19. Fisher
CHAPTER NINETEEN
fisher
The ringing in my ears startles the shit out of me. I jerk back, heart hammering, and yank my headphones off. On instinct, I search the monitor set to watch Libby’s house. But it’s not showing a motion notification. No one is there.
It’s just the alarm I set to ensure I’m not late.
I rub a hand down my face, shaking off the shock.
Maybe if I hadn’t set the alarm’s volume to the highest setting, I wouldn’t be drowning in adrenaline, but then it could have easily become background noise, and I’m an expert at tuning that shit out.
And the last thing I want is to be late for the girls.
An hour and a half ago, when Libby came by asking if Sutton wanted to get ready for the lobster bake with her, I welcomed the plan. Alone, I’ve had more time to work. And this way I won’t have to deal with hacking Langfield Corp’s email later tonight.
I didn’t know much about Langfield Corp before agreeing to this job, but I learned quickly that everything the Boston billionaires who own the company have is the best. Including their cyber security.
Their firewall is intriguing. It’s different in so many ways from the systems most massive corporations use.
That alone means that what should have taken me thirty or forty minutes took the entire hour and a half.
Mostly because I spent too much time fascinated by how the Langfields’ system operates and exploring ways to work around it.
A smile threatens as I hit the last few strokes that prove that as high-end as the firewall is, it’s no match for me.
Not that anyone at Langfield Corp will know who the ghost that left them the parting gift is.
I rub my hands together just as my second alarm blares through the headphones sitting on the desk. I grab my phone and silence it, then shoot off a single text.
Me: I win.
Now that I’ve finished, I have to get the girls to a lobster bake.
Quickly, I toss on a clean white T-shirt and run my hands through my hair, then stride across the yard. I’m climbing the porch steps when the door opens.
“Thought it was six thirty sharp,” Libby teases from the threshold.
I can’t form an answer because, holy shit, one look at the gorgeous woman in front of me, and all the circuits in my brain short out.
Between the short pink sundress that clings to her perky tits, the long, wavy blond hair, and huge blue eyes sparkling at me, I can’t decide where to focus. Everything about her is perfect.
“Did I take your breath away, growly bear?”
With a huff of a laugh, I climb the three steps and stop in front of her. A breeze rushes past us, bringing with it a hint of cold, and she shivers, her body breaking out in goose bumps.
On instinct, I brush a lock of hair from her face so I can see her pretty eyes. “Growly bear?” I cock a brow and lean in. Instantly, I’m hit with a whiff of her sweet scent. My stomach tightens and a desire to wrap an arm around her, to tuck her against me, almost takes over.
She shrugs, but I swear she shifts impossibly closer. “Yeah, that’s not it. But I’ll find a nickname for you eventually.”
I search her face, drinking in every detail. Although I’m not willing to admit it, I love that idea. “Careful, Princess. A nickname might have the town folk thinking you like me.”
“Never.” She gives me a shove so pathetic I don’t budge.
Instead, I grab her hip and hold her to me.
Her breath catches, and her body tenses almost imperceptibly.
Every time we’re close, she hesitates, stiffens. I’m not sure if it’s just my touch she doesn’t like or if it’s everyone’s.
So, gut tightening, I let go, but I don’t step back. “So did you dress up for the guys at the dock?”
Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she peers up at me through dark lashes. “What if I told you it was for you?”
My throat goes tight. “Is it?” Shit, I’d love it if that was the case.
She bats her eyes at me and shifts back an inch or two. “No, it was for me.”
I don’t hate that answer as much as I thought I would. Not when it comes with a satisfied smile. One that makes me think that maybe this is the first time the girl who spent her life on camera has been given the opportunity to dress up for herself and no one else.
I love that for her. But I also love the way she pouts when I tease her. Although Cank swears a good woman will settle a man, Libby makes me feel anything but settled. No, she makes me feel keyed up. Turned up. Absolutely out of sorts. Settled? Not even close.
“Looks like you’re dressed up for a date,” I point out.
And here comes the cute little purse of her lips and that narrowing of her eyes. “I’m not dating.”
