Chapter 11
Shawn wasn’t sure why he was nervous. There was no reason to be.
The insulated bucket he carried sloshed a bit, though it was covered. He filled it with upwards of thirty shrimp—more than she asked for, but he told himself he threw in some extra as a thank you for being such a great companion to Grams. Ever since her fall, Willa had been insisting that Grams stretch every day, and she even walked her through stretches and exercises to do after their walks.
He tried not to acknowledge the fact that if they had more bait, they could stay out on the wharf and fish for longer.
That definitely wasn’t the reason he gave her extra shrimp.
For sure.
He loved the Bay at night. The way the water went nearly still, the gentle breeze making the humidity bearable, the way the stars shined bright. In the distance, he could see the main highway along Orange Beach—the brightness of the hotels and beachside bars making it easy to pick them out. The rest of the Bay was sleepy—quiet.
His phone buzzed, and he set down the bucket to check.
It was a text from Tucker. Shawn’s stomach sank.
Hey, man. Want to come over for dinner soon?We miss you.
Shawn had been a shitty friend and he knew it.
He’d been ignoring Tucker’s calls for months, and he was running out of excuses. It was hard watching his best friend so blissfully happy and in love when Shawn desperately wanted the same for himself.
Shawn texted back.
Maybe next month. Booked solid for tourist season. Tell Hanna I say hi.
He felt bad writing his friend off like that, but he and Tucker had known each other since they were in diapers. Shawn knew he’d understand. But one of these days, he’d have to actually come clean and explain why he’d been so distant lately. Guilt churned inside him, but he tried to brush it off as he put his phone away and picked the bucket back up, continuing on his way to the Greene’s place.
As he approached Willa’s house, he noticed the kitchen light was off but the light on the end of the wharf was on. He could just barely make out the outline of her figure at the end, and he headed her way quietly. He heard little splashes as he approached the edge of the wharf. It was a good sign—meant the fish were active tonight. They’d likely get some bites—maybe even catch a few big ones.
She didn’t hear him approach, her nose buried in her kindle, the light from it shining on her sea-blue eyes and freckled face. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and she was wearing loose fitting shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her hair thrown in a messy bun. It was the most casual he’d ever seen her, and it felt intimate to see her like this with the full moon above them.
He cleared his throat and she looked up, then grinned at him.
“Got the goods?”
He lifted the bucket in response and set it on the table next to her. She went to the edge of the wharf, where the LED light was beaming into the water, and grabbed two fishing rods from the holders she set them in.
“Should be a good night for fishing,” she said as she handed him one of the rods. “There’s been activity under the light all night, and I keep hearing them jump.”
Then, just as she did on the day they met, she reached into the bucket with her bare hand and pulled out a shrimp before expertly baiting it onto the hook. Its legs twitched, and she released the line before smoothly casting it into the water. Her line landed several meters beyond where the LED light shone, and she slowly began reeling.
He could watch her like this for hours. Days, probably. So at ease with a fishing rod underneath the moonlight that she looked like she was conjured out of thin air by some celestial being.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” she smirked at him over her shoulder, her hands still gripping the rod firmly.
It was then that Shawn realized he not only had yet to say a word to her, but he’d been gaping at her like an idiot since he’d put the bucket down.
And this, he realized, was why he’d been so nervous. It was like he forgot to function like a regular human around her.
She was so goddamn beautiful, and she knew her way around a fishing rod like a pro. Willa moved like life was a dance—smooth and easy, unhurried and precise. He didn’t want to tear his eyes away from her for a second, not when he could watch the way her delicate fingers reeled in her line or the way her hips swayed gently as she stood at the edge of the wharf or the way that smart mouth curved when she teased him.
And of course, he knew what that mouth tasted like now.
How could he forget the way her lips felt on his, the way his cock immediately responded to her, the way it felt for her fingers brush his mouth?
He never would. Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss her, Shawn was desperate to do it again. But she’d made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.
He was supremely fucked.
“Was just enjoying the view,” Shawn said, immediately regretting his poor attempt to flirt. “But yes, I’ll join you now. Thanks again for inviting me.”
She chuckled and shook her head at him, and his eyes lit up as he caught her gaze briefly before she turned back around.
