Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
IRIS
“You're certain that going with cypress on the porch ceiling is the right call, even with the humidity?” I squinted up at the bare joists of the wide, wraparound veranda.
My gaze dropped to the sample board, which was undeniably lovely.
I could already imagine the tight grain with its natural honey-to-reddish-brown tones stretching along the length of the ceiling.
Gus glanced up from the support beam he was inspecting.
“Hundred percent.” His deep voice resonated with an authority that soothed my nerves.
“We seal it right, front and back, it’ll outlast both of us.
It’s what this house wants, Iris. You try to put cheap composite up there, an old girl like this, she’ll just reject it.
Spit it right back out in the first decent tropical storm. ”
A smile burst across my face. It had only been a week since Gus and his crew descended upon Heron House, and already the entire property felt different.
The air, once thick with the lonely scent of dust and decay, now smelled of freshly cut lumber, sawdust, and the determined energy of progress.
A crew of four men swarmed the exterior, their nail guns creating a steady, reassuring rhythm.
Inside, another crew was deep in the demolition of the third floor, their work careful and planned.
Gus was a direct answer to a prayer I hadn’t even realized I’d been screaming internally. He was calm, professional, and he actually listened to my ideas before gently explaining why some were brilliant and others would lead to structural collapse. I sensibly nixed those.
But now I was left with a restive energy.
Gus had a detailed schedule, a binder thick with permits, and a crew that knew exactly what they were doing.
My role had shifted from crisis manager to, well, the lady who occasionally brought out cold lemonade and cookies while trying not to get in the way.
Which left my mind with entirely too much free time to drift next door.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, a hopeful flutter in my chest. It was a text from Brenna.
Brenna: Tour of Dove Key still on? I'm in desperate need of a non-book-related conversation. Meet me at Driftwood Beach in a half hour?
I typed back quickly.
Iris: Absolutely! See you there!
A thrill ran through me. I’d been looking forward to this all morning. With Gus and his army of capable workers handling Heron House, I finally had an outlet for that new restlessness—an exploration of my new town. To see it through the eyes of someone who knew its secrets.
“Gus, I’m heading out for a bit,” I called over the rhythmic hammering. “My friend is giving me a tour of the area.”
He looked up. “Good for you. This old house is in good hands. We’ll keep making progress while you’re gone.”
“I have no doubt. I’m so grateful to have you here.”
Maybe spending a few hours with Austin's sweet, friendly sister would help me get a better handle on the complicated man himself. Or at the very least, it would be a conversation that didn’t involve me wondering if he was thinking about jumping me half as much as I thought that about him.
The past week had been a revelation. We had fallen into a strange, unspoken rhythm.
He’d leave for a charter early, and I’d wake up to find a large, steaming thermos of his strong, black coffee left for me.
A silent offering that was more intimate than a dozen roses.
In the evenings, he’d find a flimsy excuse to come over, to “check on Gus’s progress” or to return an empty plate from whatever test bake I’d left for him.
And we’d actually talk. Austin was still reserved, but his walls were lower, the silences between us more comfortable.
He acted less like heavy dental work was preferable to conversation.
We’d even worked together on his hibiscus hedge one afternoon, a surprisingly easy and companionable task that ended with a long, hand-in-hand stroll along the north-shore beach as the sun melted into the horizon. And later…
Oh my stars.
We had spent nearly every night together since…
well, since the conflagration, as I had taken to calling it.
It had been a blur of tangled sheets and a raw, consuming passion that left me breathless and sore in the best possible way.
When he touched me, when he looked at me in the quiet moments after, his gray eyes soft and unguarded, I felt seen.
In a way I wasn’t sure I ever had before.
I walked to Driftwood Beach on the eastern edge of the Key, then down a long, zigzagging wooden staircase. Brenna was already there, her long, auburn hair a bright spot of color against the dark wood and pale sand. Her smile was pure warmth.
“There you are!” she called, waving me over. We headed toward the south end of the beach, where a structure grew larger as we neared. “This is our local celebrity: The Driftwood Dragon.”