I rock back on my heels and fight a smirk. She’s protesting a bit too much, so I push her. “Good, because this isn’t a date.”
The frown that settles across her pretty face only makes me smile. Because that means she might want it to be. “It certainly feels like a date since you insisted on picking me up and refuse to allow me to drive my new golf cart.”
Behind her, the door flies open and Sutton appears, looking adorable in her favorite sundress. I’m not sure the last time I saw her so fancied up. Maybe Ivy and Star’s wedding last summer.
“Why do you always stand on top of each other?” she huffs.
Libby immediately steps back. Fuck. My entire system feels the loss of her presence instantly.
Now that there’s room for her between us, Sutton spins in a circle, showing off her dress and curled hair. Normally we pull it up. I know nothing about blow drying or curling wands or whatever the fuck they’re called. The kid’s lucky I can braid.
Tonight, though, she’s glowing. It kills me that her mom isn’t here for these moments.
For the millionth time, I wonder what the heck my brother was thinking leaving his daughter to me.
“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Libby cocks an expectant brow.
“Yes,” I jump in. “Absolutely beautiful, sweet pea.”
“Look, even my nails are pink.” Beaming, she holds out her little hand, showing me the bubble-gum pink nails that match Libby’s dress. “Just like the golf cart.”
Yeah, that too.
“Nice.”
With a twirl, she darts to Libby’s side. “Can we take the golf cart?”
“No,” I say at the same time Libby says, “Sure, we’ll take Putt-Putt.”
“Putt-Putt?” Sutton tilts her head, brow furrowed.
“I’ve decided that’s her name.”
My niece nods easily, as if it makes any sense that the damn thing should have a name.
“No matter what we call it, we’re not taking it.”
She whirls on me, hands on her hips, blond hair flying. “Why not?”
I scowl. “I’m not driving that pink-mobile.”
“You did earlier,” she points out.
“That was different. Libby needed a lesson.”
That response is met with matching eye rolls.
Instead of replying, Libby just heads inside calling “I’ll get the keys” over her shoulder.
“I said no,” I bark through the screen door.
“I’ll move the blanket and stuff from the truck.” Sutton hops off the porch and darts for her dad’s truck.
“But I said no,” I call again.
Ten minutes later, I pull up to the stretch of grass the town calls a park and drop the girls off.
“You go park Putt-Putt. We’ll find the perfect spot.” Sutton hops off the back seat. With a sweet smile, Libby grabs the blanket and cooler I packed.
“Fine.” Feeling ridiculous in the pink ride all alone, I ease down toward the dock. I’ve just climbed off the cart when my best friend steps up next to me.
“Elephant in the room,” he chirps.
I scowl and sidestep the asshole.
He shuffles to one side, cutting me off. “I like the pink sparkles. It might clash with the whole grrr”—he gives me an exaggerated scowl—“you got going on, but it fits the rest of the family’s vibe.”
“Libby’s not family,” I grit out as I lean to one side, searching for the girls. When I find them smiling and laughing and spreading the blanket out next to Maggie and Eddy, I turn back to Wilder.
He’s wearing an obnoxious smirk. “Yet here you are at another town event. Two weeks in a row. Must be some kind of record for you.”
“I saved you a spot on my blanket, baby.” The blonde from the bar a few weeks ago calls out. She blows Wilder a kiss and points a long nail at a red and white plaid blanket a few yards away.
He winces.
“Elephant in the room.” I love it when it’s my turn. “Your girl just keeps on staying.”
I can’t help but fuck with him. The woman came for a bachelorette weekend, and after she met Wilder, she extended her stay. She’s been here for two weeks now. And everyone on the island knows it’s because she has her heart set on my best friend.
“She’s not my girl.” The grumble is so unlike Wilder.
Movement behind him catches my eye, and irritation works its way up my spine. There’s a group of guys heading toward Libby, Maggie, and Eddy. And fuck if that isn’t my cue to leave.
“You can’t say that about Libby, though,” Wilder calls as I stride toward my girls.
And, oddly enough, this time I don’t want to deny it.