8. Shelby
Even from the outside, I can tell Mac’s home is going to be the stuff of my dreams. Its navy blue siding and trim blends gorgeously into the surrounding woods, and a neat stone path weaves up through natural landscaping to the front door, which is wide, clear glass.
Mac somehow appears at my side of the truck before I’ve even gotten my seat belt off and reached for the door handle.
He offers his hand, but he’s done enough white-knighting for me today, so I tell him I’m fine, then nearly tumble ass over teakettle as I jump down.
I let out a little yelp as I feel my ankle roll. But Mac’s hands are suddenly there, catching me.
His huge, rough hands.
They’re warm against my hips and large enough that they nearly touch, which is a feat given my already established non-pool-noodle size. I’m usually fine with my few extra layers—so long as Mom’s not making comments about my clothes or Richard’s not raising his eyebrows at my menu choices. But Mac makes me feel like my roundness is nothing at all. I don’t remember a lot from that first day before he put me in the sink, but I do remember the way he carried me. Without so much as a blink. I know it’s just his size, but I still feel comfortable around him like I haven’t with other handsome men.
Maybe because, unlike him, they mostly don’t really see me.
Now, Mac’s rough fingers brush against an exposed strip of my skin as he rights me, and I’m shocked at the skittering of heat that dances across me from his touch.
Okay, Mac is hot. Very hot. And the way he lost it on those guys? I quite enjoyed seeing him turn into a caveman like that. My feminism flew right out the window. But this heat I’m feeling with his hands on me? With the way I feel like he could pick me up like I was any other girl? I need to squash it. Fast. Mac’s a nice guy. That’s all. A really out-of-the-way nice guy. But I see how he’s like that with everyone, despite his gruffness.
And I’m going to be working with him.
And apparently living with him too, at least for the next week.
He’s standing so close to me I feel my knees brush against his shins. But his eyes are locked on mine.
“Long way down.” His voice is so low it thrums through me like I’m a stringed instrument he’s playing. My pulse skips upward, my breathing suddenly shallow.
It’s then I realize his hands are still wrapped around my waist, radiating heat through me. When his thumb gives an absent stroke against that little strip of bare skin, I suck in a breath.
Mac immediately steps back, removing his hands.
What did he say? It’s a long way down?
It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about the distance from his truck to the ground.
“For some of us,” I croak, much too late.
The minute I’m out of the way, Nate slips by me, making a beeline for the door. Oh God. It only lasted a second, and he couldn’t see my face, but the poor kid still got a front-row seat to me ogling his dad.
I need to chill. I think of Richard’s face.
That works fast.
“We’ll start in ten!” Mac calls after his son.
Nate ignores him, opening the front door to a barking, happy dog. Mac looks almost longingly at the kid as Nate kneels to give her love.
“You’re good with him,” I say.
At Mac’s skeptical expression, I say, “Really. I wish my parents had given me the space to be a teenager. It was lesson after class after club. I didn’t have time to be pissed off with them.”
Mac pulls my suitcase out of the back. “I just wish I knew what the hell I was doing.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. He’s a good kid. He’s the one who found me in the water.”
God, it’s embarrassing thinking about the other day. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how I went from breakdown to here.
Nate disappears inside the house, and a moment later, the adorable chocolate lab comes bounding out to us, angling her body so she walks with us to the door.
Of course Mac’s dog is perfectly trained.
“Tink, right?” Her ears perk up at her name. “Such a good girl!” I say, unable to resist squatting down and scratching her behind the ears. She can’t seem to help herself; she lets out another bark.
“Tink!” Mac says.
“It’s fine,” I say.
I lean into Tink. “Don’t worry about him.”
I feel Mac watching. “We never had any pets,” I say, standing up. “Actually, that’s not true. My sister had a rabbit.” I say it before I think about follow-ups. Mac must see the panic flare in my eyes because he doesn’t say anything. He just looks me in the eye like he’s fine if I say something or nothing at all.
Or he’s just being nice. God, what’s wrong with me around him?
“Your parents don’t seem like dog people,” he says finally.
And somehow, magically, that makes me laugh, dispelling any tension I created. “Nope.”
