Chapter Eleven
“Are either of you morons going to grab her bags, or are you just going to stand there and look pretty?” I couldn’t recall the man’s name as he hollered from the doorway, even though I know Jensen mentioned it in one of his many texts to me.
“My luggage got lost.” I explain as the man peers at me from the porch’s stairway. “Hi, I’m Serena!”
“Hi, Serena.” The man’s smile is kind and seems to be genuine as he apologizes for my lost luggage, as if it had somehow been his fault. “I’m Grayson.”
“No need for an apology, it’s not like it was you who lost it anyway.” I wave him off, heading toward the door.
“True, but still a shame.” Something about his demeanor and the gentleness behind his words puts me at ease. As I begin walking up the stairs his features become clearer, and it becomes apparent that I will not be lacking in eye candy this week. While all the men are attractive in their own way, Grayson reminds me of comfort. His dusky complexion with golden undertones are beautiful in the midday sun. He has rich dark brown eyes, a strong jaw line, and pouty lips—all making for an overall attractive man. And a fit one at that.
I make a mental note to be extra thankful this fourth of July for our country’s freedom, as well as making these three men so in shape . . . while faithfully defending our country of course.
“Did you at least have a carry on?” Grayson questions, looking over my shoulder. Jensen appears from behind with my bag in hand, slightly shaking it at Grayson to emphasize my unspoken answer as he arrives at the top of the steps.
“Would you like a clap on the back for carrying her single bag? Who’s a good little boy?” Grayson asks in mock praise.
“Me! Me! I am a good little boy!” Wyhtt jokes, snatching the bag from Jensen’s hand before bounding inside.
I roll my eyes with a chuckle before following after him. As I walk up the porch stairs, I notice a private conversation happening between Jensen and Grayson. Part of me wants to hang back and eavesdrop, but I continue to head inside anyway to give them privacy.
As soon as I step over the threshold, I’m astonished by my surroundings; Jensen had mentioned in our texts that they were repairing the beach house, but I never expected full renovations throughout the main floor. The distant taste of his grandmother’s decor is no more—all of the old, worn family photographs no longer hung proudly on display. The walls that had once separated the living room from the kitchen were also gone—the walls that held so many memories from us as children playing hide and seek through each room, or the quick cover for Jensen to pull me into sweet, sweaty make out sessions away from the prying, watchful eyes of his grandma.
Now the main level appears to be one large open floor plan. The only trace of the couple who once lived here is the taxidermized swordfish Jensen and his grandfather caught deep sea fishing, hanging proudly in the entry way. The kitchen now has a minimalist look with small rustic features throughout. Everything is tied together perfectly with a simple, neutral color palette.
As I’m taking in the freshly remodeled beach house, Jensen approaches with a grin. “I take it from the look on your face, you approve of the upgrades.” I nod, still amazed at how much has changed. My eyes jump around the open space as he continues, “I needed to keep myself busy these last few months. The remodel was a productive way to do that. Wyhtt helped, Grayson not so much since he just got here last week. But we had the roof redone, remodeled the main living area, replaced the worst of the wood from storm damage on the outside, and did a few small updates to the bedrooms. Nothing like we have here on the main floor, we wanted to keep some of its original charm on the outside while giving the inside a modernized feel,” he finishes with pride shining in his hazel eyes.
“It’s stunning,” I admit. “I can’t believe you two did all of this. I had no idea you were so good with your hands.” I fucked up the moment the words left my mouth and I start to throw my hands up in protest, getting ready to defend my word choice. A wicked grin is already stretching across his lips, making his dimple more visible.
“I can—and will—easily remind you how talented I am with my hands if you wish. All you gotta do is ask, my sweet Serenity.” he responds coyly.
“Keep those dirty little thoughts to yourself, Jensen. I was simply complementing your craftsmanship. Besides,” I remind him, “you promised this was only a friendly trip, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Jensen purrs, stepping into my space. His cinnamon and sandalwood scent fills my lungs with every breath. His scent is another layer of comfort, wrapping around me as memories crash over me. Ten years . . . I remind myself; it’s been ten years since we had last been this close. Despite how heartbroken and angry he left me, I forgot how safe and comforting he makes me feel when we’re in the same place.
“Then stop looking at me like that, Jensen.” I reply weakly.
Any regret I might have had for punching Wyhtt vanishes when I hear Grayson bellow, “what the fuck happened to your face?”
“That was me!” I chime, taking a step away from Jensen.
“You don’t have to sound so happy over the fact you busted my lip open, S.” Wyhtt snips as the two of them walk into the room.
“Do I want to know why you punched Wyhtt in the face?” Grayson asks, crossing his tan arms with a crooked smile on his lips.
“No!” Wyhtt, Jensen, and I say simultaneously, voting to leave my violent outburst in the past and move on to the fun filled week.