Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
AUSTIN
Working on Line Dancer usually settled something deep inside me, a mechanical meditation that smoothed the frayed edges of my thoughts. But as I hosed down the deck with the sun setting behind me, the familiar scent of salt and diesel offered no comfort.
I retreated to the boat’s tiny cabin, a space usually reserved for paperwork and refuge from sudden squalls.
It was my sanctuary within a sanctuary. The neat berth contained a double bed and a tiny marine head.
On the other side, a desk where I logged my trips and repaired my reels stood next to a minuscule galley.
It was all me, all orderly. But the confined space offered no escape from the relentless replay of the last few weeks.
Her laugh. Her passion. The way her hip flared and dipped.
The terrifying, exhilarating plunge into something I hadn’t realized I was starving for. And couldn’t get enough of.
My phone buzzed on the desk, the sound unnaturally intrusive in the quiet cabin.
I stared at Brenna’s name on the screen, a knot tightening in my gut.
Brenna didn’t usually call just to chat on a Friday evening.
I let it ring twice more, a small act of futile defiance, before swiping to answer. “Brenna.”
“Well, hello to you too, Captain Sunshine,” her voice came through the phone, but with an underlying, sing-song quality that immediately put every one of my defenses on high alert. “I was just calling to see how you were. And to mention I had the most interesting afternoon yesterday.”
“And you need to tell me about it?” I dropped into the desk chair, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I gave your neighbor a little tour of Dove Key,” she continued, her tone deceptively casual, as if she were commenting on the weather. “Iris is really lovely, Austin. So full of life and enthusiasm for that old house.”
Oh, hell.
I didn’t realize they knew each other. How did that even happen? The island was small, but not that tiny.
“That’s nice, Brenna.” My response was flat, clipped, a verbal dead end designed to shut down this entire line of conversation before it even began.
But Brenna had never been one to be deterred by a dead end. She just saw it as an opportunity to find another route. “It was. We had a good time. And she mentioned you two have been spending some time together. That was… interesting news, Austin.”
I could picture my little sister perfectly, sitting in her cozy, book-lined office at the shop, that knowing, perceptive, infuriatingly gentle smile on her face. She was tossing out her line, and I was the damn fish, already feeling the insistent prick of the hook.
“She’s my neighbor,” I said, the words stiff. “We live next door. It happens.” It was a weak defense, and we both knew it. It sounded flimsy even to my ears.
“It happens? She told me you’ve been over there almost every night. She seems to really care about you.”
My sigh was a harsh, rasping sound, and the fight went out of me. There was no point in denying it. I leaned forward and rested my forehead on my palm, elbow propped on the desk. “All right, Brenna. Yes. We’re seeing each other. It’s new. It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, Austin.” The relief in her voice was a warm wave that traveled through the phone.
“Deny it all you want, but that’s wonderful news!
I was surprised, obviously, but… happy for you.
You know we all worry about you. It’s been a long time.
” She hesitated, and I knew what was coming next.
The one topic that was off-limits, the one door I never, ever opened.
“Maybe… maybe she can help you. You’ve never really dealt with what happened. ”
Ice.
Sharp, paralyzing ice shot through my veins, freezing blood and silencing the chaotic thrum of my thoughts.
“Do not go there.” My voice came out low and cold and hard. Each word was a chip of ice. “That has nothing to do with this. That has nothing to do with her. And I did deal with it. I buried it. End of story. Drop it, Brenna.”
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice subdued, full of a soft, aching regret. “I’ll stop. But I’m here, all of us are here, if you change your mind, okay? Or if you want to talk to Iris about it. Please?”
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the desk. “I know. I do. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“It’s okay. Really.” She took a breath, and I could hear her regrouping, shifting gears. “But you can’t keep her a secret. People are going to see you two together. It’s a small island. When are you going to introduce her to the rest of us? As more than just the neighbor?”
The ice in my veins began to melt, replaced by a weary, heavy resignation, and I sat up straight.
