Chapter 10
Merri
It’s been years since I've worn this dress, and my hands won't stop fidgeting with the hem. My cheeks are flushed pink, and my bottom lip is puffy from nervous biting. The reflection in the mirror looks hopeful and scared out of her mind.
This is just dinner with Wyatt, nothing special. Except my racing heart knows better.
The dress is a simple navy-blue wrap that hits just above the knee. But it hugs my curves in a way that makes me feel simultaneously confident and completely exposed. I bought it for a brewery industry dinner in Colorado and wore it exactly once before shoving it to the back of my closet.
Now I'm wearing it for Wyatt Dalton.
"This is insane," I tell Admiral, who's watching me from his dog bed with patient brown eyes. "Completely insane. I should cancel, tell him I'm sick."
Who am I kidding? I don't want to cancel.
The truth is, I've always found him attractive. Even when we were kids, and he was making my life hell, there was something about him that drew me in. It’s that confidence and intensity, the way he moves through the world like he knows exactly who he is and what he wants.
I just never thought what he wanted could be me.
"But what if this is a disaster?" I ask Admiral as I apply mascara with shaky hands. "What if this whole thing crashes and burns? We still have to run businesses next door to each other. We still have to see each other every day. Plus, he’s Danny’s best friend. It could get very ugly, really fast."
Admiral yawns.
"You're no help."
Reaching to the back of my bathroom cabinet, I pull out my favorite bottle of perfume. I’d bought it on a whim at a high-end boutique in Denver years ago after the saleswoman convinced me it was transformative and evocative. I spent way too much money, but I love it.
I spray a little on my wrists and neck, and the citrusy floral scent fills the bathroom with hints of vanilla. It's the kind of perfume that says I'm worth the effort.
"Okay," I say to Admiral, turning to face him. "What do you think? Is this too much?"
Admiral's tail thumps against his dog bed in approval.
"Good. Because I'm going with this, and I refuse to second-guess myself again. I'm gonna enjoy myself tonight and keep this under control. No getting carried away. No falling into bed with him just because he's ridiculously hot and makes my knees go weak."
Even as I say it, I know I'm lying to myself. Admiral apparently thinks so too, because he gives me a look that clearly says, Yeah, right.
"I mean it! I have self-control. I can keep him at arm's length if I want to."
Admiral lifts his head, suddenly alert. Two seconds later, the doorbell rings, and my heart jumps into my throat. "He's early."
I grab my purse and phone and take one last look in the mirror.
You've got this, Gallagher!
Then I head to the front door. Admiral beats me there, his tail beating the air excitedly as he waits for me to let his favorite person in.
"Traitor," I mutter affectionately. I open the door and forget how to breathe.
Wyatt's standing on my porch, looking unfairly handsome in dark gray pants and a sky-blue button-up shirt that makes his eyes look even more vivid. His dark hair is styled, not just towel-dried and left to do whatever it wants, and he's holding a single rose.
"Hi," he says, his voice warm. "You look beautiful, Merri."
"Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself." I take the flower, trying not to show how much the gesture affects me. "This is gorgeous."
He shrugs, but there’s no evasion in it. "Mrs. Marshall strikes again. She has strong opinions about proper date etiquette."
The flower’s spicy scent makes me smile. "Remind me to thank her."
Admiral pushes past me to greet Wyatt, who crouches down to give him the ear scratches he's clearly been waiting for.
"Hey, buddy. Are you taking care of your mom?" Admiral groans with pleasure, leaning his entire weight against Wyatt's leg.
"We should go," I say, "before Admiral decides you're staying here with him instead."
"Good point." Wyatt gives Admiral one last pat, then straightens. "Ready?"
"Where are we going?"
"The Silver Willow in Hibiscus Harbor."
My breath catches. "The Silver Willow? Wyatt, that place is—"
"Expensive? I know. Consider it an apology for all the times I made your life hell."
I scoff. "That's a lot of apologies."
"Then it's a good thing I have a decent roasting business."
We say goodbye to Admiral, who’s already meandering to his bed. Wyatt opens the passenger door of his truck for me. The gesture catches me off guard, I'm not used to this version of him.
"I can open my own doors, you know," I say, but there's no bite to it.
"I know you can. However, my grandmother would haunt me from the grave if I didn't at least make an effort to be a gentleman."
The drive to Hibiscus Harbor takes about twenty minutes, and we fall into an easy conversation about the brewery, the competition, and the fact that our beer is currently carbonating and will be ready for a final tasting in a few days.
"I still can't believe how good it turned out," Wyatt says, glancing at me. "I knew we had something special, but that sip today…" He shakes his head.
"I know. It’s one of the best beers I’ve made. I guess we make a better team than I thought."
