Chapter 18 #2
I found my sharpest pruning shears, the ones I used for nothing else, and walked over to my hibiscus hedge.
The one she’d almost sent to a watery grave, the one we’d worked on together just a few days ago.
It was recovering beautifully, new growth dotted with vibrant, defiant blooms. Carefully, with the precision of a surgeon, I snipped one flawless crimson flower. Its petals were a rich, bright velvet.
After dropping the shears, I walked through the gap in the hedge where a path was slowly but surely being worn. I went up the steps of her porch, the flower held carefully in my hand. The bloom felt both foolish and incredibly important.
It was an apology for every grumpy thought I’d ever had about her.
And a question I still didn’t know how to ask.
She must have heard my footsteps on the old wood. She turned, a question on her face, and her eyes widened when she saw me standing there holding the flower. I stopped in front of her, feeling strangely, uncharacteristically shy. I didn’t say anything. I just held out the flower.
She stared at the crimson bloom, then up at me, her blue eyes searching mine for a long, breathless moment. A slow, wondrous smile spread across her face, an expression of unguarded delight that made my heart do a two-step.
“Austin,” she breathed, her gaze dropping back to the perfect, velvety petals as she took it from me. She lifted it to her nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent, her eyes gently closing for a second. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“It’s a good one,” I managed, my voice rough. “Figured it belonged with you.”
She looked up at me again, her smile so soft it made my chest ache. I stepped forward and cupped her jaw, my thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered, her lips parting on a soft breath.
Lowering my head, I touched my mouth to hers.
Her lips were soft, yielding, welcoming. The memory of our first, explosive encounter flared, but this was different. This was a slow, deliberate coming together. Slower. Deeper. More dangerous, maybe, because it felt less like a loss of control and more like a conscious surrender.
She leaned into me, the hibiscus still held carefully in one hand. This quiet, intimate moment on her porch, with the scent of sawdust and her perfume filling my senses, was more real than anything I’d allowed myself to feel in thirteen years.
I pulled back, reluctantly, my hand still cradling her face. Her eyes were dark, dazed, color high on her cheeks.
The memory of my phone call with Brenna, the one I’d been trying to shove into a dark corner of my mind, suddenly surfaced. The absurdity of the situation, of me standing here, kissing my neighbor just hours after my sister had interrogated me about her, hit me. A soft, unexpected laugh escaped me.
Iris blinked, a confused little frown appearing between her brows. “What’s so funny?”
“I, uh… I talked to Brenna earlier,” I admitted, feeling a fresh wave of heat creep up my neck. I dropped my hand from her face, needing the distance. “She mentioned her little tour of Dove Key yesterday.”
Iris’s eyes widened in dawning horror, then narrowed with a sharp glint of amusement. “Oh, did she? She casually mentioned knowing about you and me?”
“Something like that,” I grumbled, my usual defenses starting to reassert themselves now that our lips weren’t touching. “She has a way of extracting information in unexpected ways. I didn’t even know you two had met.”
“Well, you knew I joined her book club,” she teased, her smile returning. “It’s not a huge leap in logic to think I might have gotten to know the woman who is a huge part of it.”
“I don’t pay attention to all that… day-drinking club crap,” I said, the familiar gruffness a welcome, if slightly ill-fitting, shield.
“It’s a book club, you heathen.” She laughed again, a full, honest sound that settled something deep inside me. “And the wine is purely for literary enhancement, I’ll have you know.”
The ease between us, the shared humor, was a new and dangerous territory. It felt good. Too good. And the look in her eyes, the way she was smiling at me as if I were the most interesting, baffling man she’d ever met, made it hard to think straight.
The smile faded from my face. “It suits you,” I said, my voice suddenly rough again as I nodded toward the crimson flower she was still holding. “The color.”
She looked down at the bloom, then back up at me, her expression softening. “Thank you for bringing it to me.”
“You’re welcome.” The words sounded inadequate.
“Listen, I… I have a really early charter tomorrow. A full day.” It wasn’t true.
My calendar was no busier than usual. But it was a necessary lie, a desperate attempt to create some space, to give myself a chance to process the monumental shift that was occurring inside me.
“I should turn in soon, and I don’t want to wake you when I leave before dawn. ”
“Oh,” she said, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “Of course. I understand.”
“I’ll… I’ll call you tomorrow,” I added, the promise leaving my lips before I could stop it.
Her face brightened instantly, that thousand-watt smile returning. “I’d like that.”
I forced myself to turn and walk away. I didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, as I left her standing on the porch and holding my flower. The scent of her and a future I didn’t know what to do with followed me all the way home.
I walked through my living room, a space I had designed for peace and order.
The carefully chosen nautical charts on the wall looked flat, lifeless.
The fabric of my sofa, usually so inviting, offered no comfort.
I moved to my back patio, where the sky was now a deep, bruised purple streaked with the last fiery remnants of the sunset.
The lights of Heron House flickered next door, a warm, inviting glow against the deepening twilight.
Her silhouette moved behind a window, maybe putting the hibiscus I’d given her in a bowl of water.
I replayed the moment on her porch over and over. The soft, unguarded delight on her face when I gave her the flower. The way she’d laughed at my stupid, gruff joke about her book club. The easy way she’d teased me. The way my mouth had curved into a smile without my permission.
It was real.
The thought landed not with a jolt, but with a weighted certainty.
This thing with her wasn’t just about the physical pull anymore, the raw, undeniable chemistry that had exploded between us in that dusty, demolished room.
That was the easy part, the part a man could understand and compartmentalize. This was something more dangerous.
I liked the sound of her laugh. I liked the way her eyes lit up when she was passionate about something. I liked her stubborn determination, her ridiculous G-rated curses, her surprisingly good baking.
I liked her.
I had real, developing feelings for her.
And I could, if I was foolish enough to let my guard down for more than a few stolen moments, picture a future. Waking up with her. Sharing coffee. Listening to her talk about her plans for Heron House. Seeing her smile that blinding smile because of something I’d said, something I’d done.
And that was the most terrifying thing in the world.
Because it inevitably brought the ghosts rushing back from the deep, dark places where I kept them chained. The jagged memory of a different life—a different future—crashed back, a world snatched away in an instant.
Caitlin.
The echo of her laughter, so different from Iris’s, but bright in its own way. The memory of a day on the water, the sun warm on our faces, the whole world vast and endless, like it would never run out.
Until it did.
I gripped the kitchen counter, my knuckles white, grounding me in the here and now. I wanted to leave the past where it was. Over. Forgotten. I’d told Brenna as much.
But I was beginning to realize the truth.
That maybe you can’t bury the past and be done with it.
If I wanted a real future, a life, I might have to unlock the one door in my mind I had bolted shut.
It wasn't just grief that lived behind that door.
It was the frigid memory that happiness could come at a terrible price.
And the thought of letting Iris all the way in was like tempting fate to come and collect its due all over again, with her as the payment.
And I knew exactly what that looked like.
The chaos, the screaming, the terrifying water, the silence…
And the crushing, suffocating weight of my survival.
I didn’t know if I had the strength to turn that key. And I was terrified that if I did, the guilt I’d spent all these years trying to outrun would finally end me for good.