Chapter 2
Shawn resisted the urge to roll his eyes as a redhead dressed in a smocked, maxi-length sundress and ginormous sunglasses walked into his shop. She was tan, somehow, despite the red hair, and her dress was seafoam green, with straps that left her upper back on display.
Fucking tourists. Did she know she was at a bait shop?
Spotting the tourists was easy for Shawn. They were dressed to the nines for activities that required little more than a swimsuit and a ratty t-shirt. This chick looked like she walked straight out of a magazine. Vogue or whatever the hell. She looked like a fucking model. And for what? To buy a fishing rod?
As annoyed as he was by her unnecessary attire, Shawn had to admit just how gorgeous she was. Lean and fit, with boobs perky and round like plums, long and slender legs peeking out through the slit of her dress. She had a beautiful neck, long and delicate and feminine. When she lifted her sunglasses, he couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were blue like the Gulf, like the sea that he took his boat out to explore every weekend, with depths just as mysterious. She had a soft tan, but her cheeks were rosy. And her lips—God, her lips. Plump and red, ripe for kissing, perfect?—
What the fuck?
Why was he thinking about the lips of this overdressed Valley Girl?
Tourists were fun to fuck when he was 20, but the novelty of it wore off in his 30s. He knew he’d just be a notch on their belt, a vacation fling they pursued with a grimy fisherman to convince themselves they were reckless and adventurous when they went back to their strict routines and boring, suburban lives.
He hadn’t fucked a tourist in a while. Wasn’t interested in meaningless sex anymore. Gave up on one-night-stands after his best friend, Tucker, fell in love and became blissfully married and made Shawn realize that’s what he wanted, too.
Shawn eyeballed the redhead as she perused fishing rods, and decided it was time for him to jump in and save her from embarrassing herself.
“Can I help you with anything, ma’am?” he drawled.
His heart stuttered as she turned to face him, those aquamarine eyes piercing his soul. His breath hitched as her lips quirked slightly upward, a rosy flush from the heat coloring her olive skin.
“I need some shrimp,” she responded in an accent that betrayed no particular location.
Okay, he wasn’t expecting that.
Most tourists who were going fishing without a guide stuck to fishing lures rather than live bait. Lures were easier to store and made for nice souvenirs.
“Shrimp?” Shawn responded dumbly.
“Yes, those small crustaceans you’ve got over there,” she smirked, pointing at the tank.
He cleared his throat.
“Sure, of course, ma’am,” Shawn said briskly, busying himself at the tank.
“Not too many, a dozen or two should be fine,” she continued. “And I’ll just go ahead and buy this.”
She swung an insulated bait bucket on top of the tank, then turned around to continue browsing. Shawn stopped what he was doing and crinkled his brows.
“Uh, ma’am?” Shawn said. “As much as I appreciate the extra business, there’s no need to purchase a $60 bait bucket for a short trip down here. Tourists typically just take their shrimp in a bag.”
She turned around and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Do they now?” she asked, a slight edge in her voice.
Shawn began to sweat a little. Had he offended her? He was just trying to save her some money.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Well, I appreciate you trying to save me the money, but I think I’ll buy it anyway.”
That was… odd. But Shawn wouldn’t fight her on it.
An extra $60? He’d take that any day. She went back to perusing and stopped at the small section of cast nets. She ran her fingers over a few of them, and Shawn caught himself watching her and got back to the task at hand.
As he finished putting shrimp in the bucket, she approached the cashier stand with a box of hooks, a few bobbers, some fishing line, and one of the smaller nets.
“Cast net, huh?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together as she looked at him.
“Yep.”
“Going on a tour?”
“Nope.”
Why she was dropping $150 on something she probably didn’t know how to use, Shawn didn’t know. But he’d learned his lesson with the bait bucket. He wouldn’t comment on the net. He closed the bait bucket and grabbed a spare hook nearby.
“If you’d like, I can show you how to put the shrimp on your hook,” Shawn said.
It was the least he could do, since she was spending so much money at his shop.
She glared at him.
“No, thanks,” she responded curtly.
“You sure? It seems simple, but it’s easy to lose all your bait if you do it the wrong way.”
She put the cast net on the checkout desk and stalked over to him. She grabbed the bait bucket from the floor and fished a shrimp out with a bare hand, then snatched the hook from his hand. Her long, delicate fingers perfectly hooked the shrimp, and she glanced at him expectantly.
Well, shit.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Probably thought he was a condescending dick.
“Seems like you know what you’re doing,” Shawn said tightly after a beat of silence.
She pursed her lips.
“Indeed.”
