Chapter 10 #2
“The season seems to come earlier every year.” More and more folks try to avoid the massive price hike that happens with rentals after Memorial Day. “How about you? What are you up to these days?”
He grabs a fistful of my fries, stuffing them between his greasy lips. “You know how it is. One minute you have a job, the next, you don’t.”
Yeah, I don’t know anything about that. I’ve been working since I was sixteen.
I push the rest of my fries toward him, my appetite gone. “Where are you living?” He moves around so much it’s hard to keep track. Six months ago, it was Santa Fe. A few months before that, it was Winslow, Arizona.
“Raleigh.”
“You’re in North Carolina?” That’s the closest he’s lived to me in a decade.
“Yep. Have a nice place ’n everything. You should come by someday.”
“Maybe I will.”
I won’t. The last time I tried to visit Rick, he’d moved and didn’t tell me. I was twenty-one, fresh out of college, and looking forward to reconnecting with my dad. Instead, I ended up alone in a shitty motel for a night before driving seven hours the following day to get back home.
His gaze flicks to mine, then darts away again. “You still livin’ in the old cottage, or did you get yourself some fancy new place like your mother?”
Oh, God… not the “your mother” rabbit hole. “I’m still in the cottage.”
The wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he squints across the table at me. “Still got that spare bed?”
Ahh, so this is why he wanted to grab dinner. He’s trying to find a place to stay.
I wish I could say I’m surprised, but at this stage, the only thing that would surprise me is if Rick actually followed through on something. “Yeah, I have a spare bed.”
“Mind giving your old man a place to stay for the week?”
I’d rather run naked through traffic, but the last time I told him to find somewhere else to stay, he ended up camping out in front of Mugs.
I can’t have folks arrive in the morning to see my own father sleeping rough at my work.
Plus, there’s the approaching storm to consider.
I checked the weather app on my phone while we were waiting for our order.
The system might not hit us, but something is coming.
The air feels heavy with impending rain.
“You’re more than welcome to stay with me,” I say.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
Yeah, yeah. We both know I had no other choice.
The wooden bench creaks when he leans back and pats his round stomach. “I’m stuffed. Should we head home then?”
Part of me hates that he still refers to the cottage where I grew up as his home. The other part of me—the silly little girl who used to dream of becoming a mermaid—wishes he’d get his shit together and truly want to make up for lost time.
I slip off the bench to throw away the greasy food bag. Rick follows me through the parking lot, thankfully much steadier on his feet than before.
He’s quiet on the drive to the cottage, mostly staring out the window and watching the palms pass by.
The bike lane is busy with traffic.
Maybe I’ll go for a cycle this evening.
Anything to get me out of that house.
My doormat has vanished, which is weird, because it was definitely here this morning. Rick’s shoulder bumps mine as he steps past, stopping beside the old recliner to glance around the living room. “You got the walls painted.”
“Yeah. A few months back.”
He swipes a hand through his thinning hair, frowning up at the ceiling. “I said I’d do it for you when I came back.”
Rick might have a construction license, but he’s not exactly what I would call a reliable worker.
“I didn’t know when that would be.” He claimed he’d be around for my birthday, but the day came and went without so much as a call, a text, or a card, so I took care of the painting myself.
Ignoring the slight, he meanders past the couch into the kitchen. “These cabinet doors are falling off. Where’s your screwdriver?”
“Same place it’s been for the last twenty-six years.”
I’m not an idiot; I know how to tighten a screw. But when Rick does turn up, he needs things to keep himself out of trouble. The state of this place will surely keep him busy for however long he decides to hang around this time.
My phone starts buzzing from my purse. When I pull it out and I see my mom’s face flashing on the screen, my stomach sinks. “Hey, Rick, I’ve gotta take this call. Be right back.” I head out onto the front porch to answer. “Hi, Mom.”
She tucks her short blonde hair behind her ear, her blue eyes blazing. “Don’t you ‘Hi, Mom’ me, Chloe Jane. You know you’re supposed to call me the moment that lowlife comes to town.”