The dragon was even more impressive up close—a whimsical, silent sentinel pieced together from the sea’s offerings. Its twisted driftwood body curved gracefully along the shoreline, weathered smooth by salt and time, creating something both ancient and timeless.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, brushing my hand along one of the dragon’s smooth curves. “How long has it been here?”
“The first one was built ages ago.” Brenna patted the arching neck of the sculpture. “But this version? Only a year or so. Every big storm takes some or all of it, and the community just rebuilds it. It’s never exactly the same dragon twice.”
There was something soothing about that—the idea of something being destroyed and rebuilt over and over but somehow maintaining its essential spirit. Like resilience made manifest in salt-smoothed wood.
We strolled back up the beach in comfortable silence, watching the waves roll in.
“So,” Brenna said, “how are things going with the house? And with life in general?”
“The house is going amazingly well, thanks to Gus. Your brother-in-law has impeccable taste in contractors.”
“Chase is outstanding at what he does,” Brenna agreed as we headed up the staircase. “How about we continue our tour on the way to lunch? We’ve got a great local diner, and I can point out some places on the way.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’m more than ready for lunch.”
The Island Breeze Bistro was a classic small-town diner, all red vinyl booths, black-and-white checkered floors, and the delicious, life-affirming scent of burgers on a flattop grill.
We tucked into a booth by the window. A middle-aged, plump waitress with a friendly face and a name tag that read Marge came to take our order.
We both ordered cheeseburgers and iced tea, a decision that required zero deliberation on my part.
After Marge delivered our food, I patted the pink box on the table. “It was very nice of Liv to give us dessert.”
“Too bad she couldn’t join us, but duty calls. She seemed happy we dropped by.”
I had to admit that as much as I liked my new bakery-owning friend, I wanted a little privacy for this conversation. I stuffed a French fry in my mouth and took a sip of iced tea.
“I’m glad to hear things are going well at Heron House.” Brenna leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which brings me to my next question. How are things on the neighborly front? Is my brother still a world-class grouch, or has he at least stopped scowling at your general existence?”
I couldn’t help laughing, even as a blush crept up my neck. This required some tact. As nice as Brenna was, I had no idea how she would feel about me dating her brother. “Let’s just say we’ve turned over a new leaf. I initiated a pastry offensive that appears to have brokered a fragile peace.”
“A pastry offensive?” Brenna grinned. “Iris, I love that. So you’re just pelting him with baked goods until he surrenders?
That’s a brilliant strategy. I’m surprised no one’s tried it before.
” She took a sip of her water. “So he’s being civil?
That’s progress, I suppose. I was worried he’d put up a barbed-wire fence and a No Trespassing sign aimed directly at your porch. ”
I wriggled in my seat. I couldn’t keep this from her, no matter how she reacted. She was my friend, and I owed her honesty. “It’s a little more than civil, Brenna.”
Her teasing smile faltered slightly, replaced by genuine curiosity. “Oh? What does that mean? Did he actually help you with something without you having to bribe him with a whole pie?”
“He helped me with the siding, actually,” I said, the memory still warming me. “And he’s been… well, wonderful. We’ve been spending a lot of time together.” I let the words hang in the air, watching her face.
Her lips curved further. “A lot of time? That’s great. It’s good for him to have a friend next door.” Then her face went blank, and she tilted her head. “Wait. What kind of time are we talking about here?”
I took another deep breath, my heart galloping. “That kind. Like… he’s been over almost every night for the past week.”
The reaction was immediate and profound. Brenna’s fork, which had been poised over her coleslaw, clattered onto her plate. Her eyes widened, losing their teasing light and filling with absolute shock.
Oh no. She hates the idea of me with him.
Before I could respond and try to pull our friendship train back onto the tracks, she held up a palm. “Wait. Every night? As in… that kind of together? As in, Austin Coleridge, the man who considers small talk a form of psychological warfare, is in a relationship with you?”
A cold dread washed over me, extinguishing the warm, happy optimism I’d walked in with. I had overstepped.
