"It's a long story."
"You can tell it to me when you get warm. Since you can't access your car, we'll go to the restaurant. It's not far. Can you walk?"
"Yes, of course I can walk," I said, but I was grateful for his hand as he helped me to my feet. "I don't know why I'm so unsteady. I'm not hurt."
"You're in shock."
"That's true."
He let go of my hand and put his arm around me. He was as wet and cold as I was, but I still felt a warmth coming from the shelter of his body as we walked to the restaurant.
Drake used a key to open the front door to the Crab Pot, which closed at nine during the week, eleven on weekend nights. The interior of the restaurant felt deliciously warm. I wanted to sink down into one of the plush booths, but Drake was pushing me toward the upstairs apartment. Once again, I felt like I was stepping back in time.
As I entered the apartment, images from the past flew through my mind, and they didn't just involve me and Melanie hanging out here when she was taking a break from working the restaurant. No, my brain took me back to another cold night, the time Drake and I had waited out a summer storm and then ended up creating a storm of our own.
"I don't want to be here." I turned toward the door, but Drake was in my way.
He gave me a determined look. "You need to get warm, Willow."
I shook my head. "I'll call for a ride if you don't want to take me home."
"What are you afraid of?" he challenged.
"Nothing."
"You're remembering the last time we were in this apartment. We got drenched running down the pier, because you wanted a photo of the monster yacht in the harbor, the Carolina."
"And you wanted to interview the owner, a reclusive billionaire."
"You got your photo, but I couldn't get even one foot on board," he said.
"The first time I saw your charm not work."
He smiled dryly. "I don't think it was the first time."
"The paper never ran the photo I took. They said they had plenty of pictures of that yacht. Getting caught in the storm was definitely not worth it, not for either of us."
"Well, I wouldn't say it was all bad."
I licked my lips at the very adult male look in his eyes. I wasn't seventeen anymore, and I certainly wasn't in love with Drake, but I was still very aware of him and of the reckless flow of desire that always seemed to surge when I was with him. "We don't need to talk about that night."
"Agreed. Look, I'll make sure you get home safely, but we need to talk first, and you need to dry off. Why don't you take a shower? There's a robe on the door in the bathroom. Throw your clothes out, and I'll put them in the dryer."
"I'd really rather just go home," I said desperately.
"My plan is better. I'm not trying to get you naked for any other reason than your own health." He looked into my eyes. "You can trust me, Willow. I just saved your life. Doesn't that mean something?"
"As long as you didn't push me in so you could save me and gain my trust."
He shook his head in amazement. "You really think I'm that nefarious?"
"Let's just say I hope you're not."
"All right." He paused. "You should take the shower, Willow. You were in the water longer than me. But do what you want. I'm going to change." He walked over to the closet.
"Wait a second. You're staying here?" I suddenly became aware of the clothes hanging in the open closet, the suitcase by the couch. "I thought you were at your parents' house."
"No. I prefer to stay here when I visit now. If you want to watch me take my clothes off, feel free, but I'm not waiting another second."
As he pulled his shirt over his head, I ran into the bathroom, flushing at the ridiculous thoughts running through my head. I could not still have a thing for Drake, not after everything that had happened. But there was no denying that my heart was racing, and my body was tingling with memories.
A knock came at the door, and I jumped.
"Don't forget to throw your clothes out," Drake said.
I stripped down, shivering so hard my teeth were chattering. Then I turned on the shower and wrapped myself in a towel before tossing my clothes out of the bathroom. When that was done, I closed the door and locked it before stepping under the hot spray. It took a few minutes for the heat to drive away the cold.
Once I was able to stop shaking, I felt better, and my brain started working again. I finally got a grip on my runaway emotions. I didn't need to think about my one night of passion with Drake; I needed to stay in the present. Someone had pushed me into the water. Why? To kill me? To scare me?
I'd been standing right by the spot where Kelsey's shoe had been found. Was that a coincidence? Had she met the same fate? Had someone come out of nowhere and shoved her into the rough water?
It didn't seem likely. It also didn't seem like the most efficient way to kill someone. I could swim, and I was in the harbor, not the open sea. I might have made it to the dock even without Drake, although I wasn't completely sure of that.
If someone hadn't thought the shove would kill me, had it just been an impulsive crime of opportunity?
If I was scared enough, I might stop asking questions, I might leave the island, and I could think of at least two people who would probably like that: Carter Chadwick and James Connelly. I'd been stupid to tell them both what I knew. I just hadn't thought confronting them would be dangerous. I'd known them forever. I'd grown up with them. They weren't violent people. Were they?
That question rolled around in my head as the water went from hot to lukewarm. I stepped out of the shower, drying off with a thick gray towel. I used a comb on the vanity to run through my hair and then picked up the hair dryer. There were signs of Drake all over this bathroom: the shaving case on the counter, the cologne, and the toothbrush. It felt oddly intimate to be using his bathroom.
He was a man now, not the boy I'd fallen for. In the past decade he'd lived a life I knew nothing about, and I'd lived a life he'd known nothing about. Whatever had driven us to be together for that one crazy night certainly hadn't lasted much longer than the sex, at least not for him.
I'd made a mistake with him once; I wouldn't make the same one again.
When I finished drying my hair, I put on the robe, tying it tightly around me, as I was acutely aware of my naked state. Then I moved back into the living room. Drake was standing in the small kitchen, making coffee. He'd changed into jeans and a navy sweatshirt. The dryer was rumbling nearby. Hopefully, my clothes would soon be wearable again.
"Feel better?" he asked, giving me a quick look.
"Yes."
"Coffee?" He held out a mug.
"Thanks." I took a grateful sip. "It's good."
"I brought my favorite blend from Seattle. I can do without a lot of things when I'm on the island, but not my coffee."
It was weird to hear him say something so prosaic, so normal, so undramatic. "It sounds like you have an addiction."
"To caffeine, absolutely," he said with a dry smile. "What about you?"
"I love coffee, too. Your mom would never serve it to Melanie and me when we were young."