The downside of living on a small island is that everyone knows your business. It was only a matter of time before she heard the news. “Sorry. I got busy with work.” And I was trying to save myself the headache.
“Did he ask for money?” she snaps.
“No.” I paid for dinner, but he didn’t specifically ask for money, so it’s not a lie.
“Where is he now?”
The sound of tires crunching gravel draws my gaze down to the driveway. Ethan pulls in, his truck bed loaded down with sandbags.
The guys over at the hardware store must be thrilled. Almost no one buys those things. I wouldn’t put it past them to have sold him twice as many as he needs.
Mom’s shrill tone assaults my eardrum. “Chloe? Hello? Where is Rick now?”
For some reason, Ethan doesn’t head to his own place, but starts for mine with something big and yellow wedged under his arm.
“Sorry, Mom. I gotta go.” I press the red button and stuff my phone back into my pocket. She’s going to kill me for the abrupt dismissal, but that’s future-Chloe’s problem.
When Ethan reaches the top of my stairs, he holds out a doormat that’s shaped like a smiling yellow sun.
I stare at the mat, not sure what’s going on. “Why are you giving me this?”
His hair falls over his forehead when he glances at the patch of brown where my mat used to sit.
“To replace the one I stole.” Before I can ask why he stole my mat, he adds, “I probably shouldn’t have done that, but advertising that you don’t lock your door is reckless.
You’re a single woman living on her own. You need to lock your damn door.”
Clearly, he’s trying to be protective or helpful or whatever, but I didn’t ask for his help or his opinion. With all the crap happening with my parents, my patience is thinner than a blade of grass. This is the final straw.
I grit my teeth and force out a smile. “Let me get this straight. You stole my mat, then proceeded to come here with an ugly mat as a peace offering?”
His lips tighten with his frown. “I thought you’d like this one. It’s your favorite color.”
“Yellow isn’t my favorite color.” It is. It totally is.
Ethan looks pointedly from my pale yellow “Mugs” T-shirt to my lemon-yellow surfboard leaning against the canary-colored siding and then down to my car in the driveway. “Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters. “Do you want the mat or not?”
I snatch the thing out of his grasp. Of course I do. It’s adorable.
He turns to head down the front stairs, seems to think better of it, and then stomps right back up. “Oh, and another thing. You need to buy a new door for your shower.”
“My shower has a curtain, not a door.” It may or may not be yellow, too—not that he would know that unless he went for a little snoop through my unlocked house.
“Your outdoor shower,” he clarifies with a swipe of his hand through his dark hair.
“Why? You steal that too?”
His face flushes. We’re not talking about a tinge of pink around his jaw. His whole face turns the color of a tomato. Ethan Davis blushing might be my new favorite thing.
Glancing toward the beach, he runs a hand along the back of his neck and says, “You can see right into your shower from my parents’ back deck.”
What? “Now you’re perving on me?” To be fair, the idea doesn’t disturb me as much as it probably should.
“I’m not—” He huffs out a frustrated breath. When his eyes meet mine, they’re filled with what appears to be genuine concern. “I didn’t look. But I could have. And not every man has the same level of self-control.”
Now I don’t know whether to be pissed off or embarrassed. Both are appropriate given the situation. However, there’s a flicker of warmth deep in my stomach that feels a lot like pride. This guy who craves control clearly had a hard time looking away from whatever he saw.
“Just get a new door, okay?” he says with an exasperated sigh.
There’s something about that commanding tone that makes the warmth in my stomach spread between my thighs.
He’s so domineering. So uptight, I want to ruffle his feathers. Throw him off-kilter. Take some of that control for myself.
“You know what I think?” I ask, letting my gaze linger on his mouth a beat too long before lifting it to meet his eyes.
Ethan’s dark brows arch as he watches me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body warming mine. I close the gap a fraction more, until my breasts brush against his hard chest, and say, “I think I like my shower door just the way it is.”