The house is even more beautiful inside. It’s a perfect mix of original features with some gorgeous upgrades. Wide-plank wood floors, warm white walls, and architectural features like crown molding and a pitched roof with exposed rafters. I hate myself for thinking about money, but the Dinghy can’t be doing too bad as-is if Mac can afford a home that could be on the front cover of Architectural Digest.
I follow Mac through the house to an expansive deck that overlooks the glittering blue ocean. To the right is most of a half-mile crescent of beach that ends with the Dinghy. In the distance beyond that, I can just make out the dock where the water taxi sits, gently rocking up against the tire bumper. To the left is an outcropping of rugged trees and rocks. Back up here, tucked into the trees, a tiny outbuilding that matches the main house except with a broad wood door abuts the edge of the deck.
“That’s it,” he says, indicating the little shed. There are windows up high, streaked with dirt. It’s the only part of the house that looks a tiny bit neglected. But it also looks adorable. I can picture it cleaned out, with a couple of deck chairs out front. Maybe a place for a nap in the rain if it was better cared for.
“Did it come with the place?” I ask, curious. It was clearly built after the house but made to match.
“We built it when I bought the place. I was fixing up the rest of it anyway.”
“We?”
“My dad and I.”
“For storage?” Even as I say it, I know it can’t be true. It’s too prominent a place for storage; plus there’re the windows.
When I look at Mac, he’s eyeing the building with an unreadable expression. “It was for my sister,” he says. I think he’s going to leave it at that—and I don’t want to pry—but he says, “There was a time she needed a place to crash pretty regularly. But she needed her space. So—she got this.”
So he’s a good brother too. I want to know more. What about his parents? Why couldn’t she crash there? Why did she need a place to crash in the first place? What about Nate’s mom? Where’s she?
Mac grimaces, and I know he can see my mind whirring.
“Okay, well, where do we start?” I ask, pulling up the sleeves to his sweater. “You want this back, by the way? Eventually?”
“No.”
“Really? It seems well worn. Like it’s special to you.”
“No, you’re not helping.”
“Oh, come on; I’m tougher than I look.”
“You look pretty tough to me.”
I laugh. “You haven’t seen me around wild animals.” I sober immediately. “Are there wild animals here?” The woods don’t look particularly menacing—birds chirp and fresh greenery waves in the breeze, but I’m a city girl.
“A few,” Mac says cryptically. I swear his mouth almost lifts a little in the corner.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I rattle the barn door. “Is this solid?”
“Shelby. You want me to put a little bear bell in there?”
“Bear bell?”
“So you can ring it if you see one.”
“There are bears?” Alarm’s made my voice pitch awfully high. “Yes, I want a bear bell!”
He must see the actual fear in my face, because he says, “Hey, they’re not likely to come out here. But if they do, we’re right next door.”
I nod. “Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool.” I clear my throat, walking around the deck. Down below, there’s a grassy area over the beach with a fire pit. If they’re sitting out here having fires, the place can’t be roaming with bears, can it?
“You okay?” Mac asks from behind.
I turn around. “Totally. So long as it’s bear free around here.” I look up at his beautiful house. “You have a gorgeous home, Mac. Like, really nice.”
Like I could see myself down by that fire pit in the summer. Or curled up on that couch by the fireplace inside in the winter. Which is ridiculous, because I’m staying here for a week in April.
“I can’t believe you did all this yourself. You have really good style.”
Mac’s jaw pulses, and he folds his arms.
“What’s that look for?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing!” My cheeks heat. “I just thought…”
“That I’d live in a little log cabin? With a woodstove?”
My mouth twists to hide a smile. “Maybe.” From my first glimpse of this man—who looks like a seafaring lumberjack and runs a worn, wood-and-brass pub—to this? “I’m just surprised you haven’t modernized the Dinghy yourself.”
His brow drops. “I’m not looking to turn it into a mini-Vancouver. I don’t want the pub to look like it doesn’t belong here. What I want is to have the place appeal to tourists and locals. I want to bring them together.”
“So you want a blend of old and new, like your home? Modern touches that complement the older features?”
