Almost Home. Debbie Macomber

you won’t. You make me nervous.”

      I got up to leave the booth. He got up to follow me, and I did not miss what he said under his breath. “You make me nervous, too.”

      “I don’t know why I make you nervous.”

      “Spend half a second in front of the mirror, charming Chalese, and you’ll figure it out pretty damn quick.”

      I shot him a glance. “You’re flirting.”

      “Not yet. Simply stating a fact.”

      I heard Mrs. Chittick and Mrs. Meyerson titter in the corner.

      “He’s a romantic!’

      “He’s a sex god!”

      “He’s got a body identical to Zeus!”

      “Yep, a sex-god Zeus.”

      “Do you think he’s asked her yet?”

      Mrs. Chittick yelled, “Hey, Add-on! Have you asked her to marry you? You know that girl’s never said yes. Not once. Four times men have asked her to the altar. Always a no. Smart, she is. Women live longer if they don’t marry, you know. Husbands stress us out, make us so mad our insides curdle, so frustrated we believe we’re on blipping fire. Better to stay single, if you ask me, but I’d marry you, sexy Zeus god, if you asked!”

      “Fifth time’s the charm!” a millionaire announced.

      “She’s broken hearts here on the island. Ya gotta watch out for that, Add-on,” Fred the high-kicker said.

      I hurried out as another sweat-fest took its time to burn the heck out of me.

      I wiped my brow.

      “How about a walk on the trail around the island?” Aiden asked me.

      “Sure, Zeus,” I said. “Whatever.”

      Brenda greeted us back at my house wearing a gold pantsuit, a sparkling silver headband, and fairy wings. She had a date with a businessman from Seattle who was at his weekend house for a few days. I have no idea why she periodically puts on outrageous costumes for her dates; I don’t ask. She gave me a hug, then flapped her arms as she jumped off the porch and into her sports car. I smelled her sultry, earthy perfume.

      I grabbed a bag of grapes. Then we leashed two joyous dogs each before heading for the ocean and a nature path around the island. The day was warm and clear, too pretty to miss.

      “Aiden.”

      He turned his head toward me. Now that was a novelty. Most men listen about as well as they can crack walnuts with their knees. “Tell me about you.”

      He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not much. I was raised by my father. We’re still close. My mother died when I was five in an accident in India. He’s still in love with my mother. That’s why he never remarried. He was an executive, and we traveled all over the world. He continues to work. He’s in Zurich right now. I still have friends from Zimbabwe to Saudi Arabia to London to Toronto. It was a great life. I had much more independence than most kids, but …”

      “But what?” I felt so unbelievably sad for the little boy who grew up without a mother.

      “Once my mother died, I never felt I had a home.”

      “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t had a safe home until Whale Island.

      I unleashed the dogs. They leaped into the water. I could almost hear them yodeling, “We’re free! Free!”

      He shrugged. “People need a home. They need to know they belong somewhere, that there’s family and friends around, that there’s a place that’s set aside for them to be loved, to laugh, to be themselves.”

      “You don’t feel as if you have a home now?”

      He thought for a second. “I have a condominium, Chalese. It’s nice. It’s on the water in Seattle, fantastic view, it’s modern, it’s sleek. I have a stove that doesn’t catch on fire and a sink that doesn’t leak, but I wouldn’t call it home. It’s where I live, not where I feel I belong.”

      We stepped over a log on the sand, then headed closer to the ocean, took our shoes off, and waded in.

      “I felt the exact same way before I came to Whale Island.”

      “You feel this is home now?”

      “I do.” I turned to face him. “I know how it feels to desperately want a home. I don’t leave the island much, because I feel so right here, so safe. Yes, it’s a problem now and then that we all know each other so well, but mostly it makes me …” I searched for the right word. “It makes me feel as if I went on a quest for myself and found myself here. It’s a gift. It’s mostly a good thing, except for when Brenda, the menace, gets me in trouble.”

      “Not that that would ever be your fault?”

      I laughed with him. “Never.” I tilted my head. “You’ve never married?” I applauded my own daring in asking that question so nonchalantly.

      “No. I have worked and travelled constantly, and I have never met anyone I wanted to marry. Fifty years is a long time to be together, and I need to be sure. I’m getting married once, and then the gal’s stuck with me forever. You?”

      I grimaced. “Let’s skip that topic.”

      He paused. “Let’s not. I want to hear about those marriage proposals you said no to.”

      I hung my head, letting my black hair cover the sides of my face. “Let’s talk about biochemical engineering, international economics, or the stock market and skip this part.”

      “Too dull. So … have you been married? What about those four proposals?”

      “Aiden, I don’t want to talk about that, and I sure as heck don’t want it in your story.” Small, cool waves lapped at our legs until Nutmeg Man galloped on in and splashed us.

      He nodded, wiped water off his face with his hand. “This is off the record. A conversation between you and me. It’s personal.”

      “I don’t know …”

      “Trust me on this, will you?”

      “Trust you?” Out in the distance I saw a spray of water from a whale. I was a bit of a head case, that was true, and I had serious, free-ranging trust issues, but for this one conversation …

      “Yes. Trust me.” Charlotte, a white mutt missing half an ear, circled our legs, barking.

      I took a leap of faith into those green eyes. “I said no because even though all those men seemed right initially—smart, ambitious, interesting, blah blah blah—when I got to know them, their flaws shone like a six-story spotlight. I knew I’d be infinitely happier single than married to any of them.” Plus, I kept seeing a bit of my father in each of them. That was enough to liquify my insides with fear.

      “Smart woman.” He tucked a curl behind my ear, then drew his hand back real quick, as if that motion had surprised him.

      “None of them listened well,” I said, clearing my throat when desire flamed up and out of control in my nether regions. “Sometimes they didn’t even bother to look at me when I spoke, or they’d say ‘Yep’ or ‘Uh-huh,’ which really means ‘I’m not listening. You’re not worth the effort, and the conversation is not about me, Mr. Man, so I’m not interested.’”

      Identical to my father’s attitude.

      “One man was passive-aggressive and controlling. He sneakily put me down when he could, threw out barbs. The second man was a closet drinker with the accompanying problems of denial, blame of others, anger, and depression.”

      I watched a sailboat leave the dock.

      “The third man was a goofball who did not want to take responsibility for anyone,