Page 41 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“Wow.” I leaned away and cracked my eyes open.

Kaine’s eyes were waiting, staring at me with such intensity that I squirmed on the table. His expression was full of lingering lust and some hesitancy.

Had sex in the shop been a mistake? Had we just tainted his sacred ground? Or did his worries match mine?

Was casual sex going to ruin us both?

We’d only been together a few times, but this fling was exhilarating. It was exciting to look across our shared forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as I went in and out of the camper. It was a thrill to see how long I could stay away from his temptation. And learning little things about him was an adventure.

Like tonight, I’d discovered that his refrigerator was clean but nearly empty. I’d fallen in love with the furniture he made for others.

“I hope the owners of this t

able don’t mind that we just broke it in for them.” A giggle escaped my lips as Kaine’s chest heaved with a silent laugh.

He smirked, giving me the same look he had earlier, like he knew something I didn’t.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m sure the owner of this table won’t care that we just fucked on it. But I’ll keep that info out of the care instructions, just in case.”

“Good call.” I giggled again before he slid out and tucked himself back in his jeans.

He backed up and held out a hand, helping me down from the table. As I righted my dress, he zipped his fly and fixed the black T-shirt that I’d pulled crooked at some point during our escapades.

The overhead lights buzzed as silence descended on the shop. I shuffled on my sandals, not sure where to look. Kaine ran a hand over his beard, avoiding my space.

Should I leave? Should I say something? Thank you, maybe? Clearly, I wasn’t good at the after part of casual sex. If we were in my camper, he would have already been out the door at this point. But I needed to get my cake plate from inside his cabin. It felt weird to just wave good-bye and walk out the door.

“Where’d you get that scar?”

Kaine’s question surprised me and I looked up from my feet. He was staring at my hands where I’d absently been rubbing the scar on top of my right wrist.

“Oh, I, um . . . I cut it on some glass.” That was the short version of a long story.

I’d been distraught after I’d learned that Adam had kissed his costar. That night, I left our apartment in a daze and walked around the neighborhood block. I made the loop three times as tears streamed down my face.

When the shock passed, I got so angry that I decided to go to the restaurant and confront my cheating husband.

Furious and heartbroken, I wasn’t paying much attention to traffic as I walked. About five blocks from the restaurant, I stepped out into the crosswalk—I swore the walk signal was on. I swore it. But I stepped right in front of an oncoming taxi. They swerved, missing me by an inch, and crashed into a light pole. Glass shattered everywhere. Most of my skin was covered, except for my hands. One shard sliced deeply into the back of the hand I used to shield my face.

I was lucky. The driver of the car sustained a concussion.

I spent the next two hours in the emergency room, getting the cut cleaned up and assuring the doctor I hadn’t stepped into traffic on purpose.

When I finally got home, Adam was upset I’d missed his calls. He was worried.

I apologized for worrying him, then asked for a divorce.

“It was a nasty cut and I have always been bad about picking at scabs.” I shrugged, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “My mom used to cover me in Band-Aids because it was the only way to keep me from picking at my skinned knees or elbows.”

Kaine stepped closer, touching the shell of my left ear. “Why do you tuck your hair behind this ear but not this one?”

“It’s silly.” I sighed. “My right ear is bigger than my left. I guess I got used to keeping it covered a long time ago.”

“Huh?”

“It’s true.” I held my hair back so he could see both ears. “When I was a teenager, I never wore my hair up. I got over that eventually, but the tucking thing is just an old habit.”