“Yeah, but my home is for me. The bar—I have customers to please.”
A silence hangs between us as I consider his words.
Now he looks embarrassed. “What?” he grunts.
“Mac, this is great. What you just said is exactly what I needed to hear to help you. I’m going to need you to do a lot more talking like this when we sit down to start mapping out the future of the Rusty Dinghy.”
He grimaces, like he regrets opening his mouth.
I laugh. I move to stand next to him like I do my clients, letting them know through my body language that I’m on their side. But I immediately regret it, because now I’m standing right next to him, so close I can feel the heat of him.
It makes me feel like I did in his truck. Like I did after, when he had his hands wrapped around me.
This man is a gentle beast, and it stirs something in my insides.
I take a step back, pulling my sweater around me. But because it’s his, it’s like leaning into him. I let it go again.
“Mac, are you sure you’re okay with this? With me being here?”
Am I okay with it?
“I don’t make offers I can’t follow through on.”
“That doesn’t exactly answer the question.”
“I kind of insisted you stay here,” he says. Mac reaches up, scraping his hand around the back of his neck. “And I guess…I’m glad you washed up on my beach. I’ve been wanting to bring the bar to its full potential for years. Now I have someone to help me do it.”
My chest warms with his surprise confession. “Well, that’s good,” I say, smiling.
He’s still looking down, his thick lashes hiding his eyes. But the moment he looks up, my breath catches in my throat. We lock eyes, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. It’s like I’ve got an instrument in my chest and he just plucked a string. Why is he looking at me like this? Do I have something stuck in my teeth?
Or is he really looking at me like he’s…attracted to me?
Impossible. Besides, I have no idea what that looks like, honestly. Richard and I met at my parents’ yacht club. He was at the next table over; my father introduced us. He smiled at me, but I didn’t feel like he was burning me alive with his gaze.
“Shelby,” Mac says, his voice suddenly even huskier than normal.
I swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away. It’s like I’m suddenly bare. Like he’s seen the most vulnerable part of me and is telling me in a single look that I’m still okay.
“Yeah?”
That’s exactly what happened, I realize. Mac saw me at my worst, and not only has he not run away, but he’s looking out for me.
Mac’s jaw tenses. “I wanted you?—”
A bang sounds from somewhere in the house, and Tink starts barking. It fractures the moment.
I take a step back, grip the wooden railing, and look out over the ocean to try to regain my equilibrium. I’m still grappling with the way that look made me feel. I want to ask him what he was going to say to me, but a male voice streams out the open door. “Hey, girl. Where’s your big daddy, huh? Where’s that big hunk of man?”
I turn to Mac, confused.
His expression tightens, his eyes rolling up like he needs strength. But there’s relief there too. “Cal.”
“Mac? You home?” the voice calls.
“Out here,” Mac booms.
“Who’s Cal?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, you’re about to find out. There’s no avoiding him.”
A moment later, another man strolls out on the deck.
I have to fight to keep my eyes from widening, because suddenly there are two devastatingly handsome men in front of me.
What the hell is in the water in this town?
The new one couldn’t be more different from Mac, though. First of all, he’s like a ray of sunshine. Second, he looks very little like Mac, with his cropped brown hair and clean-shaven face. He’s also a couple of inches shorter than Mac and kind of lithe, like a surfer or swimmer. But he’s still an easy six feet tall with a grin that would make Deanie faint on the spot.
“Oh, shit. Hey,” he says with an easy grin and raised eyebrow. He thrusts out a hand at me. “Calvin. Mac’s BFF.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Shelby. Mac’s new houseguest. And consultant. And I thought only teenage girls said BFF.”
Cal blinks, then throws his head back and laughs.
The most striking difference between the two men, I see now, is Cal’s open expression and easy smile. Where Mac is a stoic vault, this man looks like an open book.
“I share a lot of traits with teenage girls, actually,” Cal says. “I love Gossip Gal and the Gilrod Girls.”
If I’d been drinking a beverage, I’d have spat it out.
“That’s what they’re into, right?” Cal asks. “I don’t actually know any.”
