Chapter Seventeen
Rowan wiped the last ring of condensation from the counter and told herself to breathe.
The cottage smelled like lime and salt and the faint, permanent ghost of surf wax.
She’d opened the windows so the curtains lifted and settled with the trade winds.
Her father’s boards lined one wall—two shortboards, a sun-bleached fish, and one old single-fin with the yellowed glass and dings he’d refused to let anyone fix.
Jack Delaney had called them scars and was proud to wear them, on his board or his body.
Bagel thumped once from under the coffee table like a bouncer signaling last call.
“Don’t be rude.” He managed to glare with unblinking eyes. “You need to make nice with him tonight, okay? Do you know how long it’s been since an actual man stayed over? I need you to stay in your cage and not give me any trouble.”
Bagel now looked disgusted.
She sighed and jumped at the knock that somehow sounded both polite and demanding.
Rowan refused to check her appearance again in the mirror.
She’d changed twice, which pissed her off, before finally settling on a pair of loose, wide-legged pants and a comfortable yellow crop top.
Her feet were bare. She’d left her hair wild and free to hopefully imitate the evening ahead.
If the stupid nerves didn’t get her.
She opened the door. Her breath caught at his appearance.
No suit. An ice-blue short-sleeved shirt opened at the neck and showed off his corded arms. Dark-wash denim jeans hugged his hips and thighs in all the right places.
Tennis sneakers clad his feet. His hair looked freshly washed, jaw clean-shaven, and he smelled like expensive cologne.
Rowan fought the impulse to take a big inhale so she could soak in the scent of clove and whiskey.
The chunky silver watch was still clasped to his wrist.
Her stomach dipped, then steadied. She kept her mouth firmly closed. He didn’t need any added compliments—the man must know he was sex on a stick.
“Hi.”
She curled her fingers into loose fists. “Hi,” she said.
“I brought wine.” He held a paper bag like a presentation. “White and red. And whiskey.”
“Flawless start, Suit.” She stepped back. “Come in.”
He did, careful with his shoes on the woven mat.
His gaze moved hungrily around the house, taking in the boards, the assorted photos, the battered side table with a chipped shell bowl.
He walked into the tiny kitchen and set the bottles on the high countertop.
She imagined him creating a blueprint to base his opinion on, but tonight he emitted a slower energy, where he was usually all angles and sharp motions.
As if he was ready to settle in with intention. Her nerve endings tingled.
“This is you,” he said. “All of it.” He began to roam, stopping at shelves to study the portraits.
Her on a foam board at seven, missing teeth; Dad grinning with a plumeria behind his ear; a shot from her first junior final where she looked wild-eyed and inevitable.
Everett picked up a picture of her dad catching a wave.
Hair clipped back in a pony, body stout and muscled, gritting his teeth in focused fury to tackle the oncoming barrel. “What was his name?”
“Jack.” Her voice came out a bit throaty, so she moved toward the kitchen and fished around for a corkscrew. Bagel slid out like a shadow, stopped a foot from Everett’s canvas shoes, and stared up, unblinking.
Everett stared back. “I’m being evaluated,” he murmured.
“He’s protective.”
“Can’t fault him for being the man of the house. Hi, Bagel.”
The rabbit didn’t respond. He chin-marked Everett’s shoe, then a low growl escaped his cute mouth. She locked down her grin when Everett tried to move back, face a bit shocked at the primal sound. “Did he just—”
“Growl? Yeah. I didn’t know rabbits did that until I got him. He’s more bark than bite.”
On cue, Bagel turned deliberately and presented a small, fluffy backside. Then walked off.
“Wow,” Everett said. “That felt personal.”
“To him it was.” She grabbed a wineglass for herself and a low-cut tumbler for him. “I got him as a rescue after my dad passed. The moment I read the Facebook post I drove directly to the shelter and took him home.”
Everett cocked his head. “What did it say?”
“It’s over there on the wall. I framed it.”
He headed to the framed print and read it.
Bagel has the eyes of a haunted Victorian child that creepily whispers your name down an empty hallway.
He’s cousins with Bigfoot, which you could probably tell based on his whole “I look like I live in the woods and have strong opinions about hikers” vibe.
Oh, and he’s looking for a new family to haunt. So don’t turn your back.
The family dog couldn’t handle a roommate who stares at corners like he’s in deep negotiations with spirits trapped in the wallpaper. Bagel is a man of mystery after all, and mystery is intimidating.
