Our Long Days (Sutton Bay #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

florence

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Fact: parties are fun and games until you’re approached by a stranger.

The music thumps through the floorboards beneath my sneakers, flashes of white zigzag across the room from the strobe light, and a guy with questionable wardrobe choices yaps on about the yield of his crop.

I’m not one to judge, but thick wool socks paired with Birkenstocks in the height of a New England winter is a statement.

Not exactly how I intended to spend New Year’s Eve.

Subtly, I glance at my watch. I’m wearing the fancy analog one I received for my 21st birthday. Under the dim lighting, it’s harder than usual to decipher what the position of the hands translates to, something I’ve always struggled with.

A throat clears, my subtlety flying out of the window.

“Sorry. I was checking the time.” I offer him a tight-lipped smile.

He laughs. It’s not unkind, but there’s a sprinkling of patronization there. “Took you a while.”

The thing is, I know it’s a joke, and perhaps it’s the lack of tequila in my system, but it irks me. I can tell time, just not as quick as most people.

“It’s time I stole my sister away.” At the sound of my brother’s cheerful voice, my irritation disappears. “Sorry, buddy.”

Socks and Sandals eyes the larger man behind me. Booth isn’t intimidating, especially with his cheesy grin and the flamboyant dance moves he was demonstrating minutes earlier. Plus, he’s good at reading people, and my body language screams Help me!

The man doesn’t relent. “Maybe we can swap numbers. I’d like to ta—”

“Nope.” Booth spins us away, moving in the direction of the bar before I can utter a word. “Jeez, Flo. What were you doing, talking to that douche canoe?”

With a huff, I shove his heavy arm off me as we wiggle through the crowd.

“He approached me. Can’t a girl enjoy some male attention now and again?”

“Bleugh. You can do better.”

Booth’s the youngest of my three older brothers. He stands out the most, with his dark brown locks and blue eyes—the rest of us have blonde hair and green eyes. Well, my shade is more platinum thanks to my latest box dye job and sits above my shoulders in a blunt cut.

Booth waves over our oldest brother, Patrick, who mans the bar with his girlfriend, Johanna. “What are you drinking?”

“A paloma, please.”

Propping my elbows up behind me, I scan the room. The tables and chairs that usually make up the restaurant floor are pushed aside for the makeshift dance floor. It might not look like it, but behind the streamers and flashing lights is a sanctuary of sorts, a second home.

Home away from home.

Our Place.

My father and Johanna's always dreamed of going into business together. What was once just an idea between two best friends is now a reality, and the doors have been open for almost thirty years.

A small knot forms in my chest when my hand runs along the smooth wood bar.

Dad would’ve loved this.

“You’re getting all misty eyed over there,” Booth shouts over the vocals of Aretha Franklin. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yep. Just thinking about how Dad would’ve given you a run for your money for the worst dancer.”

He snorts, but there’s a trickle of sadness in his voice. “Who do you think taught me?”

Grief has no expiration date. Almost seven years since our driven, tender father passed away suddenly, and it’s occasions like tonight that hit the hardest.

His memory lies in every nook and cranny. In the white wash paneling and ancient fishing equipment adorning the walls. Embedded in the bar’s woodgrain. Etched into the tables. Framed above the bar.

“He’d have us all doing the Cha-Cha Slide before midnight.” I laugh.

Before my emotions get the better of me, Patrick slides our drinks over then looks to Booth. “Hey, is Aly coming tonight?”

To his credit, my brother’s eyes only widen a fraction at the mention of their new boss’ name. He shrugs, overly casual. “Beats me. She’s invited.”

Deny it all he wants, he’s smitten for Aly, even if he swore to make her life a misery weeks ago.

The restaurant really is a family affair, with all my siblings and their partners involved. Aly and Booth might not be an item, but she’s very involved in the day-to-day since purchasing the restaurant earlier this year.

Me? I prefer to be involved from afar, which was easy while I was backpacking across South and Central America.

Now, not so much. I’m supposed to be on the white sand beaches of Mexico, the cerulean waters licking my toes, but instead, I’m here.

I love Sutton Bay—my hometown—but this wasn’t the plan; crash landing back on my mom’s doorstep, with no money, no job, and absolutely zero clue as to what I’m doing.

I had another four months of traveling planned.

And whose fault is that?

I will the negative voice in my head to shut up for once.

“How’s the job hunt going?” Booth asks, apparently clairvoyant.

My head drops forward. “Shocking.”

He shuffles closer. “You know there’s always a job here if—”

“Nope. No,” I cut him off. “I’m not working at the restaurant.”

I love my brothers, but working under the same roof as them will give them even more reason to fuss over me. Booth is the head chef, Patrick the general manager, and Graham the restaurant’s accountant. Plus, I don’t want a job handed to me because of my connections.

“All right.” He sighs, not totally convinced. He’s the most relaxed out of my brothers, though his protective streak shows itself occasionally.

The opening lines of “Say My Name” by Destiny’s Child starts, and Booth’s face morphs with delight. He abandons his gin and tonic, darts toward the dance floor, and starts gyrating provocatively to the music.

Alone with my thoughts, I watch the throng of people shimmy and shake. I take slow sips of my drink, the sweet and sour liquid sending a light buzz through my body, relaxing my muscles. It’s rare my brain switches off, and tonight is no exception.

