hands on her waist. She was so tiny he could practically wrap his hands around her waist, but then again, he did have big hands. “Did you know there are thirty-seven crypts below the church containing the remains of over a thousand former members?”
“Eww… really? Can we see them?”
He laughed. “If we return and take the official tour, but all you see are the walled-up tombs.” Dropping a twenty in the donation box, he wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her outside. “Come on. I’m getting hungry.”
“I was wondering about that. You haven’t eaten anything.”
Biting his tongue from responding, he glanced down at her. “Do you like oysters?”
“Love them!”
That was good, he thought. A woman who could eat oysters could understand his dietary needs; at least he hoped. “Let’s go eat.”
Though warmer than usual, the weather was perfect. It was seventy-two degrees, clear and sunny. Other than a few evergreens that dotted the lawn of the park, the trees were mostly barren, with only a few sprouts visible. But it didn’t detract from the beauty of the wharf with sailboats moored one after another in the harbor, their predominantly blue and white sails rustling in the breeze. The constant squawk of the seabirds as they vied for scraps the tourist left behind filled the air with a vacation-like appeal. Sounds he’d remembered hearing as a child while chasing the white-winged fiends away from his lunch on Old Orchard Beach in Maine. The salty air laced with the hint of shellfish prickled his tongue, and his stomach growled in response.
Derrick handed his keys to the valet, slipping the gentleman a healthy tip before glaring at him. “No smoking, no scratches, and I’ll be leaving it here a while. I’ll have another tip ready if you can manage that.” The man gulped, but nodded in acquiescence. He didn’t like to come off as a brute, but he hated to have his vehicle returned scratched, and he couldn’t stand cigarettes. Thank goodness Kristina didn’t smoke too. He wouldn’t have been able to deal with that. It was much easier to wean someone off alcohol than cigarettes.
He turned to Kristina to escort her inside, but noticed her eyes were wide and round. She’d seen him when he’d been ready to kill. Had she forgotten, or had she conjured up a different memory of him? He winked and smiled, hoping her features would relax. It almost worked; she looked slightly relieved, but two little lines still creased the area between her eyebrows. He rushed to explain, “Last time I let a valet park my car, they returned my vehicle with a long scratch and the stench of cigarettes. I’m very sensitive to smells,” he added, hoping she wouldn’t read into his comment too much, but understand that he had a reason for his severe tone. The last thing he wanted was for Kristina to be afraid of him, even though she should be frightened, since he’d admitted that under certain circumstances members of his family would be willing to kill her. She should have run in fear at that moment, but that was his Kristina, brave to the core.
“Oh,” was all she said.
Craving her touch, Derrick held the crook of his arm out to her and she looped her smaller, daintier hands around his biceps, giving him a soft squeeze. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding in response, thankful she seemed comfortable with him.
They approached the four-story brick warehouse that had been an institution on Long Wharf for over forty years. The inside walls of the building dating back to the late 1700s continued the red brick of the outside while light from lanterns and lavish chandeliers highlighted the original broad wooden beams and floors. Black iron railings lined the stairwells and landings, adding to the historical appeal of the eatery.
It was quaint, but Derrick motioned to the cast-iron tables with black umbrellas over top of them. “We can stay inside if you like, but it’s so beautiful outside. Would it be okay if we ate on the patio?”
“Sure,” Kristina agreed in a hushed voice, too quiet. She’d been prattling away inside the vehicle on the drive here about the last time she’d been to the wharf. How she’d loved watching the harbor seals, since she couldn’t afford to go in the aquarium. She’d been so perky and excited only minutes ago, and then he had to frighten her. It wouldn’t have killed him if he’d gotten a scratch or had to deal with the smell of smoke.
Derrick glanced down at Kristina as the host directed them to a table. Two days ago, she was dying under his hands and now she was on his arm. It felt surreal, and for a moment, he also wondered if it was real. The day had been going great; until he’d gone and offered that he’d tell her everything later and then practically growled at the valet, that is. Even though she didn’t seem uncomfortable touching him, he felt like a moron. He could only hope that his tiff wouldn’t fuel her alarm when he told her the truth.
He pulled out a chair for her to sit and then took a seat across from her. “I’m sorry, Kristina. I didn’t mean to be brash with the valet.”
She shrugged. “I’m okay,” she said in a soft whisper, leaning forward. “He just looked so scared that it sort of took me by surprise. I’ve never thought of you as scary; though, I guess I should have.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Kristina reached across the table and ran her fingertips across his hand, sending a thrill through his chest, and surprisingly, an ache in his heart.
She tilted her head as if to get his attention, but waited to speak until he locked eyes with her. “I’m not afraid of you, Derrick.”
He nodded and turned his arm so he could take her hand in his. “Thank you.”
The waiter bounced over to the table. “Top of the day to you. Will you be starting off with a cocktail or beer?”
Derrick glanced up at the rail thin college kid with a white shirt and green bow tie. Ah, right. St. Patrick’s Day. “Water’s fine.”
“Umm...” Kristina looked over the menu and his eyes jolted to hers. Certainly she couldn’t be thinking about drinking. It could kill her. She’d be able to drink again, but not after drying out in just two days. “Water for me too, please,” she finally answered, allowing him to relax.
“And two orders of oysters on the half-shell,” Derrick added before the waiter skipped off.
“Two?”
“I’m hungry.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Were you thinking about drinking?”
“Only fleetingly. I remember what you said. But I don’t need it. I know I drank a lot. Every night for the last few years, in fact. But I’m pretty sure I’m not an alcoholic.”
“People often confuse ‘use’ with alcoholism,” he said. “They don’t understand that your body becomes reliant on it. It doesn’t mean you can’t ever drink again—if in fact you aren’t an alcoholic—but you need to wait.”
“I’m fine,” she said as a dismissal, glancing toward Long Wharf and then to the aquarium. Everywhere but him.
Derrick squeezed her hand to get her attention. “I won’t ask again.” Though he’d been her protector, he wasn’t her guardian. And he didn’t plan to treat her as though he was, but he was still concerned for her health.
She retracted her hand under the guise of unwrapping her silverware, but he could hear her irritation as she ground her teeth together. “So something else I remembered from the other day has been bothering me, Derrick. About how you always knew where I was. Something about tracking my cell phone?”
“I only did it when you didn’t come home. It’s not as though I watched you every minute of your life. I do work,” he ground out, a bite in his voice that he had no right to utter. She had every right to be nervous. He softened his tone and tried again. “I’d just got in the habit of driving by your place. And if you didn’t come home, I looked for you.”
“I want you to turn it off,” she snapped.
“Okay.”
She bit down on her lip, nodding as if pleased, even if somewhat confused. “That was easy enough.”
He reached for her hand again. “You’re here. You’re safe. Maybe you’ll stay with me, maybe you won’t. But I don’t need to watch you anymore. You’re a grown woman.” She nodded again, a small smile lifting her cheek. Had
