Chapter 16Hazel
Chapter 16
Hazel
My sandals pad over the polished bamboo flooring, nice and quiet. I make it to my computer bag.
I trade it for the one I brought, then turn with my mind on slinking back to the door.
I can’t make my escape, though.
Not yet.
Because now I hear a man singing… and it sounds an awful lot like Jack.
I freeze, totally captivated.
The guy I dated in college, Sully, never sang. We were together for four years, and the most vulnerability he showed was when he occasionally teared up during movies. But he quickly swiped those tears away.
And after that, my next serious relationship was with the dreaded, deceptive Derek.
He definitely didn’t sing. He was so buttoned up, so tightly wound, he barely laughed .
So, this… this is very new to me.
Jack’s deep, rich, totally manly voice dips and soars over a wide range of notes.
He’s really into the song, whatever it is. I perk my ears.
It sounds… poppy.
Like something I’ve heard on the radio recently.
Oh, my goodness… is he ? —?
He is.
He’s belting out a Taylor Swift song—like, at the top of his lungs.
I really need to leave.
The door to the outside is still propped open. There are only eight feet of bamboo flooring I would have to cross. A few quick steps, and I would be out of here, and he’d never know I heard him.
But my heart has melted into a gooey puddle of honey right here by the couch.
I really can’t remember why I needed my laptop.
Email…? What email?
Who cares about that?
My world has been reduced to a white couch, a stretch of floor that contains a turquoise runner rug. That rug leads down a hallway… and that’s where the singing is coming from, along with the sounds of water raining down into a shower stall.
A door halfway down the hall opens up.
Steam billows out.
He’s still singing. He steps out into the cloud of steam, working with his fingers to fasten a towel around his waist.
That’s all he’s in. A towel.
He gets the terry cloth tucked in just so and then looks out toward the sitting room...
And the singing stops.
Of course. I mean, now he knows he has an audience. Jack has confidence up to his ears, but nobody is so confident that they can belt out pop princess lyrics in the presence of company—while wearing only a towel. Right?
He peers through the steam. “Hazel…?”
“Yeah. Yeah… er… it’s me.”
He emerges from the cloud of body-wash-scented steam, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What are you doing here?” His chest glistens with beaded water. He didn’t dry off completely, and I am quite likely drooling over the way the water drips over his pecs.
I swallow. “Me? Ummm…”
I was Odysseus, affected by your siren’s song.
My feet got glued to the floor for a minute there.
“Men—I mean, the men I’ve known… I guess they didn’t really sing. So, er—so, was that Taylor Swift?”
He keeps walking toward me, now with a smile on his lips. He’s happy to see me.
Stop.
Don’t come any closer.
I will become totally unraveled if he steps closer.
His hair is wet, and he smells so good, and he is naked under that towel. This is a million times worse than catching him with bed-head hair… and, at the same time, a million times better.
My heart is doing somersaults.
He pauses five feet away from me.
No, don’t stop.
I know this is trouble. Yet, at the exact same time that my brain says distance is good, every cell in my body wants him to come closer.
His green eyes drift over my hair, which is tied up at the top of my head, then down to my face.
“How about that? You’re even more beautiful without a trace of makeup on,” he murmurs, his voice deep.
Nope . I cannot handle a compliment while surviving this situation.
The smile sneaks to my lips, unwanted. I feel my lashes flutter. “Was that—were you singing—that was Taylor Swift, right?”
I lean to the side so my hip can rest on the back of the couch.
If I don’t, I will fall.
Not only did he say I’m beautiful, but he’s looking at me like I’m beautiful.
I feel downright dizzy with the heady rush sweeping through me, now buzzing in my veins. Feeling this desired—it’s like a drug.
“You look so fresh,” he says, ignoring my question.
“It was. I know it was.”
His smile creates those two dimples that dig into his tanned cheeks. “Yeah, okay. You caught me.”
“You seemed to know the chorus well.”
He puts both hands up. “I’ll say it. I find some of the melodies sort of catchy, okay?”
“Okay.” I can’t help the giggle that sneaks out.
I met a guy who’s hardcore about his love of motorcycles. A guy who drives a truck, and surfs, and has more muscles than I’ve seen on Bowflex ads… and…
“You’re a Swiftie?” I ask, mid-giggle.
“I don’t know if I’d call myself that .” He chuckles again. “I blame my nieces for the fact I know way too many of the words. Hey, you’re here for your bag, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I tried to do some work last night and realized I had your laptop by mistake.”
“Wait—you were trying to put in extra hours on vacation?”
“I know I might come off as a slacker, but I’m really not. I got a text from Chad, and he’s happy about that realtor I got him in touch with. Things are looking up for him, I guess. He hinted that he’ll take another look at that email sequence and reconsider his complaint.”
