Chapter 3 Caroline
THREE
Caroline
He’s waiting outside the diner for me to finish my shift, tossing an apple from hand to hand like a bored, annoying twelve-year-old.
Every day this week he’s been standing out there waiting for me.
I even tried to switch my shifts around to catch him off guard, but that persistent bastard figured it out.
Mama swears she didn’t tell him anything, and Shirley uses her big smile whenever I ask her what the ogre is doing peeping in our windows.
Something she does both when she’s telling the truth and lying, so I can’t be sure what is going on.
The only reason I haven’t given him an answer about using my airport is because I honestly don’t know if it’s the right decision.
What if it’s the first step in total domination?
The whole saying “give someone an inch and they take a mile” scares me.
If the fervor in which he’s pursuing me means anything, the man wants the airport badly.
All of it. Not just rented time for a sum of money that would make an oil tycoon’s eyes widen.
For the most part I’ve been cordial and kind.
I’m Southern, those traits are bred into me, but I can’t help the snark that comes after a long day.
He’s a welcome sight, don’t get me wrong, it’s the second he opens his mouth that the mystique goes out the window.
Something in the way he speaks—the tone of his voice tells me not to trust him.
That’s another Southern specialty. Sniffing out lies.
“He didn’t even ask about the airport yesterday, Caroline. Why don’t you just give in and go out with the man? Did you ever think he might just want to get to know you?”
I smile. “You think a man like that wants to get to know me? Come on, Shirl, you’re too smart for that.”
Shirley drags a rag over a table, leaning over, eyes to the window in thought. “What if you believe the best until he proves you wrong?”
It’s easy for a beautiful woman like Shirley to assume the best until the worst rears. She has options. Limitless options in men. For someone like me, a woman who is a slave to her hobbies and passions, I hope one day to find a man who will put up with being second fiddle.
Sighing, I take a bite of the pizza in front of me. Caleb made me a quick lunch before he left for the day and Daniel took over the kitchen. Daniel is far less jovial—with hard lines creasing his face like scars of anger. “I need to make a decision, and then he’ll go away.”
“Or be in your business constantly. He’ll be at your house, for crying out loud,” Shirley says, accent twanging.
“Have a passion-filled day…and night with that man and get this over with. I can’t think of a better person to pop your icy cherry than that man.
” She nods at the window, at Tyler. He’s shirtless now, balancing the apple on his chin.
“That takes skill.” She’s shaking her head, like she’s actually impressed.
Laughing, I finish my pizza, tell Desmond a few things, and ditch my apron. “It takes something. Not sure if skill is the word I’d use.”
“Commend the man’s persistence! I’ve never been on the receiving end of something like that!” Shirley coos into my ear, leaning close.
“Because your morals are as loose as your…” I whisper into her ear.
Shaking her head, she leaves me to steel my nerves.
Business Caroline needs to bubble to the surface.
Savvy. Confident. Willful. Qualities I don’t have.
In high school I let a rumor swirl for months because I was too meek to correct anyone.
It was easier to be silent and take the path of least resistance.
I can find my voice now because something I love is being threatened.
My short, white dress uniform is miraculously still clean as I freshen up in the bathroom.
“He’s just a man,” I tell my reflection. One that wants more than I’m willing to give, the practical side of my brain reminds me.
When I push open the side door, the hot, swampy air coats me.
A light sheen of condensation takes hold of every exposed skin cell on my body.
My white bike is parked in the rack on the side of the restaurant, a pile of empty cardboard boxes stacked next to it.
There’s no need to put a lock on my bike here, not anywhere in Bronze Bay, actually.
I wheel it to the front of the restaurant, ready for Tyler’s daily joke.
He has a new one every day, and they’ve progressively gotten worse.
My guess is he doesn’t have a humorous bone in his body.
He probably Googles dad jokes and uses the ones that come up first.
“Shouldn’t you be working or something? For someone who has such an important job, you have a lot of time to waste,” I say, putting a hand on my hip, my gaze focused anywhere but his shirtless chest. We’re in Florida, so it’s commonplace for men and boys to run around without shirts on.
