pillows she could see through the arched doorway of the living room. It had been professionally decorated.
“I didn’t expect the inside to look like this.”
She couldn’t stop the words. She thought the cottage was lovely and homey, but this was head and shoulders above the quaintness of where she was staying. It was ultra-formal and elegant. And somehow it didn’t match Deakin at all.
He should be surrounded by brown furnishings and dark shadowy corners.
No, he shouldn’t. That would be depressing.
Except it wouldn’t. It would match what she sensed was inside him: hidden recesses