“Oh, dear. Oh Mylanta. Brenna, I’m so sorry,” I rushed out, my voice filled with sudden panic. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it’s unexpected with the rocky start we had, and he’s your brother. Please don’t let this be weird between us. I really value your friendship.”
Brenna just stared at me, her stunned expression becoming unreadable.
Then her face became calculating. I could see the wheels spinning as her eyes darted over my face.
“Oh, Iris. Honey, no. It’s a little weird, but I’m not upset.
” Her gaze was shrewd now, intensely focused.
“I’m just shocked. How long has this been going on? ”
I laughed, though it came out nervous. “Well, I don’t know if we’re putting labels on it yet. It’s new. Like I said, only a week or so. And I know we didn’t hit it off right away. I practically flooded his yard. He was probably ready to have me arrested.”
“No,” Brenna said, shaking her head slowly, her eyes still locked on mine. “No, Iris, you don’t understand. It’s not about you. Or the sprinkler. Austin doesn’t do relationships. Not for a very long time.”
Goosebumps pebbled my arms at the realization that her reaction wasn’t about me being with her brother.
It was about him being with anyone.
The mood at our table shifted from lighthearted gossip to something heavier. I picked at the coaster under my iced tea, my cheeseburger now unappetizing.
“He hides a lot behind that grumpy persona, doesn’t he?” I said, testing the waters. “I’ve seen another side of him. A side that’s kind and really protective.”
Brenna nodded, her gaze soft with affection for her complicated older brother. “He’s both of those. Austin cares more deeply than almost anyone I know. And he’s the most dependable person on the planet. He built walls a long time ago, Iris. He built them high and thick, for a reason.”
The unspoken hung in the air between us, a ghost at our lunch table. “A reason? Brenna, what happened to him?”
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze drifting out the window to the sunny Main Street traffic, a sad look in her eyes. When she looked back at me, her expression was full of a pained apology.
“That’s Austin’s story to tell,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s not mine to share. I’m sorry.”
My cheeks flushed as if I’d just read a page from her private diary. Of course she wouldn’t betray her brother’s confidences. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay.” Brenna reached across the table and patted my hand, her warmth chasing away some of the chill that had settled over me.
“Listen, Iris. Austin is complicated. You’ve seen that already.
But he’s the best man I know. He deserves some happiness.
He’s been on his own for too long.” Her gaze sharpened with sisterly affection, and her smile returned.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m not surprised, but it’s high time someone besides his family breached those walls.
And we haven’t been friends all that long, but I think I know you. I’m glad that someone is you.”
Tears welled in my eyes. I dabbed my napkin at them, feeling a little silly. “Thank you for saying that. Your friendship already means a lot to me. And Austin does too. Cranky, perfectionist tendencies and all.”
That made both of us laugh, ending the serious moment. She took a bite of her burger. “Come on. Eat.”
As we finished our meal, my mind whirred.
After we paid the bill, Brenna gave me a smile. “I should get back to the bookstore. But don't be a stranger, okay?”
“I won’t. Thanks for the tour, Brenna. And for, you know, the burger and everything.”
“Anytime. Honestly, Iris, you’ve given me a lot to think about today.
Good things.” She paused, her expression thoughtful.
“I’m happy for you. And for Austin, too, even if he is a stubborn grump who doesn’t know what’s good for him half the time.
He’s got a good heart under all those barnacles.
He just doesn’t let many people see it.”
Her eyes held a silent message, a clear, sisterly plea. Be patient with him.
I nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “I’m starting to see that.”
She waved at me through the window as she walked away. I returned it as I sat at our table, processing. I was truly happy to have made real friends, to feel the first tentative threads of community weaving around me.
But this new feeling of belonging now competed with a profound, gnawing unease.
This was no longer a simple case of winning over a grumpy man with good cookies and a stubborn spirit.
Austin had experienced a significant trauma that still affected his sister and probably his whole family, not just him.
“What happened to you, Austin Coleridge?” I whispered to my empty iced tea.