Chapter 20 Selene
TWENTY
SELENE
The afternoon light slanted across the floor, soft as a sigh, turning the worn oak boards golden beneath our bare feet. Everything felt a little hushed, peaceful in a way that I used to misname as loneliness.
Austin hadn’t seemed to mind when I got lost in the restoration work. He flowed in and out, doing his own thing without making me feel as though I had to entertain or appease him. When he’d returned with a gentle knock, I couldn’t help but smile.
He moved easily through my space—tidying throw blankets, stacking books, helping me draw the curtains against the bright midday glare. He didn’t ask what needed doing. Somehow, he just knew. It seemed as though he slipped seamlessly into the quiet rhythm of my day like he’d always been part of it.
I watched him from across the living room as he reached for the last window. His muscular arm lifted, fingers pinching the edge of the linen panel, and in the angled glow of the early-afternoon sun, I caught something in his expression.
A flicker. Brief but unguarded. For a moment he looked almost confused.
It was the kind of look that passed through someone when they realized they’d been let in without quite knowing how it happened.
He pulled the curtain closed, his broad shoulders silhouetted for just a breath before the room settled into a warmer shade of shadow. I stood still, one hand resting against the worn wood of the doorway, something catching low in my chest.
This was the part that sneaked up on you—not the kisses or the incredible sex. It was the way someone turns off your kitchen light like it was theirs too.
“You keep this up and I’m going to have to start paying you,” I said, reaching for levity as I stepped closer. “You’ve got live-in-nanny potential. Ten out of ten.”
Austin looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching into a smirk. “As long as it comes with room, board, and occasional sex, I’m in.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “You have no shame.”
“Not when it comes to you,” he said without missing a beat, and damn it—my knees didn’t stand a chance.
He crossed to me, fingers brushing mine as he took the empty glass from my hand and set it on the coffee table.
His body was warm and familiar somehow, the scent of his cologne and cedar soap woven into the fabric of the afternoon.
Being near him felt like something I didn’t want to name for fear it might vanish.
Austin’s fingers drummed a lazy rhythm. “Are you hungry?”
I blinked. “I mean, I could eat. Why?”
A sly half smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Because I’m starving, and if I stay here much longer, I’m going to eat whatever weird cheese you’ve got aging in that fridge.”
I snorted. “It’s not weird. It’s imported.”
His face twisted in disgust. “It’s moldy and suspicious.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Let’s go get something, but I’m not changing.”
His gaze swept over me slowly, taking in my faded jeans and soft, loose sweater like I was wrapped in silk. “You’re perfect.”
Heat licked up my neck. “Where did you have in mind?”
“There’s that little place on the corner. The one with the red vinyl booths and the pancakes as big as your head?”
“Trudy’s?” I asked.
He snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. But I need to stop by my place first—wallet, hoodie, maybe shoes . . .” He looked down at his socked feet, one brow raised. “Unless we’re going for full domestic bliss and you want to hold hands while wearing house slippers.”
The words domestic bliss clanged against something inside me, but I shoved it aside. “Grab your stuff. I’ll lock up.”
We walked the short distance to his apartment side by side, the wind tugging strands of hair from my ponytail and making the hem of my sweater flap against my thighs. It wasn’t cold yet, not really, but the air had that soft bite that hinted at what was coming.
He reached his door first and held it open with a little bow. “Welcome to my humble . . . rental.”
The space was not exactly what I expected.
There wasn’t clutter, but it felt temporary, like someone who hadn’t fully unpacked.
The couch was clean but threadbare, a mismatched blanket draped across the back like it had been stolen from an old camp trunk.
His familiar pair of worn boots sat beside the door.
The coffee table was stacked with a few books, a sports magazine, a half-finished water bottle, and a single photo in a basic black frame.
I paused.
In it, two boys grinned at the camera—one older, arms thrown around the shoulders of a younger kid with sun-bleached hair and a stubborn chin.
Brody and Austin.
I moved closer, studying the way the boys leaned into each other, full of that unspoken trust that lives between kids before the world gets too loud.
Austin returned from upstairs, now wearing a faded gray hoodie and jeans that hung low on his hips. He saw where my gaze had landed and paused, something flickering behind his eyes—quick, unreadable.
“That was the only summer we got to spend together,” he said, his voice quieter. “Before the moms put an end to it.”
I knew a little bit about Clint Sheperd’s history.
He was a well-respected officer who had cheated on his wife, Terri, and gotten the other woman pregnant—with Austin, presumably.
It made my heart hurt to think of their cute little kid faces and how they were allowed only a single summer together.
It was a time before adolescence and adult drama sank its claws in.
I offered a soft smile. “You kept it.”
His shrug was casual, but the muscles in his jaw tightened just enough for me to notice. “It’s the only picture I had of us. Figured it deserved a frame.”
I didn’t ask why it was the only one. I didn’t have to. Some wounds don’t bleed—they calcify.