"We do." He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, which sends a chill through my body. "Who would've thought?"
My heart stumbles at how natural his hand feels around mine.
This is Wyatt Dalton, who once sabotaged my bake sale cookies in high school just to watch me panic, and who told the Pelican Point Gazette my brewery smelled like "desperation and stale dreams." Now his fingers are laced through mine like we haven't spent twenty years plotting the other’s humiliation.
"Not me," I admit. "A few weeks ago, I would've put money on us strangling each other if we spent more than five minutes in the same room."
His chuckle vibrates through my body. "I would've taken that bet and doubled it."
We pull into The Silver Willow's parking lot, and my nerves kick up again. I've heard about this restaurant from my aunt, who raves about the fresh seafood, waterfront views, and prices that make most people's eyes water. It's the kind of place for special occasions.
The inside of the restaurant is even more elegant than I’d imagined with its soft lighting, sophisticated decor, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. The hostess seats us in a quiet spot in the back, and Wyatt holds my chair before taking his own seat in the corner.
I snort. "Why do you guys always do that? Danny does it, too."
His brow furrows. "Do what?"
"Sit with your back to the wall. Is it your favorite seat?"
His gaze sharpens. "It’s a force of habit from the military. You never sit with your back exposed. This way, I can see the whole room with no blind spots."
The habit makes more sense now. "And you can protect everyone around you."
His chin bobs. "Exactly."
"I don't need protecting, Wyatt."
He doesn't argue, just smiles at me in a way that launches a thousand butterflies in my stomach, then places his hand over mine. "You look beautiful tonight, Merri. I wanted to tell you that before we get interrupted."
Right on cue, our waiter appears with menus and a wine list, launching into an explanation of the daily specials. I try to focus on what he’s saying, but all I can think about is Wyatt's words and the way he’s looking at me as if I'm the only person in the room.
We order drinks and settle into the kind of conversation that should be impossible for two people who've spent decades at each other's throats.
We talk about our businesses, about the changes we've both noticed in Pelican Point, about future plans and dreams. It’s so strangely comfortable and I love it.
"And I keep getting all these weird newsletters," Wyatt continues.
"Sasquatch Sighters of America. UFO Abductee Pen Pal Network. The Society for Perineum Sunlight Therapy, which is butthole sunning by the way. Oh, and apparently, there’s a Coffee Colonic Association of America.
At first I thought Danny or my Marine Corps buddies were behind it, but they all swear it wasn't them. "
I bite the inside of my cheek. But it doesn't work, and a laugh bubbles up. He pins me with a glare, his mouth flattening. "Merri," he growls.
"Okay, fine. That was me." I'm full-on laughing now. "I signed you up for all of them after the dumpster fire incident. At the time, a coffee colonic made sense for you."
He gapes at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "You're diabolical."
I spread my hands in admission. "I have my moments."
"I'll get you back for this," he says, but his eyes are warm, promising something that has nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with the heat that's building between us.
We finish dinner, which was possibly the best seafood I've had in years, and Wyatt suggests a walk on the beach. I agree immediately, and we wander down to the sand, my heels in my hand, the warm water lapping at our feet.
"Tell me more about the Marine Corps," I say. "You mentioned deployments you can't talk about, but what can you tell me?"
He doesn’t speak for a minute, and I wonder if I've pushed too far.
"In Force Recon, you're trained to be the best of the best, and that isn’t just hyperbole. It’s all reconnaissance, direct action, and raids, going places no one else can go, doing things no one else can do. It's constant adrenaline and danger."
There's an intensity to the way he describes it that catches me off guard. "That sounds exhausting."
"It was exactly what I wanted at the time." He picks up a shell, examines it, then tosses it back. "But when my grandmother died, I realized I'd been running on autopilot for too long. She was the only real family I had, and I’d missed so much time with her."
"I heard she’d passed when I returned home. I'm sorry. She was such a nice lady."
He pauses, looking out over the water. "She left me her house, that old three-story place on Magnolia Street. It needed work, but it was home."
I love that house. The Victorian behemoth with the wraparound porch and the turret on one corner was one of the original homes in Pelican Point. "I've always wanted to see inside."
Wyatt glances at me, a hint of shyness crossing his face. "You want to see it now? I have a bottle of wine I was hoping to open soon."
"Really?"
"Sure. It's on the way to your place."
My heart does a weird fluttering thing. Going to his house feels significant, like we're crossing another line we can't uncross. But I find myself nodding. "Okay. I'd love to."
He takes my hand, and we walk to his truck, the Florida night warm around us. Somewhere between the competition and this incredible date, the ground shifted beneath us. And I'm done pretending I don't feel it.