In my periphery, I see that Jack’s lips are moving. He is talking at a fast clip, too fast for my swooning brain.
He’s saying something about Chad.
I should be paying attention.
But the fact that he isn’t wearing pants, or shorts, or— eek —even boxers or briefs right now is throwing me for a loop.
As in, I’m riding a rollercoaster.
It’s wild and delightful, and perhaps exactly the fun Alexis told me to seek out.
Collecting my computer bag from my fellow Sales Lead shouldn't be this fun.
“Hrm. Good, wow, great.” I murmur. Am I even making sense?
He chuckles. “You tracking with me, Sport?”
“Sport? You mean me?”
“You.”
I push my hair behind my ear and dare look at him. “I’m with you. Great. That’s, ah hem … great that Chad is in an improved mood. Could you—maybe—go get dressed or something?”
“Oh. Yeah, right. I’d apologize, except you did sorta let yourself in.” His eyes dance with amusement.
“I know, I know… Totally my bad.” I bite my lip before I let it slip out that this is exactly what my lonely life needed, and I am loving every single second of this.
“Okay. Yeah, I’m on it. I’ll throw some shorts on. But just real quick—let me follow up on this before I forget ’cause I’m supposed to have a call with him today, and I know you want to be in the loop. We’ll talk through the new sequence you provided, and he’ll let me know if he’s cool with it. If he is, we’re all set. Sound good?”
“Um…”
I can’t form even one coherent thought.
My life has been starved for exactly this, but I’m overwhelmed by how it’s hitting me.
It’s his pheromones. Has to be his pheromones.
Just don’t breathe in, Hazel.
Ugh.
They must be seeping through my pores.
I stay leaning near the couch. This is much easier with a little support, and if I stare down at the cotton twill, I don’t have to look at him.
I run my fingertips over the soft tapestry of threads. “Got it. Great. Thanks for the update and—um—keeping me in the loop. I take it you couldn’t do any work because I had your computer. I’m sorry about that.”
“Hey, not your fault. We must have mixed up the bags when we chilled by the pool.” His easy laugh rolls off his tongue. “No harm, no foul. I’ll just catch up on it this morning before he rings me up. We set that up for eleven, so I have time.”
“I thought for sure you were against logging hours on company stuff while here.”
“Well, it turns out, a distraction’s in order.”
“Ah ha.”
“Sorta had some steam to burn off last night, and I thought keeping busy might help.”
“Yep.” I smooth my whole hand over the couch cushion now. It feels important to fidget. This cotton twill has a very rustic, casual look to it. Versatile, durable…
Please, Hazel, just keep thinking about this fabric.
I can’t resist.
My eyes flick up.
Yikes.
He’s fixing his towel tuck, tightening it around his waist. “Speaking of steam, I totally should throw some clothes on. I gotta shave really quick, too.”
“Yeah, go—get dressed,” I choke out.
His ab muscles taper near the towel edge. I really need him to go put on one of those loose-fitting Hawaiian shirts to cover up all the drool-worthy goodness he has going on there. And a pair of khakis. The sooner, the better.
“Be right back,” he says.
Then… he winks at me.
He just tosses it out. Like I’m not here fumbling and fidgeting and losing my mind, and this wink isn’t the final straw.
But—it is.
My insides careen with the implications. It’s like the lobby all over again, only now I’m not reading into a three-Mississippi count of eye-gazing. It’s the wink that has me in a tizzy.
It’s like he’s giving me some secret, lover-to-lover communication.
The minute he disappears back down the hallway, I exhale with relief.
Finally—I can breathe, relax my tense shoulders, and at least try to gather myself.
Agh .
This day is a runaway train already.
The door behind me bursts open, and a little girl’s voice flits through the airy space.
“Daddy said I could try to stand up,” she announces cheerfully. “And I did it! I really did it. Did you see it, Jazzy? How I was standing up when that wave came in?”
I whirl around in time to see Jack’s brother—Brett, I recall—prop a big, raggedy-looking surfboard against the bungalow wall. It has chips and dings along one side and huge scuff marks along the top. Sand showers down from it and skitters across the floor.
Brett chuckles as he kicks off his sandals. “You caught your first wave, Lia.”
Meanwhile, the woman at his side—his wife, I think—shoots him a look of warning. “Please do not encourage her, Brett.”
Two little girls, the same ones I’ve seen with this group before, are kicking off their sandals.
They all seem to notice me at the same time. The happy commotion grinds to a halt.
“Oh! Helloooo,” the woman says cautiously. She sneaks a peek at her husband, shooting him a quick, subtle smile as she raises her brows.