I stepped forward and brushed my hand lightly across his as he passed.
Austin looked at the spot on his hand where I’d touched him, but changed the subject. “You ready? I found out the hard way that Trudy’s closes early if they’re short on staff.”
“Let’s go,” I said, letting him nudge us past the moment, but I stored the flicker of pain away.
The walk into town was quiet at first, but not uncomfortable. Our strides synced without even trying. His shoulder bumped mine once, and neither of us moved away.
It felt like something new—like playing house, but outside the house.
We passed the bookstore, the fire station, and a chalkboard sign outside the coffee shop that read Pumpkin Everything. People waved and I waved back. A few glanced curiously between us.
By the time Trudy’s came into view, I felt that low-level flutter kick up in my stomach—the one that came not from being with him, but from being seen with him. Typically I had Winnie’s presence to answer any questioning looks, but now I had to field them alone.
Austin pushed the door open and let me step in first. Warm air and the smell of hamburger patties greeted us like an old friend. The bell above the door jingled.
“Selene, hey!” Trudy’s daughter, Marnie, chirped from behind the counter, her apron slightly askew, lipstick smudged like she’d just taken a bite of something buttery. “Is Winnie with you?”
“No, she’s with her dad this weekend,” I said, sliding into a booth along the window.
Marnie’s eyes flicked to Austin as he followed me, settling in across from me with that easy grin of his. “Is Brody joining you?” She set down a third plastic menu.
“No, he . . . um . . .” My eyes pleaded with Austin, unsure of what to say.
“Oh . . . I thought maybe—never mind,” Marnie said with a laugh and swat of her hand.
Austin chuckled. “It’s just us today.”
“I mean—great.” She flushed. “That’s fun.”
“Thank you,” he said, smoothly enough to leave it ambiguous. His gaze flicked to mine, unreadable.
Marnie seemed to recalibrate. “Well. Anyway, what can I get you two?”
We ordered—a patty melt for him, a double cheeseburger for me, Diet Coke all around—and once she was gone, I leaned back, feeling something unfamiliar twist behind my ribs.
“Are you okay?” he asked, watching me carefully.
“She thought you were here with Brody,” I said with a crinkle in my nose.
“I got that.” Austin leaned back in the booth like he was comfortable simply existing in his own skin.
“I didn’t know how to explain—” My hand flicked across the table between us. “This.”
He picked up his fork and traced a lazy circle on the table. “Would an explanation have made a difference?”
I opened my mouth, then immediately closed it. I didn’t have an answer that didn’t feel heavier than I wanted it to be.
Marnie returned with our drinks, and Austin thanked her, flashing that smile that could disarm just about anyone. She flushed again, and her appreciative eyes lingered a moment too long before she walked away.
Something pricked across my scalp.
The reality was that Marnie herself was closer in age to Austin than I was.
It felt almost absurd to think anyone would assume he and I were anything other than a frazzled single mom and her devastatingly handsome nanny.
It would be far more believable if it were Marnie sitting across the booth from him . . .
Jealousy. Real, bone-deep, breath-catching jealousy bloomed under my skin.
What the hell is that about?
He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to call it out. Either way, I didn’t like how exposed I suddenly felt. I clasped my hands in my lap to get myself under control.
“Do you ever think about staying here longer than just a rental?” I asked, a little sharper than I meant to.
“Star Harbor wasn’t exactly part of the five-year plan.” Austin’s head tilted as he shrugged. “But, like I said, it’s growing on me.”
“What is?” I asked. “The plan?”
He looked down at his drink. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”
I hummed as Marnie silently dropped off the food. “And Brody?”
His smile faded just a bit. “That’s a little different. He’s my brother, but . . .”
“But?” I prodded.
“But . . . it’s kind of complicated.” He met my eyes then, and the flirty veneer slipped. “I’m not exactly what his mom would’ve chosen for a sibling. I think he’s still trying to figure out what that means and where I fit in his life.”
I didn’t press, though I desperately wanted to pry. Instead, I swiped a fry through ketchup and popped it into my mouth.
“You’ve got good instincts,” I said quietly. “You’ll figure it out.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he licked his lower lip, letting his gaze drag up my front. “I’ve got good taste.”
My heart did a slow, treacherous roll.
We finished the meal with lighter talk—music, food, the fact that I devoured my double cheeseburger with impressive speed. He paid without asking, tipping generously, and when we stepped out into the cool afternoon air, his hand found mine.
Not all the way. Just his pinkie brushing mine. I let my fingers drift toward his until they linked.
We didn’t speak on the walk back. Not about what we were. Not about what it meant that we hadn’t corrected anyone when they smiled in our direction and nodded greetings as they noticed our clasped hands. That we hadn’t defined anything at all.
But I felt it.
The shift.
Whatever had been brewing between us was no longer contained by four walls and a cup of morning coffee.
This was the part where pretend started to fray . . . and I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to stitch it back together.