Once the first intrusive thought emerges, it triggers a domino effect of uninvited realizations.

I’m twenty-four. Jobless. Living at home. Broke. Navigating ADHD––and neglecting it. Scattered, messy, chaotic.

Diagnosed a few months before jetting out of the country, I’m no closer to understanding my sparkly brain than I was before the diagnosis. What makes me tick? Why is my brain like swiss cheese one day and a tornado the next? What can I do to make my life a teensy bit easier?

My mom is constantly on me to arrange an appointment, which naturally makes me procrastinate.

A vicious cycle. To make matters worse, my brothers don’t know.

I want to tell them, but I’m also not prepared for the onslaught of unsolicited advice and patronizing comments. They mean well, but it’s suffocating.

A plume of townsfolk charge the bar, jostling me back to reality. Not wanting to get trampled, I search for a quiet corner. That’s when a pair of stormy gray eyes catch my attention.

He must have just arrived. Standing at six-foot-five, the tattooed, husky man is hard to miss.

Dexter Moore might look the part of the surly woodsman, but he’s a big softy under all the flannel and ink.

Point proven when a brilliant smile graces his face, mustache hitching up, sun-kissed even during the height of winter from all those hours outside.

The first butterfly awakens when I make my way over, happy to find someone to talk to, even happier it’s him.

“Little Sadler.”

Goose bumps prickle my skin at the deep voice, gravely and oh-so-masculine.

It’s a thought I shouldn’t have about Patrick’s best friend, but I’m human.

I have eyes and a healthy libido, and this man has had this effect on me since I was seventeen.

The rule: look, don’t touch. And I’ve done a lot of looking over the years.

“Dexter.” The low lighting of the room hides my crimson cheeks. “Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Someone has to keep you in check. The last party we both attended, you ended up skinny dipping in the bay.”

My mouth flattens, mortified he remembers that. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbles. “You were in a world of your own over there. Want to share?”

I was thinking how I’m sure your thighs could crack me like a watermelon and I’d thoroughly enjoy it.

My gaze drops to my feet, admiring the worn toe of my sneakers. Knowing he was watching me during an extensional crisis is not my finest moment—nor was the skinny dipping.

“Oh, you know…” My head whips up when Dex shifts on his feet.

I tilt my head a fraction, finding his hearing aid fitted in his left ear. Dex has been hard of hearing since he was a teenager. Having known him my entire life, ensuring he can see my lips and speaking clearly is second nature.

“I was thinking about the fact we’re the only single people left.” A lie, but it’s the first thing to pop into my head. I gesture to where Booth and Aly are trying their hardest not to acknowledge each other’s existence. “Even he’s ten steps away from falling in love.”

Tonguing his cheek, he chuckles. “You’re young.”

“I’m not that young. I have boobs now.”

Blink and you’d miss it. His eyes flare for a nanosecond, sweeping down my body before they snap back up to my face. Dex isn’t unfamiliar with my bold remarks, and it makes me giddy that after almost two years out of the country, they still have the same effect.

I go to move the conversation on when we’re joined by my middle brother, Graham, and his girlfriend, Quinn. Booth, Aly, and Harriet, Johanna’s younger sister, soon join.

More drinks are poured, we dance, chat, and then midnight arrives. Dex and I stand awkwardly among the couples, and every so often, someone bumps into us, causing our shoulders to knock.

It’s torture.

“Oh! Everyone!” Quinn shouts over the music excitedly. “Midnight strikes in two minutes. Grab your partners.”

Booth not so discreetly eyes Aly. Graham wraps Quinn up in a bear hug. Even Patrick and Jo, who are still behind the bar, shuffle in closer, ready to lock lips.

A thick bicep brushes my arm, covered in a blue and green flannel shirt. My body heats. Blame the tequila.

Discomfort ripples from him. Quinn clocks our rigid postures and snickers.

“Hey, I didn’t say you had to kiss.” Her lips quiver, fighting back a smile. “Or do.”

Nervous laughter bubbles out of me while Dex scrubs a hand across his buzz cut, two crimson spots staining his cheeks.

Thankfully, we’re spared any further embarrassment when the room counts down from ten.

Being kissed at midnight is cliché anyway.

When was I last kissed?

Is Dex a good kisser?

Is it okay to think about kissing my brother’s best friend?

I’m so caught up in my internal monologue, my surroundings are forgotten, and the bellowing cheers fade into the background. It’s the featherlight touch above the waistband of my leather skirt that pulls me back to the present, solid and warm.

A maelstrom of emotions barrages me at Dex’s proximity.

It’s subtle. Hidden in the dark. The motive unclear and confusing.

When I glance up at him from under my lashes, he smiles, toasting our friends, oblivious to the full-body tremble quaking from my head to my toes.

When his gaze meets mine, silver flames swallow the cool gray.

I’m certain I’m hallucinating until large fingers flex on my lower back, digging into my bare skin.

I wet my lips, and he follows the movement, throat working as he swallows.

There’s an invisible string tugging deep in my stomach, pulling me further into his touch.

Everywhere he touches, anywhere his eyes land, a fire erupts.

It’s quickly extinguished when a drunken partygoer loses their footing, colliding into our huddle and drenching us in sticky, ice cold liquid.