I think it’s supposed to be one of those secret husband-to-wife transmissions, but I catch the look. For some reason, she’s happy to see me here.
What has she heard about me?
How much does she know?
“You must be Hazel Thorpe,” she adds when she looks back at me. “Glad to finally meet you. I’m Corinne.”
So, she knows too much.
She and Brett both know too much.
He has that hidden amusement look in his eye like Jack gets when he’s trying to hide a laugh.
They must know about my Craigslist ad. I’m probably a big joke to them.
“I’m just here to grab my work bag,” I promise in a big rush. I can feel the blush tinting my cheeks already. “We mixed them up. Last night.” Also, I’m not as desperate as that ad made me sound. I just wanted to cheer up my mom.
The girls are both looking at me, wide-eyed.
The younger one then marches right up to me. She looks about eight or nine. Her black hair is pulled into two twin braids that poke out above her ears and swing with each step she takes.
She wraps her arms around my waist. “ Aloha . That’s how people say ‘hi’ sometimes here. But it means more than that because Hawaii is the best place in the world.”
Her arms are surprisingly strong for how thin and wiry they appear. She smells of salty ocean water, and her damp swimsuit feels cool against my skin.
As she squeezes me, she rests her head on my side. “You’re Uncle Jack’s friend. We saw you by the turtle water.”
“Ophelia, honey, give her some space,” Corinne says. She smiles tentatively at me. “So, we heard you two had a nice meal together.”
Brett removes his trucker hat and sunglasses and tosses them on a table. “You got a fax machine, huh? Those things are ancient.”
How the heck does he know I have a fax machine?
“Don’t give her a hard time, hon.” Corinne relaxes into a soft laugh as she swats at her husband and returns to unpacking from their beach trip.
Given all the sand they've managed to track in, they must have been on an early morning outing to the shore. As it sloughs off her mesh tote bag, it looks like snow.
Brett has a little more weight on him than Jack. When he smiles, his cheeks bunch up.
“You’re really giving him a run for his money, Hazel,” he says. “We love it that you’re keeping him on his toes.”
Corinne nods with approval and then smiles my way again. “We really do. We loved your Craigslist ad, too. Brilliant. Brave. Honest.”
“Oh… I don’t know about all that.” I’d confess to my tipsy state of mind if not for the kids around.
“I think all this tropical sunshine got to me,” I say instead of going into details about the rum and how much was mixed into every fruity-flavored sip.
“Well, it was awesome,” Corinne says.
“Totally awesome,” Brett seconds.
He crosses the room briskly, and the next thing I know, he’s offering me his hand.
Unsure what to do, I shake his palm. But as we shake, he pulls me in for an unexpected hug. He’s as damp from swimming as his daughter was. “Stay for breakfast. We brought a boatload of donuts and pastries from the buffet.”
Corinne extracts the white box from her tote bag. “The croissants are light and buttery. We’ll brew up some coffee.”
I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs; my reaction is automatic. “Coffee…? How? All I have in my bungalow is a microwave.”
“Oh, Hazel, you should see this place,” Brett calls to me from way across the living room.
He steps into an alcove that I can’t quite see, but his voice booms out. “We’ve got the two-bedroom, two-bath, kitchen-included unit. When you’ve got a brother like Jackie Boy, you get all the perks.”
My nose sniffs the air. Based on the rustling sounds I hear and the scent of dark roast now filling the room, I can guess he’s loading grinds into a filter.
Even though I’d love a real cup of coffee and my stomach twists with yearning for a buttery croissant, I make myself shake my head. “I should get going. I just came to swap out laptops.”
The feel of a small hand wrapping around mine surprises me at first. I look down and see Ophelia gazing up at me like I’m some movie star. “Uncle Jack said you’re pretty and nice.”
“Ophelia, honey,” Corinne says with a quick laugh. She lowers her voice, and as she passes us, she leans in. “He did say that. But that might have been for only us Morgans to know.”
“Well, she is pretty and nice,” Ophelia tells her mom.
I squeeze her hand. “Thanks. I like your bathing suit.” I can see now that the suit has a sea turtle on it. “Pretty cool.”
She looks down proudly. “We got it at the gift shop. Come on.” She leads me toward the table.
Beyond digging my heels in, there’s no way to get away.
The door to the outside gets farther and farther away. Ophelia pulls a chair out for me and pats the cushion. Once I sit, she pulls a chair up close to mine.
The second, older girl, perches in the chair on my other side. She seems to have about five years on her sister and is a foot taller. Her hair is in similar braids, and her smile is just as warm.
Corinne and Brett are now in the galley-sized kitchen, whispering together happily as Corinne sets pastries on a plate.