He quickly attached bait to his rod and joined her. He cast his line out, careful to avoid the area hers was in so they wouldn’t get tangled. Then he set his fishing rod in the holder and grabbed a couple of chairs for them to sit in.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before she’d reeled her line in completely only to find that her bait had been eaten.
“Damn,” Willa said. “I felt some nibbles, but wasn’t sure.”
“Hate it when that happens,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. I brought some extra bait.”
“Knew I’d be losing my bait so easily, did you?”
He laughed—quietly, though, so he didn’t scare off the fish.
“Nah, just thought I’d do my best to earn brownie points with my fake girlfriend.”
Yeah, he was going to milk the fake girlfriend thing for all it was worth.
Maybe he could convince her to drop by more often and scare the tourists away.
Maybe she’d want to be his real girlfriend.
He shook away the thought and brought his attention back to his rod. Back to Willa. She cast her line back into the water again after baiting it, and slowly started reeling.
“So,” Willa said.
Shawn grinned. “So.”
“Scooby?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll never get out of that nickname.”
“Why does Grams call you that?”
He bit back a smile. “When I was 5, I was obsessed with Scooby Doo. Had the lunchbox. Watched the cartoons every Saturday morning. And I dressed up as Scooby for Halloween.”
Willa laughed. “That’s cute.”
He wondered if his pounding heart would give away how much he loved her laugh—if she could hear it over the gentle crashing of the waves.
“You’d think,” he responded, feeling his cheeks redden. “But I went a bit overboard with it. Made my family call me Scooby and treat me like a dog, did tricks for Scooby Snacks, did the voice—the whole nine.”
“You didn’t,” she giggled.
“I did. And then, I refused to take the costume off for two weeks. I imagine that was not a fun experience for anyone involved, but I loved it. And Grams has called me Scooby ever since.”
Willa fell into a fit of laughter, clutching her stomach and wiping her eyes.
“Oh my god, that might be my favorite story ever,” she said.
He couldn’t hold back the grin that stretched across his face as he watched her laugh, trying to memorize the unadulterated glee she was exuding. Once her laughter died down, she stole a glance at him, and he could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks flush as he held her gaze.
“Did she raise you?” Willa asked softly.
Shawn stiffened. “Her and my grandfather.”
Willa looked back to her rod, giving him space. It was vulnerable—raw. He wanted to tell her this part of his story, but it never got easier to talk about.
“My parents died when I was two,” Shawn continued. “Car accident on I-98. I barely remember them, but Grams and Pop… They helped me. To remember them. To grieve. To navigate life without them. They put me in therapy pretty early on. I’m grateful for that.”
She gave him a grim smile. “I’m sorry.”
It was all she could say. “Thanks.” He reeled in his line and cast it back out. “I know my parents were good people. That they loved me. And being raised by Grams and Pop was... well, it could’ve been a lot worse. I had a really good childhood, and I know how lucky I am.”
He loved his grandparents dearly. Missed Pop every day. Savored every moment with Grams, even when she made him want to rip his hair out. And he knew he was lucky to have grandparents who loved and supported him—who knew therapy was what he needed, who refused to let the stigma around it keep their grandchild from getting the care he needed.
Shawn tipped his head to the side. “What about your parents?”
Willa sighed, her lips curling up. “They live in London these days. Dad is the high-powered career type. Mom’s a socialite.”
The pieces of Willa started falling into place. He gave her the space she gave him—let her sit in silence, deciding what she wanted to share.
“They’ve always been jet-setters, and sometimes I think they don’t know what to do with me,” Willa added with a chuckle. “We’re so different. But I know they love me, and I love them—even if our relationship looks different than most parents and kids. They have never once made me feel lesser than for pursuing a yoga career rather than some big-wig corporate job. They’re extremely supportive. They’re just a little… absent. It’s something I made peace with a long time ago.”
She brought her legs up to her chest as she reeled her line.
Shawn decided to throw her a bone. A few moments of silence passed before he asked her, “How’s yoga going at the hotel?”
“It’s alright,” she responded, perking up a bit at the subject change. “Had more than ten people there today, so that”s an improvement.”
“How’d you get into yoga anyway?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“I wanted to be a ballerina. I know it sounds dumb. What little girl doesn’t want to be a ballerina when she grows up? Usually people grow out of that. But I was—well, at the risk of sounding extremely full of myself—I was really good.”
She sighed.