If you’re ready to open your home to someone that will devour all your veggies and possibly your soul, Bagel is your guy.
Everett burst into laughter. “Oh, Kelsey has to see this. It’s priceless. I might have scooped him up, too.”
She went to the freezer and took out the special ice cubes, then used the tongs to drop them into the glass. Everett closed the distance, watching her from behind the counter. “You have whiskey cubes?”
“It’s first-class all the way tonight, Suit. My dad loved a good whiskey, so he bought a kit. I can appreciate the finer things in life.”
“You just keep surprising me.” His voice reached out, low and intimate.
Rowan handed him the glass. Their fingers brushed, and heat zapped through her like static electricity.
They sipped their drinks, staring at each other over the rims. “Would you tell me about him? Your dad?”
She could’ve been glib or waved off the question. She didn’t. “He was loud and tender and always hungry. He could fix anything except the things you can’t. He believed waves were teachers and people were worth the trouble. He would’ve liked you and insulted your shirt in the same breath.”
A corner of his mouth kicked. “Good man.”
“The best.” The flash of memory warmed rather than punished. “I’ve been living here like he’s still going to walk in trailing sand.”
“How long ago did he pass?”
“Just over a year.” A year of standing still and never-ending grief. But change hung heavy in the air, and Rowan wondered if she was ready to step out of her comfort zone.
His voice was mild, yet his gaze dove deep. “Do you miss surfing?”
She took a sip of wine and told the truth. “Every day. Every moment. As bad as I miss my dad.”
Everett didn’t rush to fill the space. Just inclined his head, accepting her answer. Somehow, it gave her space to breathe because there was no rush to explain or think too hard.
“The shop is safe. It keeps me near it without going in.”
The cubes in his glass tinkled as he wandered to the wall and looked at the framed heat sheet where her name was printed next to a score that used to mean everything. “Kelsey told me you call it listening to the water,” he said. “That you tell her the ocean doesn’t like being bullied.”
“She repeats things well.” Rowan rested a hip against the counter. “She’s brave.”
“She is,” he said. Then, after a beat: “I told you her mother left when she was four.”
Rowan nodded. Now it was her time to wait. She’d expected a cocktail and great sex. This was becoming so much more. The way he spoke made her feel like he was pulling a knot apart inside himself, one finger at a time.
“I thought she’d be back. What mother could leave her daughter without a backward glance?
So we both waited, and I filled in until I realized it was only us.
She sent Kelsey a letter.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
“Said she wasn’t meant to be tied down and that the best thing for everyone was to leave.
Said not to contact her so they could both live their lives.
I’ll never forget reading that letter, over and over, hoping that it would change on the next read.
At first, I told my daughter she was away on a long trip.
Then I said she had to stay.” His dark eyes flickered with anger and regret, making Rowan want to put her arms around him.
“Finally, I couldn’t lie anymore. I read her the letter.
We both cried. She raged. I got her therapy.
And I decided I’d do everything in my power to make her feel safe. ”
His confession broke something inside her she’d pushed way down. “My mother left, too.”
He jerked. A frown snapped his brow. “Your mother?” he repeated.
Rowan nodded. “Different story, same result. She hated the ocean. Refused to move back to Hawaii and preferred LA, or any type of city. In some ways, I think she hated my father and was disappointed when I fell in love with surfing like he did. We moved to Hawaii when I was five to start a whole new life, and neither of us ever looked back. Or had regret. Dad said we choose our own happiness every day.”
His hand gripped the glass. A muscle moved in his jaw. “Is that why you keep showing up for Kelsey?”
“I keep showing up because she reminds me of . . . me.”
His shoulders relaxed. The air seethed with a deep connection that only lost souls could recognize. Everett walked back, closer than before. The delicious scent of him drifted to her nostrils. Her hand trembled around the stem of her glass.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For sharing. For opening your heart to my daughter.”
Bagel launched suddenly, a small missile of fur and attitude, and attacked Everett’s shoelace with operatic fury. Everett froze. The cinematic moment broke apart under the rabbit’s cockblocking move.
“Stand down,” Rowan said, scooping up the rabbit mid-battle. Bagel glared. She kissed the top of his head. “He’s jealous.” Her lips tipped in a smile. “He doesn’t like sharing.”
“Neither do I.”
The words were a low growl that slid right under her skin.