Chapter 4
SLOANE
To be fair, I did intend on calling Kerry-Anne first thing this morning for help making a plan to get back to Seattle.
I knew she would offer to come get me. I knew she’d be inconvenienced, but she’d rearrange her entire day in a heartbeat if I asked.
That’s the thing about Kerry-Anne: she’s loyal to a fault, always ready to swoop in and be whatever kind of friend I need in the moment.
But every time I picked up Ryan’s phone in the quiet of his kitchen, my fingers froze.
Kerry-Anne is on my side, obviously. But these last few hours…
this strange, suspended break from my real life…
It feels like a protective cocoon. And the thought of stepping out of it, even for her, makes something inside me seize.
A walk will clear my head. Then I’ll make the call.
Three hours later, after wandering down the length of the beach until my legs ache and my eyelids beg for an afternoon nap, I still haven’t called.
The ocean breeze, the warm sun, the distant cry of seagulls all settle me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Each wave laps the shore and retreats, taking a grain of my guilt with it.
A fraction of the anxiety. A sliver of the tightness in my chest I’ve been carrying for… who knows how long? Months?
When I reach Ryan’s porch again, I just…stop. My body sits before my brain can argue. And suddenly I’m perched there, staring over the dunes at the ocean, letting myself drift again.
The steady crash of the waves blurs the minutes together. When Ryan returns home, he’s clearly surprised to see me, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he goes inside briefly and returns to the porch, two bottles of beer in hand. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?” he says.
I do, but I don’t at the same time.
He lets a minute pass. “Good news,” he says. “Coast guard located the speedboat’s owner. Apparently he doesn’t want to press charges. Sounds like you and your fiancé were…well-known around there or something.”
Fiancé. It sounds like a foreign language. And I’m not surprised there will be no charges. The Fordham family practically owns that marina; no one wants to stir up any trouble with them.
“Glad to hear it,” I say instead, and accept the bottle he’s holding out for me. “Thank you for helping with that.”
“No big deal.” Ryan pauses, and suddenly I get the sense that I’m not the only one feeling awkward in this moment, and that it needs to be me who breaks the tension.
“I’m sorry I’m not out of your hair yet,” I say. “My friend wasn’t able to get out here on such short notice.”
“Actually,” Ryan says, scratching the back of his neck, “I’ve been meaning to get to the city to pick up some equipment from the university. I’ve been putting it off, but this is a good excuse. I can drive you tomorrow.”
I hesitate. There goes my grand plan of hiding here and pretending my life doesn’t exist. Probably a stupid plan anyway, and I’m in no position to turn down a ride. I suppose I can always go back, grab a bag, get in my car, and drive somewhere equally remote to figure out my life.
“That would be great,” I say. “You mentioned that there was a hotel in town. I can get a room for tonight.”
For a moment, he hesitates, then clears his throat. “It’s fine with me if you want to stay here again.”
I’m not sure how I would have paid for the hotel anyway, so I nod. “Thank you,” I say.
I open my mouth again to offer help with dinner, but something moves beside him on the deck. A small figure, maybe a foot tall, black feathers, white face, orange beak, red-rimmed eyes.
“Oh,” I say. “We have a visitor.”
“That’s…” Ryan glances down, and a faint grin slips out. “Meet Vera.”
“Vera?”
“She’s a tufted puffin. I brought her in six months ago after she got tangled in a fishing line. She hasn’t left.”
Okay. This is officially veering into strange territory. An attractive recluse with a pet puffin?
He must see the surprise on my face, because he says, “They’re remarkably loyal birds. And the grub’s good here.”
“Grub?”
“She gets herring a few times a day. Fresh, not frozen. I tried that once and she gave me a glare that could melt the morning fog.”
I laugh. “Vera’s my kind of woman.”
“Is that right?” he says. The grin turns into a full, warm smile. “Speaking of grub. I’m going to order something in. Pizza? Thai?”
Pizza. OMG. Months of poached salmon and steamed greens flash through my mind like a slideshow of willpower. That grilled cheese last night almost undid me. And now pizza? “Pizza sounds perfect.”
“There’s stuff in the fridge for a salad. Do you mind throwing it together while I go into town?”
“Sure thing.”
Ryan leaves in his truck, and I steal a few more moments of sitting on the deck, my new favorite spot, before returning to the kitchen to make the salad.
I pull out arugula, cucumber, green onions, a red pepper. There’s a tomato and an avocado on the counter.