Mac frowns. “Who the hell are the Gilrod Girls?”
Cal grimaces. “I have no idea.”
“It’s bestie now, I think,” I say, barely able to breathe. I don’t bother trying to explain that the TV shows are about twenty years too old for current teenagers.
“Huh?” Cal asks.
“BFF, loser,” Mac says. “No one says that anymore.”
“You sound like my high school bully,” Cal says. “Wait a minute, you were my high school bully.”
“If by bully you mean I bullied you into going to school and graduating, then yes, proud of it.”
I’m wiping tears from my eyes by the time they quit bickering.
Finally Cal rubs his stomach. “I stopped by to see if you wanted to grab some lunch, Mac, but if you’ve got other plans?—”
“Nate and I are cleaning out the spare room,” Mac says.
“Yes, that will endear your teenage son to you.”
Mac scowls and explains where I was staying and why I can’t stay there anymore.
Cal grimaces. “You’d be better off staying in this place as-is than being anywhere near those assholes,” Cal says.
“The bed’s not accessible as-is,” Mac says. “It’s full of boxes from…you know.”
He and Cal exchange a glance I don’t get. Then Cal says, “Right. Okay, let’s get to it. I accept payment in BLTs. Ooh, or maybe that soup you made the other day.”
“I can help, too,” I say. “For free.”
Cal slaps his chest like he’s been undercut.
I laugh.
But Mac shakes his head. “No.” He says it stiffly and seriously enough that I bite my tongue to keep from insisting. “We’re fine. Nate needs to learn how to deep clean, anyway. His room is a biohazard.”
“Where is the mini-Mac, anyway?” Cal asks.
“Nate!” Mac hollers. “Excuse me,” he says when he gets a muffled response.
“Hey, don’t look so guilty,” Cal says when Mac disappears into the house. “Mac’s been meaning to fix this room up for a decade. You’re doing him a favor by giving him a reason to finally do it.”
“Hasn’t he had houseguests?”
“Yeah, but they sleep in the spare room.”
It hits me that Mac offered me this separate space so that I’d feel more comfortable. I’d be touched, but then I feel even more guilty than before. “I just wish he’d let me help. I’d be more than happy to clear out the whole thing myself. I can always go shopping tomorrow.”
Cal chuckles. “You wouldn’t even be able to offer. You’ll see. The guy’s helpful to a fault. He bends over backward for this whole damn town.” He glances over to the room. “It’s the reason he never—” Cal squishes his lips sideways like he shouldn’t have started that sentence. “Are you staying?” He deflects. “For a bit?”
I’m curious, but whatever he was going to say is really none of my business. “Just until those ATV guys leave the inn.”
“Great. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.” Cal gives me a grin that could be called panty-melting but doesn’t have an ounce of lasciviousness to it. I like this guy. There’s a kindness to him I can see under that charm. Or maybe it’s just his proximity to Mac.
We chat for a bit about my plans for the day until Mac comes back with a sullen Nate in tow. Mac scowls when he sees Cal’s easy posture against the railing next to me.
“We’re besties now,” Cal says.
Mac grumbles.
I laugh. “I’ll get out of your hair. Could you maybe point me to the best cab company to use, though?” When I was at the inn, downtown was within walking distance. But not out here, unless I want to spend an hour getting there.
“I’ll drive you wherever you need to go,” Mac says, already pulling out his keys.
“No,” I say, insistent this time as I think about what Cal told me. “Thank you, though. Besides, I need a place to sleep tonight.”
Cal frowns. “You said you were going shopping?”
“Yeah. I didn’t bring much in the way of clothes…”
Cal eyes Mac. “Call Chris.”
Mac frowns. “Doesn’t she have her other job today?”
“She doesn’t work there on Mondays.”
“Since when do you know my staff’s schedule?”
Cal shrugs. “I know everything in this town.”
“For a guy who swears he doesn’t actually live here.”
I’m lost. “You don’t live here? And who’s Chris?”
“She’s a deeply annoying local,” Cal says. “But she likes clothes.”
“My other server,” Mac corrects. “And as much as I never like to admit it, Cal’s right.”