Chapter 15
Ruby
I DIDN’T FEEL ANYTHING out of the ordinary.
If I did, I’d need to see a doctor.
That was what I told myself when I trudged back from cabin four to my cottage.
And then again when I woke up. It was just post-orgasm brain fog.
Just ... nothing that hadn’t happened before.
With Sebastian. Because I couldn’t remember anyone else who ever made me question myself after a kiss. Anyone I’d wanted to stay.
We were just comfortable together, I told myself.
But you don’t run away from “comfortable,” I could hear Rio’s voice arguing in my head.
I stretched alone in my bed. Then alone in my shower. This was good. Boundaries. Space. Sanity. It wasn’t about me wanting him for more than we were.
Definitely not.
Absolutely not.
Dressed in my no-bullshit black slacks, short heels, and a dark gray, soft camisole, I headed straight out of my house and toward cabin four. We had work to do. A contractor to confront.
I stopped outside his door and picked up the breakfast basket Sandra had left. Still-warm pastries, a small jar of apricot jam, and a cold bottle of orange juice. I stared at it like it might hold the answers I was looking for, for questions I didn’t dare ask.
I knocked on his door.
I was fine.
Really.
I WAS TWENTY-FIVE AND drunk on my newfound freedom, happiness, and success.
The inn I’d been managing for four years had finally turned a real profit—enough to remodel, invest, and actually breathe.
I’d just moved into the biggest cottage on the property, turned it into a cozy home, and for the first time ever, I didn’t have to share space with a roommate or my mom in Blueshore.
Living in Coral Bay meant I was living the job—but I loved it and the town. It had so much more life than Blueshore. I’d made new friends too—like Evangeline, the florist I now ordered all my flowers from.
It also meant I had a place of my own to bring a date. And by date, I didn’t mean someone I wanted a future with. I was building my own future alone, thank you very much. I loved my life—my circle, my job, my freedom, my peace of mind. I worked hard and played harder.
I wasn’t looking for love or a boyfriend.
No. I’d decided that now that I actually liked what I saw in the mirror—my hair finally cooperated, my face shed the acne and awkward proportions of puberty, and I figured out how to highlight my best features with makeup and clothes—I was going to enjoy it.
To live out every fantasy I used to only imagine.
I slept with gorgeous men I used to think were out of my league.
A few I allowed to stick around for a while, until I got bored, or they got clingy, or the sex turned bland.
Which only confirmed what I already knew: monogamy wasn’t for me.
Besides, freedom was my armor. It let me stay untouched and always walk away first.
No-strings-attached wasn’t just my thing, it became my gospel. I practiced it, preached it.
Once, a wedding guest at the inn confided that all her friends were getting married and asked what she was doing wrong.
“Wrong?” I told her. “You’re the one doing it right, not them. Eat life with a big spoon.”
So when Rio and I went out one night to The Shore Thing—the new beach bar that had popped up in Blueshore—I walked in like I was born to party.
At some point, Rio, sipping her drink, said, “Don’t look, but that guy at the bar is very interested in you.”
I barely glanced. By then, I was used to being looked at—something high school me would’ve called a glitch in the matrix.
“If he comes over, we’ll see,” I murmured over my cocktail.
“No, wait. He looks ... familiar. Seriously, don’t look now.”
Of course I did.
And my heart screeched to a halt.
He was standing at the bar, half-leaning against it with a beer in hand.
Tall. Broad. Quietly magnetic in a way that made other guys fade into the background.
His hair was a tad longer than I remembered—dark waves that circled a face that was now all angles, stubble, and a jawline that made you forget your name.
His shirt stretched across strong shoulders, sleeves hugging biceps that looked carved from marble.
And those brown eyes. Still sharp, deep, warm. Aimed straight at me.
I recognized him instantly.
I stood up, walked straight over, watching his gaze track every step I took.
“Sebastian,” I said, stopping in front of him.
He smiled—an experienced half-smirk, half-smile I didn’t remember him having. “Ruby,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Still me,” I said, and instantly realized that saying it to him meant more than it should have.
“I can see.” His gaze swept down and back up, and mine did the same.
Was he still him on the inside?
“Visiting your parents?” I asked. “I heard you moved to Houston?”
“Yeah. NASA. I’m a junior structural engineer there.”
I nodded, impressed. “So all those years of Deep Space Nine reruns didn’t go to waste.”