It’s a beach town. Somehow he makes shirtless seem triple-X rated.
From my peripheral vision I see a red bike with a large basket in the front, the same as my cruiser, but larger and older. “Got a bicycle, huh?”
“Yesterday I ran behind your bike all the way to the airport, remember? This will be a little easier on my lungs. It’s so humid here. How do you deal with it? I feel like a fish, sucking in water with my oxygen.”
Laughing, I let my guard slip. “I don’t know anything else. It’s what I grew up in.”
“You don’t even sweat,” Tyler exclaims, gesturing to my body. It’s true, I don’t. A dewy glow is all I get. Even after a workout, a thick sheen is my sole sweat reward. I heard it’s good to sweat, so it’s not a quality I’m proud of, but it is convenient.
Shrugging, I throw a leg over my bike as daintily as I can with the kitschy dress. “Is that an opening for today’s joke?” I ask. “You don’t have to follow me home today. My daddy isn’t there, so you won’t be able to work him.”
I meet his eyes for the first time, and it’s a mistake. “Who said I was trying to work him?”
Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath. “How long are you going to do this?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tyler replies, not missing a beat. “I was just working out yesterday. It’s a free country. I can run anywhere I please.” He grins. I don’t miss the joke. “Are you going to come out for a drink with me tonight?” he asks. “It’s Friday.”
“Oh, there’s the joke. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your impeccable touch.”
Tyler winces, an exaggerated gesture, while flashing white, perfect teeth and dimples. “That wasn’t a joke, but I didn’t have one for today, so it can be if you want.” A bead of sweat slides down his neck and cuts a path down his rippled, tattooed chest.
A slow blink cuts my view, and I suck in a deep breath. “What if I get a drink with you? Will you leave me alone and let me make a decision about the airport in peace?”
“I enjoy your company,” he replies, hopping on his bike, facing me.
It looks ridiculous. He’s so enormous. His bathing suit is hung so low on his narrow hips I know he’s wearing nothing underneath.
“Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.
Let me be useful. I saw the paint cans yesterday.
I’m a monster with a paint roller. What do you say? ”
Even if he’s only paying attention to me because he wants something, I can’t deny how it makes me feel.
I’ve never felt like this before. This sort of mix between lusting for something I know is bad for me and the vulnerability of knowing I don’t have the first clue how to deal with a man like Tyler.
He’s sweating everywhere now: his face, arms, legs, and gleaming torso.
I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes.
“You help me paint the harder-to-reach areas, I get a drink with you, and then you leave me alone. No more bad jokes or stalking me at work,” I say, waving my arm to the diner and then back to him.
“Deal. Can we get going now, though? If I don’t get some airflow, I’ll melt.”
I smirk and start pedaling for home. His bike squeaks behind me until we reach the hangar.
I didn’t lie about my daddy being gone, but I forgot what that would mean.
I’d be here by myself with this man. Parking my bike, I try to ignore the flip-flop sensation in my stomach.
Tyler reaches over and grabs his shirt out of the basket on his bike.
I hold the door open after I unlock it and enter.
“You need to grease your bike. It sounds like something out of a horror movie,” I remark, making my way to the office to see if there’s anything pressing I need to deal with.
This building has a faint smell of oil covered in the vanilla scent I use to pretend my house is normal—not an airplane hangar.
Tyler uses his T-shirt to towel off the sweat while standing in the office doorway. “I bought it at a yard sale while I was walking to the diner today,” he admits. “I’ll get it fixed up.”
“You sure are adjusting to small-town living rather quickly,” I say, thumbing through the stack of mail, eyeing his muscles as he bends to wipe his legs.
I pull out one of the envelopes I know is a bill and rip into it. “The whole reason I’m here is for a change of pace. I figured it would serve me best if I took full advantage of everything Bronze Bay has to offer.” The double entendre was covered well, but, of course, I heard it.
“What’s it like?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity under wraps.
“What’s what like?” Tyler replies, without looking up.
I clear my throat, and hot shame rises for asking something so personal. “The war? Living in a big city? Life outside of here?” It’s personal on my side, too. It rips the small-town girl wide open, showing all my stereotypical cards.