“Whatcha doing?” He crouched down next to Ginny and peeked in her bag.
“Collecting shells. We’re going to do art.”
“Fun. You have a lot there.” He looked at Faith, a slow, lazy grin quirking one side of his mouth as he stood and closed the distance between them. Definitely predatory.
She forced her gaze to focus on his face so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something else, like touch him. She hadn’t been touched in so long. “Good morning.”
“It’s afternoon, actually.”
“Right. Yes.”
He dipped his head, leveling his gray-blue eyes on her as if probing for something he couldn’t grasp. After a few moments, he straightened and nodded. “Amber,” he announced.
“What?”
“Your eyes. They’re amber. Not quite like a good whiskey, but more like organic honey. Around the edges they darken to a golden brown.”
Stunned stupid, Faith opened and closed her mouth.
“You had me in fits over that. You never quite look me in the eye and it was too dark last night to see. As someone whose vocation depends on details, madness loomed if I didn’t get an answer soon.”
She tilted her head, not quite sure if he was making fun of her or deadly serious. “You would’ve gone crazy if you didn’t know my eye color? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Something like that. Problem averted.”
She grabbed the pendant hanging from her neck and slid it back and forth on the chain. “You’re a strange man.”
He smiled openly, showing a row of straight white teeth and crinkling the skin near his eyes. Holy cow, the transformation was hypnotic.
He shrugged. “Writers are a strange lot. I’ve been called worse.”
He turned toward the water and she used the momentum of him looking away to peek at Ginny. She was sitting in the sand, lining up her shells into neat rows.
“I’ve startled you out here twice now, while you stared at the ocean. You looked lost in thought.”
She answered without her usual filter. “I’ve never seen the ocean before.”
He abruptly faced her. “You lived in Charlotte, a few hours away, but have never seen the ocean?”
As if she needed him to point out her boring life. “I never found the time, I guess.”
“Huh.” He turned to the water. “What do you think, now that you’ve seen it?”
There were no words. Besides, he was the writer. “It’s . . . vast and serene. I love the immeasurability of it.”
“‘Immeasurability,’” he repeated. “I like that word. Multiple meanings.”
“How’s the writing coming along?”
“It’s not.” He winced, and she felt for him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She thought about his ability to transport readers into his world. A genuine gift. He was obviously struggling without the talent. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”
He laughed without mirth.
Her face heated. She shouldn’t have said anything.
Ginny rose and bounded over to them. “Can we make brownies now?”
Alec groaned. “Brownies. My favorite food group.”
As Ginny laughed at him, an idea floated to Faith’s mind and a desperate urge to help him rose in her heart. “Why don’t you join us?” Cole was in his home office and Mia was doing a shift at the VA hospital, so they wouldn’t disturb anyone.
“Join you in making brownies?” He crossed his arms and looked down as if realizing his lack of clothes. “I’d need to change. And I’m a terrible cook.”
“I’m teaching Ginny safety in the kitchen and the importance of following steps. You’d be supervised at all times.”
He stared at her for a beat and barked out a laugh. “How can I refuse? Let me run up to the house and change. I’ll meet you in a few.”
She watched him walk away, admiring his body and trying to come up with ways to make him laugh again. She liked the feeling it gave her, warm and full. Drawing in a breath, she looked at Ginny. “Ready?”
They made their way past the dunes and to the back porch, where they rinsed off their feet with the exterior shower before going inside.
“What do we do first?” Faith asked.
“Wash our hands.”
“Good girl. So smart.”
Ginny washed her hands in the kitchen sink and Faith did the same. She had Ginny read her the ingredients needed, helping when she had trouble, and together they gathered what was required. They’d just preheated the oven when Alec strode in the back door.
“Are they done yet?”
Ginny laughed. “No.”
Alec took a seat at the kitchen island.
Faith held out the box to Ginny. “What do we do next?”
Ginny read the instructions out loud, stumbling a bit, but eventually getting through. Faith helped her crack the eggs and measure out the oil and water. She let Ginny whisk until her arm got tired and then Faith took over. Batter in the pan, she waited to see what Ginny would do. Faith smiled when she remembered to put on oven mitts.
“Good job, Ginny.”
While they moved around the kitchen cleaning up, she sensed Alec’s gaze on her. When the mess was put to rights, she had Ginny head to her room to read for a bit. With the teenager out of listening range, Faith pulled a notebook and pen off the table and set it in front of Alec.
“You make me nervous when you watch me like that,” she said.
He crossed his arms over the island and leaned into them. “Not my intention. I like to watch people, their mannerisms. Gives me ideas for characters.”
The last thing she wanted was to end up as one of his characters. She shivered at the thought of how he’d translate her to paper. Yet, she wondered enough to pry. “And what did you conclude by watching me?”
A trace of a smile graced his lips as his eyes looked into hers. “You’re not as shy as I thought, but I do make you nervous. I’m curious as to why. At first I thought it was that starstruck thing people always get around me, but I don’t think that’s it. And you’re very good with Ginny.”
She blinked. Her stomach fluttered at his observations and their accuracy. She focused on the Ginny comment—that was a safe topic. “It’s my job to be good with her.”
He was shaking his head before she even finished. “It’s more than that.” He pointed to the notepad in front of him and raised his brows quizzically. The light in the kitchen had made his eyes more gray than blue. A daunting shade of storm cloud.
Faith turned and grabbed the empty brownie box and set it on the island. “The notebook is for you to write down the ingredients, instructions, and nutritional content.”
His amusement turned to skepticism. “Not a lot of faith in my future as a writer? Think I need to become a baker, Faith?”
Her face flamed. “It’s transference. You’re copying something already printed to get your mind back on the act of writing itself.” Shame washed over her. What was she doing? “Will it hurt to try?”
Scratching the scruff on his jaw, he twisted his face in thought. He was so handsome it stole her breath, but he was so out of her league that she mentally slapped herself for even thinking of him that way.
After a few moments, he picked up the pen and began scribbling, gaze darting between the box and the notebook.
While he was busy, she peeked into the oven to check the brownies and hunted up some powdered sugar from the pantry. The scent of cocoa filled the kitchen and her mouth watered. She never really gave in to her sweet tooth. Her parents had instilled insanely healthy eating habits in her from birth, mostly due to Hope’s illness. Even after she’d died, the routine continued. Faith never questioned it, never tempted herself.
Suddenly, a sound she couldn’t decipher erupted from Alec, making her jump. He stood, tipping the stool backward. With rapid, jerking movements, he set the stool upright, put the pen down, and strode quickly out the door.