He chuckled. “No. I guess I’m technically a rocket scientist now.”
He was still geeky underneath that beautiful exterior. Still familiar. Still funny.
I grinned. “And you have veins now.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “You haven’t changed. I mean, you have,”—that sweeping gaze again—“but you’re still Ruby.”
I grinned at him, cocking my head. I knew right then that I wasn’t the only one who’d stepped into a different life, and that neither one of us was looking for anything serious.
“Heard from my mom you manage your aunt’s inn.”
That was Blueshore for you. Parents were the local grapevine. “Yeah. Coral Bay.”
“Amazing. Being in charge suits you.”
Later that night, in my little cottage, I discovered that while he turned his geekiness into a career, he wasn’t a geek in bed.
He was commanding. Focused. Obviously very experienced. Intense in a way that made my bones forget how to hold me. And he was delectable to look at and touch.
He didn’t rush. He moved with purpose. Every drag of his mouth, every thrust, the way his hands gripped—I forgot how to breathe or think.
He didn’t just know what he was doing. He touched me like he already knew what I liked—or was hellbent on finding out. And somehow, he got it exactly right.
And when he held my gaze while he was inside me, fucking me hard and rough like I wanted him to, I knew—Sebastian Sawyer fucked with intent.
Sebastian Sawyer was the best sex I’d ever had.
STILL WAS.
By the time Sebastian opened the door to his cabin, dressed and holding his tablet, I was halfway back to pretending I hadn’t grappled with anything.
“We should talk to Dave before the crew starts pouring concrete or ordering anything new,” he said, ready to walk out.
“Do you want your breakfast first?” I asked, nodding toward the basket.
“I’m good.” He took it from me, dropped it on the console, and grabbed a croissant before pulling the door shut.
He fell into step beside me, taking a big, hungry bite that shouldn’t have been distracting, but it was.
I led the way around the inn’s side path toward the gravel forecourt where Dave was already unloading the back of his truck.
“Morning,” I said as we approached.
Dave looked up. He didn’t exactly scowl, but his shoulders tensed like he expected a fight.
Sebastian went straight to it. “I wanted to follow up. I’ve run a few calculations and, as a start, we want to replace the support columns you spec’d. Especially near the northeast corner.”
Dave scratched the back of his head. “I talked to my guy again, and he said—”
“About that,” I cut in, straightening beside Sebastian. “I want to replace him. Sebastian’s taking over as the official engineer.”
Dave blinked. “He’s not part of our usual crew.”
“He’s part of mine,” I said, my voice cool.
“And I trust him.” I wanted to add that beyond being a top-notch professional, he was also dependable, perceptive, thoughtful, calm in the face of crisis—all things that crossed my mind as I spoke, but I didn’t think they’d matter to Dave as much as they did to me.
Dave muttered something under his breath.
“Right,” Sebastian took it from there, bringing up a 3D model of the load plan on his tablet. “This is it.”
I stood back and let them hash it out—Sebastian keeping his tone even but firm, Dave getting increasingly quiet as numbers started replacing excuses. It didn’t take long.
“Fine,” Dave eventually said. “I’ll call the supplier. We’ll need to push back the delivery of the roof trusses, and the timeline will be impacted. That’ll cost.”
“Do that,” Sebastian said. “Send us an updated cost estimate, and I’ll send you the new plan.”
Dave blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay.”
After Dave walked back to his truck, I glanced at Sebastian, who hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Do you want to stick around while they review what needs to be reordered?” I asked. “Or work from the office?”
“I’m not leaving these guys alone for one second,” he said. “And don’t worry about the extra cost. He’s just pissed we’re making him change things. But it won’t delay the build more than a day or two, and cutting the engineer’s fee buys us that much crew time anyway.”
“Okay,” I said, holding myself back from jumping into his arms and thanking him the way I really wanted to. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I turned to leave, then paused. “Sebastian. Thanks. For all of this. Really.”
He just smiled, winked, and got to work, calling Dave over to walk into the site again.
Back in my office, I tried to focus on the email from the linen vendor and not the fact that Sebastian had rolled up his sleeves and stepped in like the damn pro he was. That he made a contractor back down without ever raising his voice. That he looked unfairly good doing it.
And that, just like that, this renovation had gotten a whole new kind of complicated.