She unhooked the shrimp and tossed it back in the bucket before handing him the hook. Then she walked back to the cashier stand and crossed her arms. Her auburn waves flashed in the bit of sunlight that was peeking through the windows of the store, and Shawn ran his fingers through his hair nervously as he tried to figure out what the fuck just happened. She cleared her throat and he startled, realizing she was waiting on him to check out.
He stumbled over to the cashier’s stand and started scanning her items, wondering if he should apologize. Would that be weird? What would he even say? Sorry for assuming you didn’t know how to hook your shrimp?
“That’ll be $223.63.”
Shawn’s voice sounded smaller than normal. He scanned her credit card and he bagged the smaller items.
“Need help carrying anything to your car?” Shawn asked, hoping it would make up for earlier.
“I think I can manage,” she smirked.
The door jingled as she walked out.
Shawn’s phonebuzzed as he locked up the bait shop. He pulled it out, saw it was Tucker, and sighed.
“Hey, Tuck,” Shawn answered the phone, forcing his tone to sound chipper.
“Hey, Shawn. Wanna come over for dinner tonight?”
Shawn unlocked his truck and got in the car. Of course, Tucker had timed this call right when he knew Shawn would be heading home for the day.
Before he could answer, Tucker added, “I’m making those crab cakes you like. And Hanna’s dying to see you. We miss you.”
Guilt panged through Shawn’s chest. He knew he was being a bad friend, but he couldn’t find it in him to say yes.
“Promised Grams I’d help her with some stuff tonight,” Shawn lied. “Rain check?”
He heard Tucker exhale through the phone.
“You sure she won’t let us steal you for one night?” Tucker asked, then joked, “We’ll have you home before curfew.”
“Sorry, man. I can’t tonight. But thanks for calling.”
They said their goodbyes, and Shawn leaned his head forward against the steering wheel.
He was a shitty friend.
He wasn’t denying it.
But fuck.
It had gotten hard to be around Tucker and Hanna.
Shawn took a deep breath and started his car, letting his thoughts run amok.
He loved them both—they were like family to him, even though he hadn’t seen them in months. He and his best friend used to be attached at the hip—used to go to the club every weekend and crash at each other’s places after a wild night out. They’d grown up together. Shawn was the one who had encouraged Tucker to go to culinary school—he even offered to help pay for it when it looked like Tucker might not be able to. And he was there at the opening night of Tucker’s restaurant, Fish Food.
But then, Tucker met Hanna.
Hanna—a kindergarten teacher with tiny tattoos all over her fair-skinned arms, dark brown hair, and a penchant for ending up in awkward situations. Hanna had immediately fit into their little group. She and Shawn hit it off instantly, even though back when he met her, he was an unapologetic playboy and didn’t bother to hide it. Hanna, of course, saw right through Shawn in a way that unnerved him, but also made him immediately respect her. The three of them were inseparable—a dynamic trio of sorts.
Shawn was their best man and only witness at the quick, courthouse wedding they had a couple of years ago. But since then, it just felt like there wasn’t enough room in Tucker’s life for Shawn—at least, not the way there used to be.
Shawn didn’t begrudge Tucker for it—or Hanna, for that matter.
He knew it was more than that.
Knew that, at the root of it, he was jealous.
He’d grown up in the years since they got married. Stopped sleeping with tourists. Started trying to date.
Problem was, the dating pool was tough. His grandmother had set him up on enough terrible first dates that he was about ready to throw in the towel.
His mind drifted to the pretty redhead who put him in his place earlier. That was the kind of girl he wanted—strong and stubborn and sexy to boot.
He shook his head.
Stupid.
It was stupid to think he’d ever see her again after today, and even more stupid to daydream about someone he didn’t even know.
His heart ached with longing.
Shawn felt stuck. He loved his best friends. He wanted to spend time with them. The truth was, he missed them as much as they missed him. But it was hard as fuck to sit with them through dinner and watch them hold hands and not feel overwhelmed with the ache of loneliness. And he didn’t know how to say it—how to tell them how jealous he was, how sad he was, how desperately he wanted what they had.
Because even though he was man enough not to lie to himself, it was unimaginable to say something like that out loud to the people he loved most in the world.
He pulled into his driveway, shaking away the self pity he’d started feeling on the drive home.
The smell of chocolate wafted through the foyer as Shawn walked in the door.
“Grams?” he shouted, tossing his keys on the front table.
“Kitchen.”
His grandmother was arranging brownies onto a paper plate, donning black leggings and a red flannel shirt. Her hair was unruly; she’d clearly been out on the wharf earlier that day, where she liked to go to pray or watch the sunrise. He looked out at the waterfront from the kitchen window. The sun still shone brightly out above the water, and there were white caps on the waves. Maybe he’d try to go wind-surfing before dinner, if he could muster up the energy.
Shawn grinned, his mouth watering at her special, homemade brownies. As he reached from behind her to grab one, she smacked his hand.