“I started doing yoga in college at the suggestion of one of my instructors. My body was basically falling apart. Being a dancer can be brutal. The pressure is… intense. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I would dance for eight hours a day and barely eat enough to make up for all the calories I was burning. It didn’t help that the boyfriend I had at the time encouraged that sort of behavior. He commented on my weight, my body, every chance he got. My self esteem wasn’t great. Ballet is competitive, you know? At the time, I was willing to do whatever it took to make it. And I’ve never been great at picking boyfriends. Obviously.”
Shawn’s jaw ticked, anger coursing through him stronger than he knew he was capable of.
“I’ll never forget my first yoga class. The instructor said we could just lay in child’s pose whenever we needed a break. And I laid in child’s pose the whole time. That’s when I realized how exhausted I was. Not tired, the way a long day makes you. Exhausted to my core. In my body, mind, and soul.”
She reeled in her shrimp, saw that it was still there and intact, and cast it out again.
“I started going to yoga every day and… honestly, I know it sounds cliché, but it healed me. It helped me love my body again—not for what I could make it do, but for what it did for me. And so I decided to do the yoga teacher training just to deepen my practice, and about halfway through it, I realized ballet hadn’t made me happy in a long time. So I dropped out of the program I was in, finished my yoga certification, became a yoga teacher, and tried to help other people find solace in yoga the way I did.”
Shawn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t know where to begin.
This woman—this beautiful, strong, intelligent, fierce, compassionate woman—had just shared with him something so deeply personal that he was endeared to her even more. Anger and sadness coursed through him for her, for what she went through. But mostly, he felt gratitude that she shared with him something so raw and vulnerable. And he didn’t know how to put that into words.
Suddenly, his fishing rod dipped down.
There was something on the end of it.
He grabbed it tightly and began reeling in. It was heavier than expected. Usually, fishing off the wharves in the Bay could yield decent-sized fish, but typically nothing over ten pounds.
You had to venture closer to the Gulf for that. He’d fished enough to be able to tell pretty quickly how large a catch would be—and his gut was telling him this was at least 15 pounds. Maybe more.
“Shit, this sucker is big,” he grunted, and Willa set her rod in the stand and grabbed a net from where it was hanging.
“Well, this is exciting,” Willa said with a breathless grin.
Suddenly, her rod bent forward dramatically from where it was in the stand.
“Shit,” she said, dropping the net she’d grabbed to reel her own line in.
“Tug it back, then reel, Greene,” he said.
“I know what I’m fucking doing,” she snapped. “Focus on your own damn line.”
He chuckled, losing himself in the steady rhythm of reeling the fish in. His got close to the wharf and he saw the outline of it before releasing an expletive.
“Goddamn carp.”
She laughed, still reeling in her own line.
“Sucks,” she giggled.
Carp were generally not eaten around the Bay. They weren’t all that populous, either, so Shawn couldn’t help feeling a little jilted as he tugged it onto the dock. Carp were known to have a high tolerance for pollution, so people didn’t typically eat them. But he couldn’t help marveling at how big it was.
“Damn,” he murmured to Willa as her line got closer to the wharf. “Gotta be 20 pounds, easy.”
She glanced over at him and grinned.
“Still wouldn’t be my biggest catch off this wharf,” she quipped.
He jolted in surprise, but didn’t press for more information as Willa grabbed a flashlight and expertly removed the hook from the fish’s mouth. He heard her fish flop onto the deck, and he turned around to see what it was.
“Trout,” she said. “Six or seven pounds, probably.”
He grinned at her and moved the flashlight in her direction. She’d already removed the hook and asked him to bring the cooler over for her to stick it in.
“How does it feel to be bested by a girl?” she asked.
“Well, first of all, you’re a woman, Greene,” he said. “And honestly, it feels pretty damn humbling to be bested by you, but if you keep grinning like that, I might just let you beat me at everything.”
Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of scarlet before she looked away, busying herself by hooking another shrimp on her line.
“And second of all,” he said, tossing the carp he’d caught back in the water, “there’s no harm in a little catch and release.”
Willa beggedher heartbeat to slow.
Shawn was flirting with her.
And quoting back to her what she’d said the night they met.
Either he’d learned how to use complete sentences or the caveman that was ruling his body up until tonight had taken some time off, because he’d not grunted once and he kept complimenting her.
Not to mention the way he kept staring at her mouth made her feel like he was silently begging to kiss her again.