She was right. Of course she was right. I couldn’t keep Iris in a separate, isolated box labeled neighbor while the rest of my life went on around her.
Life and my family were already seeping in around the edges, blurring the lines I had drawn so carefully, so desperately.
I scrubbed a hand over my stubble. “Yeah, I know. And I will. Just keep it to yourself for now, okay? I need a little time to figure things out.”
“Okay,” she agreed, though the reluctance was clear in her voice, the unspoken promise that this conversation wasn’t over. “For now. But I really like her. She’s good people.”
“Yeah,” I said, the single word feeling like a massive concession. “She is.”
“I love you, you big, stubborn hermit,” she said softly.
“Yeah, love you too.”
The call with Brenna left a bitter taste in my mouth, like stale coffee. I drove home in a funk. Her words, so full of gentle, loving concern, had been worse than any argument.
“You never really dealt with it.”
The four walls of my house felt like they were closing in, the silence suddenly suffocating.
Needing air, I went out to my yard, telling myself I needed to check the tension on the new guide wrappings on my fishing rod, a task that required focus and a steady hand.
My hands were far from steady, and my real reason for being outside was standing in plain sight.
My gaze, as if drawn by its own magnetic pull, went straight to Heron House.
Gus’s crew was packing up for the day, the professional hum of their work winding down into the easy camaraderie of men ready for a cold beer and a hot meal.
Iris was on the porch, a clipboard tucked under her arm, talking with Gus. Her blonde hair was pulled back, but tendrils had escaped to frame her face, which was tilted up toward him, her expression focused and intent. She wasn’t smiling or laughing. She was working.
I was still annoyed that my sister and my neighbor had somehow formed an alliance, a book club conspiracy that was now apparently focused on the state of my emotional well-being. I assumed Iris had sought her out, maybe to get the inside scoop on the grumpy sea captain next door.
But I found myself drifting closer, down the property line, keeping to the shadows of my trees. I told myself I was just making sure Gus wasn’t giving her the runaround, that this new contractor was as good as his clean truck and professional demeanor suggested.
It was vigilance. That was all.
I got within earshot just as Gus was pointing to a section of the second-floor exterior.
“…so we can ensure there’s a proper air gap behind the siding,” he was explaining, his voice a calm, steady baritone. “It’ll let the whole wall breathe, which is critical in this climate. Prevents moisture buildup, rot, the whole nine yards.”
“Right,” Iris said, and I saw her make a note on a sheet attached to her clipboard.
“And the flashing you’re using for the new window installations, is it a self-adhering, or a fluid-applied one?
I was reading that with these older, uneven clapboards, a fluid-applied membrane can create a more seamless seal. ”
I stopped dead. My feet just halted, half-hidden behind a large bush.
Fluid-applied membrane?
I must have heard her wrong.
But then Gus nodded, an expression of professional respect on his face.
“Good question. We’re using a high-quality butyl tape.
But you’re right, on a house this old, a fluid application around the sills is a smart secondary measure.
I’ll add it to the work order. Good catch, Iris. You’ve been doing your research.”
“I’m trying,” she said, and I could hear the quiet pride in her voice. “This house has been neglected for a long time. I want to make sure we do right by her.”
I stood hidden in the shade, absolutely poleaxed.
This was not the same woman who had tried to fix a sprinkler with a pair of rusty pliers and a vague memory of a YouTube video.
Or who had blushed furiously over a story about catching a trout at summer camp.
This was a woman discussing building envelopes and flashing techniques with a seasoned contractor.
She was a business owner.
And the respect I experienced was a companion to the relentless physical attraction that was a constant, low thrum in my blood. It made her more real. More formidable. And infinitely harder to dismiss as just a temporary complication.
The conversation between Iris and Gus wound down. He tipped his hat to her, said his goodbyes, and headed for his truck. Iris remained on the porch, her back to me, staring at the blueprints still spread across the makeshift table. Her posture was straight, confident.
The twitchy energy that had been plaguing me since Brenna’s call coalesced into a single, undeniable impulse. My feet started moving before my brain gave them permission.