“Hey!” he tugged his hand back.
“Not for you, Scooby,” she said sternly.
Shawn sighed. He’d never escape the nickname he earned as a 5-year-old when he dressed up as Scooby Doo for Halloween. It probably wouldn’t have stuck, but he refused to take off the costume for two weeks, and Grams called him Scooby ever since.
“Can’t I just have one?” he asked. “They’ll never know.”
She turned around to face him, placing one manicured hand on her hip and raising her eyebrows.
“You don’t even know who these are for,” Grams said.
“The ladies at church?” he guessed.
“Hmph.”
She turned back around, covering the brownies with tin foil.
“C’mon, Grams,” Shawn continued. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nobody will know if one brownie is missing.”
“I’ll know.”
Shawn sighed.
“They’re not for the church ladies, anyway,” Grams continued. “They’re for our new neighbor.”
“New neighbor?”
That was news to him. No houses on their street had been put up for sale recently, and everyone knew each other well enough to know if anyone was considering it. Most people who lived in their neighborhood had retired here. When they died, most of them passed the property onto someone else in their family—their kids or grandkids.
“One of the Greene girls moved in.”
Interesting. Shawn didn’t know the Greenes all that well.
The grandparents had died several years back, within a few months of each other. He tried to recall their names… Robert and Betty, perhaps? Robert died of a heart attack, and Betty died of heartbreak a few weeks later. They’d left the house to their kids and grandkids, split equally among them with a trust to pay the bills.
Nobody lived there full-time, but people were always staying there for weekends and holidays. Since they were never here for long—and since Robert and Betty died long before he moved in with Grams—he never got the chance to get to know the family.
“Moved in?” Shawn asked.
“You heard me,” Grams said, crossing her arms. “I don’t know the whole story, but Barb told me this morning. I think it was pretty sudden. So I thought you could welcome her to the neighborhood with some of my famous brownies.”
“So she’s here for good? That’s unusual for the Greene house.”
“That’s what I’m told. Either way, no harm in being neighborly. Her grandparents were good people. I want to look out for her.”
Shawn sighed. Of course, she did.
Grams knew everyone, and she was beloved. Because, of course, she did stuff like this. Looked out for people. Took them under her wing. Spent an afternoon making them homemade brownies.
She also had the tendency to say every thought that entered her head. That lack of filter often got her into trouble, but people loved her sass. So did Shawn.
Most of the time.
“Wait,” he said, replaying her words in his head. “Did you say you thought that I could welcome her to the neighborhood?”
She winked.
“Grams, please tell me you’re not matchmaking again,” Shawn said, stifling a groan.
A blooper reel of terrible first dates Grams set up for him played in his head. One of them was extremely shy and barely spoke the whole time. Another wore Lily Pulitzer everything and asked him to escort her to an upcoming ball in Mobile, which he politely declined after a few minutes of being rendered speechless. And another belittled him for running a bait shop.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she said. “I won’t set you up on a date. But I will make you take her those brownies. She’s very pretty, from what I hear. I knew her back when she was a little girl. She was a sweet, curious little thing. And oh my, she had a mouth on her. Of course, her family moved away from Mobile when she was barely a teenager, and I don’t think I’ve seen her since.”
Shawn pressed his lips together. He loved his grandmother dearly. He would do anything for her, and had. After his grandfather died last year, he moved in with her after one phone call where she confided in him that she was terrified to live alone for the first time in her life.
Naturally, she put up a small fight about it. The woman was stubborn, and loved him more than anything in the world. She told him she didn’t want to hold him back. But he insisted. They’d always been close, he and Grams, so he knew she was thrilled when he decided to move in with her. She never would’ve asked it of him, but he was more than happy to do it. He loved living with her, even if it meant that bringing girls home was out of the question. He didn’t know how many years he’d have with Grams, and he knew their time together was precious. But her habit of meddling was getting on his nerves.
“Grams, please.”
“Shawn Porter Gray, you will do this for me,” she said, her voice stern.
Shawn bit his lip, frustration rising.
Damn, she could be so pushy.
“Fine,” he said, and Grams beamed. “I’ll do it on one condition.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him expectantly.
“After this, no more setups, no more introductions to your jazzercise friends’ granddaughters, no more girls casually dropping by for dinner, and no more taking brownies to new neighbors. I love you, Grams, and I appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s not working. Alright?”
She studied him for a moment and blew out a breath.
“Fine, Scoob. You win.”
He grinned at her.
“Can you say that again and let me record you?” he asked her.
She glared at him, but was clearly holding back a laugh.
“Leftovers for dinner?” Shawn asked.
“Yes,” Grams said. “And then you’re taking those brownies to our new neighbor.”
“Right. And what’s her name?”
“Willa.”