When Brett looks over his shoulder at me, I can guess what he’s discussing with his wife—me, and my presence in their bungalow. Me, and my dealings with his little brother.
Corinne nods at something he’s saying. Then she steals a look at me, too.
“Uncle Jack has been singing a lot,” Ophelia whispers to me matter-of-factly. “He sometimes sings at home, but not this much.”
She eyes me with big, brown eyes that contain way more emotion than I ever guessed a nine-year-old could muster. “We woke up early to go to the beach because that’s when the waves are the best. Uncle Jack dove head-first into the waves, and then he was singing while we walked on the beach, looking for sharks’ teeth.”
“How long have you all been up, anyway?”
Jasmine holds up her wristwatch. “We had to stay in bed until five o’clock, but me and Lia were up before that. Mommy says it’s because time works different here, and traveling with kids is a challenge.”
“A challenge…” I nod, thinking about my own disrupted sleep patterns.
Then again, my sleepless nights have had more to do with my confusing feelings toward Jack than anything else.
Jasmine’s wide eyes match her sister’s. “Uncle Jack only sings like this when he’s super happy.”
“Is that so?” I can feel my blush creeping back to my cheeks.
Corinne steps out of the kitchen. She places the plate of pastries and donuts on the center of the table, then plops down into a seat.
She tents her hands together and rests her chin on them. She has the same brown eyes as her daughters, and they’re also focused on me.
The three of them look at me like I’m some alien creature who landed in their living quarters.
What do they want from me?
I nervously tuck one leg up onto the chair.
“Coffee will be just a minute,” Corinne assures me. Then she leans in and delivers a knowing look. “It’s true, you know. What the girls are saying.” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s been singing… a lot.” She checks over her shoulder to where the hallway disappears.
Jack’s bedroom is down there.
Somewhere, not too far away, Jack is getting dressed.
Corinne catches my eye. “We’re just really relieved to see him this happy. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but the whole Jess thing caught him totally off-guard.”
What ‘Jess thing?’ I wonder.
Before I can dwell on it, she goes on. “It’s like he’s been walking on clouds since you two connected.”
“Mommy, what’s connected?” Ophelia leans her thin frame way over the table to reach for a donut.
“Missy, whatever one you touch is yours,” Corinne reminds her daughter. “We love you, but we don’t want your sticky fingers on our food.”
Ophelia seems to find this hilarious. She tips her head back to giggle, then plucks up a chocolate-iced donut.
“We’re working on manners,” Corinne tells me.
Jasmine politely reaches past me. She gestures to the display. “Hazel, which one do you want? You can pick before me and Mommy and Daddy. You’re the guest of honor.”
I thank her and choose a croissant. Brett sashays out of the kitchen, a full pot of coffee in one hand and a bouquet of mugs in the other. He places one of the mugs in front of me and fills it to the brim.
“So, you’re a whiz with marketing, is what we’ve heard.”
“Jack is very impressed,” Corinne says.
“I’m definitely not that good,” I say before gratefully bringing the cup to my lips. Mmm . Instant coffee is helpful in a pinch, but it just doesn’t compare. “I was a journalist for a while for a local newspaper. I started pitching in when the advertising team was short-staffed… I guess that’s what got me into the whole world of copywriting.”
“Is that right?” Corinne sips from her cup.
Brett lowers down into a chair with an old-man-style grunt. “Oof… my knees. They’re not made for surfing. That’s cool, Hazel, that you were with a newspaper for a while. We love our local rag. I mean, online media is great, but there’s nothing quite like newsprint and ink.”
“Why’d you transition to the digital side of things?” Corinne wants to know.
Jasmine hands me a napkin.
Ophelia’s leg lilts to the side until her bony knee rests on my lap. She munches her donut distractedly.
And… just like that, I am sitting at a breakfast table with the Morgan clan. They’ve swallowed me up in this warm embrace, and I feel less like an alien and more like… well, like a friend.
It’s incredibly nice.
Sitting at the kitchen table with my parents back in Windsor hasn’t felt this warm and cozy in ages.
“I guess it was the salary, if I’m honest,” I admit.
“Local papers are pretty shoestring, budget-wise,” Brett agrees. “Makes sense, too, with the way print is falling off people’s radars.”
“I use newspapers for making hats sometimes,” Ophelia says. Then she waves her fingers. “Hey, I do have sticky fingers!”
Jasmine gets out of her chair and races to Ophelia’s. “We all love Lia’s sticky fingers!” she quips before tickling her sister’s waist. Both girls dissolve into giggles.
I find myself laughing, too.
I’m not sure how this happened. Technically, I am very far away from my apartment and the town I grew up in.
But as I let my back relax into the chair behind me, I feel an odd sense of being right at home.