And underneath the romantic moonlight and the way it shined over the Bay, she might just let herself kiss him again. She’d been doing everything she could to put that stupid kiss out of her mind all day.
Except for when she got home from the bait shop and spent some quality time with her vibrator.
But that was a momentary lapse of judgment, and she needed to stop thinking about the way it felt when his big, calloused hands wrapped around her hips and then grabbed her cheeks and pulled her closer to him. She was really trying to avoid remembering how the hardness of his erection pressed against her as she fisted her fingers against his chest and pressed her tongue into his mouth.
Because he was her neighbor.
Her friend.
And she might die from awkwardness if her cheeks kept flushing every time she was around him.
It would be a hell of a lot easier if he stopped saying things that made her want to crawl on his lap and beg him to say everything else he was thinking.
“So what’s the biggest fish you’ve caught off this wharf, Greene?” he asked her, his eyebrows raising expectantly in that cute way of his.
“My grandfather and I caught a 27-pound black drum out here once,” she said, grinning at him. “We didn’t keep it. Didn’t look like it’d be any good. But we had a good time reeling it in.”
He whistled. “Damn.”
They fell into easy silence, grabbing a new shrimp as needed and reeling in a few more trout and one flounder. Not much more passed between them other than the occasional checking in or offering to help unhook a fish. Willa lost herself in thought—about the summers she spent here growing up, how her grandfather would spend late nights on the wharf fishing with her, how she felt like she could finally hear herself think in the quiet of the nights here.
And she thought about how she’d misjudged Shawn.
He said the wrong thing a few times, but he was quick to apologize and easy to be with. And as much as she wanted to try and forget the kiss, she knew she was lying to herself if she thought she could.
She just needed to get him out of her system, she decided.
A one night thing.
Scratch the itch, then move on.
Charlie did it all the time. She could do it, too. After all, it would be an understatement to say she was attracted to him—that much was certain. And she also trusted him. After seeing how he’d taken such great care of Ida, how all the old ladies at Bingo fussed over him, she realized he was clearly a standup guy.
So now it was just a matter of broaching it with him. She’d never done this before; usually, men propositioned her and she said no. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned to Shawn.
“I can’t stop thinking about our kiss from earlier,” she said.
He looked up at her, his eyes darting to her mouth and darkening.
“Glad I’m not the only one,” he rasped.
“I want to do it again.”
“Then do it.”
“I want to do a lot more than that actually.”
His eyes widened for a moment and he shifted in his seat, opening his mouth as if he were going to respond but then quickly snapping it shut.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” Willa said, darting her eyes away from Shawn. “I already told you I just went through a bad breakup. I can’t… I don’t want a boyfriend. I just want something fun.”
“Something fun,” his voice was stony.
She looked up at him.
His jaw ticked, and she flinched, realizing she probably sounded like all the tourists who made him feel like he could never be more than sex. Like he was only worthwhile to her because of the orgasms he could give her.
“Shit,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking. About what you said the other night. I just… forget it.”
She bit her lip.
Shawn groaned.
“Willa,” he said. “You’re not making this easy on me.”
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t—” he sighed. “You don’t have to apologize. Look. I told you I feel like people only see me as a good time.”
“I know, and I didn’t think,” she responded. “Clearly. You opened up to me and I should’ve?—”
“Wait, Willa.”
He dragged a hand over his head and dropped his fishing rod in the stand.
“Look. For years, I fucked almost every tourist who propositioned me. But it got lonely. Isolating. And I started wanting more. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that anymore. It wasn’t… it wasn’t good for me. I did a lot of therapy to realize that I’d been looking for fulfillment in all the wrong places because of a bunch of childhood shit I won’t bore you with. But I can’t. I can’t just do casual sex anymore.”
She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes, leaning back against her chair.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t?—”
“I know you said I don’t need to apologize, but I want to,” Willa said. “You’re a good guy, Shawn.”
“Willa,” Shawn said. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. His eyes were dark, full of lust. She almost gasped at the way he devoured her with a simple look, the way it made her core pulse in desire.
“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss either,” he said, licking his lips. “And fuck if I haven’t tried all afternoon. But if we want different things… maybe we’re better off being just friends. Can we do that?”
She nodded.
“I’d like that,” she said softly.
He grinned at her.
“Me too.”