15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday, June 30th
Danielle woke to the scent of coffee. Rolling onto her back, she stretched and grinned. After years of being the one who did all the planning, Matteo’s pampering was something she could get used to. Addicted to, even.
She dug into the overnight bag Marie packed and thanked the gods for her friend’s attention to detail. She found wet wipes to remove the smeared remnants of yesterday’s makeup and the stickiness from their lovemaking, plus lip gloss and cologne, her toothbrush and toothpaste. After a quick clean-up, she pulled on a long-sleeved U Dub T-shirt and shorts, then ventured outside.
Still empty but for their campsite and a few inquisitive seagulls, the beach was quiet in the early-morning light. She inhaled deeply and released a contented sigh.
Barefoot, in faded cutoffs and a Seahawks hoodie, Matteo squatted over a small camp stove that held an enamel coffee pot and a frying pan. The sight of him all bed-rumpled made her heart swell.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
He hopped to his feet—his agility a reminder of how damn young he was.
“Good morning, bella. Did you sleep well? Are you hungry? Ready for breakfast? We’ve got eggs, smoked salmon, ciabatta bread, melon—”
She held a finger to his lips. “First, I’d like this.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Last night was amazing. Thank you.”
His lashes lowered, and he pulled her closer. “I’ll never forget it. Thanks for trusting me.”
He was right. Last night, something had shifted between them. She’d placed herself in his hands, let him set the pace, and he’d read her reactions with skill and sensitivity. More than anything, she longed to hang onto this warm, easy connection. But how?
He released her and poured a mug of coffee, then stirred in a stream of sugar. “Black and sweet, right?” He went back to the stove and waved a spatula. “The tide left lots of shells. Go ahead, explore. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
She returned to the tent for her phone. Coffee in hand, she strolled the length of the little beach and snapped photos to share with her kids—tiny crabs battling over a half-eaten fish, bubbles swirling around her toes, and a pair of sharp-eyed seagulls who stayed a few flaps ahead in case snacks might appear, not unlike her own always-hungry offspring.
With a sigh, she gazed up and down the shoreline, then back at Matteo, humming as he cracked eggs into the skillet. A smile curved her lips. Olivia and Noah would love this. They would love him.
She sucked in a bracing breath of sea air and let it take shape, the plan that had been dancing around the edge of her awareness since she awoke.
Jason had the kids every other weekend and on Wednesday nights. She’d spend that time with Matteo. If things were still looking up at the end of the summer, she would introduce him to the kids.
Icy surf washed over her toes, and a drop splashed onto her phone screen. She wiped it away, uploaded the photos, composed a quick text, and pressed Send. Nothing.
She tapped again and squinted at the screen. No bars. But a new text had arrived during the night. Olivia.
Dad and Sharla are still fighting, and her kids are total turd-wads. Can we come home?
A wave of nausea washed through her. While she’d been rolling around the tent with Matteo, her children had been trying to reach her. She tossed the coffee and sprinted back to their campsite.
Matteo stood and grinned. “Almost ready.”
“We have to go. Now.”
He dropped the spatula and grasped her arms. “Bella, what’s wrong?”
She showed him Olivia’s text. “No signal out here.” Angry tears prickled her eyes. “My kids need me, and I can’t reach them.”
“Okay, okay.” He glanced toward the surf line. “Tide will be low enough to drive through in an hour or so.”
She fixed him with a bug-eyed glare. “An hour?”
Matteo raked a hand through his bed-mussed hair, ran to the tent, and returned wearing battered canvas shoes. “Give me your phone.”
“Code’s 1829.” She slapped it into his palm, and he jogged toward the wall of boulders separating them from the main beach, calling over his shoulder, “Turn off the stove.” He scrambled up the rocks, held her phone aloft, shook his head and hollered something, but the surf swallowed his words. Picking his way carefully, he climbed higher, lifted the phone again, and flashed a thumbs-up.
Driven by pure Mama Bear adrenaline, she sprinted toward him, heedless of the sharp shells and stones jabbing her bare feet. She hoisted herself up onto the first boulder.
Matteo waved her off. “It’s too steep. Tell me what you want to say, and I’ll send a text.”
Her phone rang. Startled, she slipped and cursed as jagged barnacles ripped a gash on her shin. Blood welled and dripped.
“Bella!” He started toward her.
She stabbed a finger at him. “Answer it.”
He huffed, but he did as he was told. “Hello? She, uh, can’t come to the phone right now…A friend of your mom’s. You okay? Your brother too?”
Time slowed to a crawl as he nodded and grunted several uh-huhs. Her mind raced from one worst-case scenario to the next. Finally, he scrubbed his hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” He tucked the phone in his hip pocket and leveled a thunderous glare. “Stay where you are. I’m coming down.”
“Matteo, damn it.” Wincing, she scooted down to the beach, ripping her shorts in the process, and limped toward the water.
He hopped onto the sand, and without saying a word, scooped her up in his arms.
“Wait. What did she say?”
“They’re boarding a plane. She’ll call you when they land,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your daughter sounds as stubborn as you.”
A flush of pride heated her cheeks.
He deposited her into a camp chair and darted to his SUV, returning with the first aid kit. She peppered him with questions while he washed her wound, then applied antiseptic ointment and a gauze bandage.
“Are they flying alone?”
“No. With Dad.”
“He’s bringing them to his place?”
“I didn’t ask. He was busy yelling at the gate agent.”
That sounded like him. “Shit. I’ll have to pack up and hit the road.”
“Bella, no!” He gripped her ankle, breathing hard through flared nostrils.
Stunned at his sudden anger, she held her breath.
He softened his grip and stroked her calf. “He made this mess. Let him take responsibility for fixing it.”
Her brow contracted. “Matteo, you don’t have kids. You don’t know how it feels. Jason’s a selfish, unreliable ass. I have to be the responsible one. I have no choice.”
He sank back onto his heels, covered his face, and huffed a huge sigh. When he finally dropped his hands, the defeat in his gaze twisted her guts. “All right. You rest here while I pack up.” He moved to the stove and scraped scrambled eggs onto a tin plate. “At least eat something. Sounds like you’re gonna need your strength.”
“I’m not hungry,” she grumbled.
“Me neither.” Mouth twisted in a grimace, he tossed the eggs onto the sand. While he broke camp, the seagulls feasted.
He loaded up his Subaru, drove down to the surf line, and waited until an outgoing wave receded, then gunned it around the point. Neither spoke until he dropped her at her rental house and insisted on walking her to the door.
“Still no word?” he asked, brow rumpled.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. It would wobble. So would her chin. And the tears surging behind her lids would overflow. She didn’t want their last moment to end this way. She didn’t want it to end at all.
Matteo stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Listen, bella. This isn’t goodbye. Just an interruption.” His voice wavered, and he sniffed hard before pressing his forehead to hers. “Promise me you’ll call as soon as you sort this out?”
She nodded, and a tear dribbled down her cheek.
He brushed it away with his thumb, pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips, and spun away.
She held it together until his car rounded the corner. Once he was out of sight, she folded onto the stairs and wept.