When I shut the fridge door, something catches my eye. It’s a thick cream-colored card stuck under a magnet. It practically reeks of wedding invitation. I pluck it off and read: Together with their families, Calista Ferguson and Matthew Hubert request the honor of your presence…
I’m just about to stick it back when the door opens and Ryan steps inside holding a pizza box. His gaze drops to the card in my hand.
“I’ve got a wedding of my own to deal with,” he says. “And I want to be there just as much as you wanted to be at yours.” He sets the box on the table. “Sorry. I don’t mean to joke.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “And…can’t you just skip it?”
Ryan huffs a short laugh. “I wish.” He slides a plate toward me. “Help yourself.”
I pick up a slice of pizza, the cheesy, greasy aroma nearly making me moan out loud. I don’t stop myself from grabbing a second slice.
Ryan can enjoy the salad. Tonight is pizza-only territory for me.
The moment the salty, umami pepperoni hits my tongue, bliss floods through me, followed by a pang of regret. I deprived myself of this…for what?
Perfect on paper, I think bitterly, taking another huge bite.
When I glance up, Ryan is watching me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“This is really good,” I say after I finish chewing.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I haven’t had pizza in over a year,” I admit. I wait for the judgment—Ryan doesn’t strike me as a man who endorses self-punishment for aesthetics.
“Sounds miserable,” he says simply.
“Should’ve been a warning sign, right? ‘Mo paleo, mo problems’?”
“Have another,” Ryan says, smiling.
And absurdly, impossibly, it might be the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.
***
RYAN
I’m having a hell of a time figuring Sloane out. On one hand, she has enough backbone to skip her own wedding. On the other, everything she’s mentioned about the wedding, and the man she left standing at the altar, paints the picture of someone who’s spent years living by somebody else’s rules.
Which is probably why she finally walked away.
Either way, watching her devour the pizza is…highly entertaining. I should’ve ordered an extra large.
“So tomorrow,” I say, “are you okay if we get on the road around eight, nine o’clock?”
Something flickers across her face, a hesitation she masks a little too quickly. “Yeah, sounds great.”
I can’t help imagining the kind of place she lives in.
Judging by the fiancé’s apparent income level, she probably has some sleek condo in Pike Place, or one of those waterfront units in Bellevue with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Even sitting here in my old sweats and a damp T-shirt, she looks like she belongs somewhere curated and expensive.
Outside, darkness is starting to settle around the cottage. It’s only eight-thirty, so it’s too early to call it a night and too late to pretend we’re not strangers sharing a house. I wonder what we’re supposed to do to fill the next hour or two until I can politely retreat to my room.
“I think I’m going to go for a walk along the water,” Sloane says. “If you want to join.”
Is it a real invitation, or just politeness?
At the word walk, Marshall jumps to his feet, tail wagging, staring at me like this is the best idea he’s ever heard.
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I say. “Let me grab you something warmer. The temperature drops fast once the sun goes.”
She gathers up our plates and loads the dishwasher while I pull a fleece button-up from the closet. She pulls it on, swimming in it, and suddenly I understand the entire marketing campaign behind boyfriend fit. It’s adorable. And also…dangerously attractive.
The setting sun lights up the beach as we walk. Waves lap at the sand, filling the silence between us while Marshall bounds ahead, chasing the tennis ball I throw.
“It must be so nice to live near the water,” Sloane says.
So, not a Bellevue condo, then.
“I only lived inland during college,” I tell her. “Four years at Oregon State. It felt…suffocating.”
“I get it,” she says quietly. “I really feel like I can breathe here.”
I look over at her. She’s wearing that soft, faraway expression again, like the ocean air is helping to loosen something in her chest.
I turn to the ocean. Most visitors to Wild Rose Point talk about the scenery. Sloane’s talking about breathing, like she understands exactly why I’ve never been able to live far from the water.
“Or maybe it’s not the water,” she adds. “Maybe it’s…” She stops, shakes her head, laughs under her breath. “God. I’m already traipsing through your house, wearing your clothes, eating your pizza. I’m sure the last thing you want is to hear all about my problems.”
“That’s not true,” I say. And it isn’t. I want to know everything, but I try not to sound too eager. “Shoot.”
“Okay, well…Jack and I were together four years,” she begins. “Met at a wedding, actually. My friend from college and one of his coworkers. I caught the bouquet.”
“Dramatic,” I say.
“Yup.” She smiles faintly. “Jack asked me out that night, and everything after that rolled out pretty predictably.”
“So what went wrong?” I ask before I can stop myself.