Chapter 10
TEN
SAVANNA
“Mommy, I have an idea. Since Dalton is coming to our house today, maybe we can go to his, too.” My body freezes mid-dance in the living room as I do a double-take at Drew twirling beside me. What did she just say?
As soon as Drew and I got home from the hardware store, I took one look around and panicked.
Since Dalton decided he was a jack of all trades—exchanging his Marine uniform for my handyman—I went on the fastest cleaning spree of my life.
The only thing that helped settle my nerves was the Taylor Swift playlist Drew linked through my phone that we were still dancing to.
Clearing my throat, I try to hide my shock. “No, I’m sorry, little bean. That’s not possible. Dalton doesn’t live on the island.”
Drew furrows her brows, pausing mid-spin to look at me. “Oh. Where does he live?”
“California,” I reply, reaching for her hand to twirl her around, searching for a distraction as the panic settles in my chest.
“Isn’t that far?” Drew asks, spinning.
“Yeah, it’s very far,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek.
“Maybe we can visit him sometime,” Drew squeals, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
Oh no, this was a bad idea.
I should never have agreed to accept Dalton’s help.
Maybe I shouldn't answer the door when Dalton knocks—I think I can commit myself to a lifetime of cold showers because talking about Dalton with Drew feels more like torture than washing my body in ice-cold water every day.
Just as I’m about to make an excuse as to why we can never visit Dalton in California, I hear the sound of rough knuckles tapping against the front door. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. Now's my chance to rethink my lifelong commitment to cold showers.
Think of what’s best for Drew, Savanna.
Before I have time to dwell on my decision any longer, Drew runs to the door, swinging it open to reveal Dalton standing on my porch with a shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bouncing between Drew and me.
“Swifties, huh?” He smirks.
Oh God, he must have heard us.
A blush creeps up my neck, traveling toward my cheeks.
Well, this is embarrassing.
“Dalton, you’re here,” Drew shrieks, throwing herself into his arms.
Dalton scoops her up, as if this is a perfectly natural interaction between the two of them now. Internally, I’m screaming.
“Everyone’s a Swiftie,” Drew says, squishing Dalton’s cheeks together, laughing. “Mommy says her songs are the best kinds of songs when you’re going through a breakup with a boy!”
Dalton tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow.
A snort falls from my mouth.
“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes studying me.
“Well, obviously.” I roll my eyes, waving my hand at him dismissively. “But don’t flatter yourself, Dalton. My heart has never been broken.”
Lie.
His mouth turns up in a half-smirk, and I extend the light blue door so they can make their way inside. “Huh, clearly.” His forehead pinches as he chuckles. “I guess I'll have to remember that for the future.”
I snort. Whatever flirting Dalton has going here, I’m not falling for it.
He makes his way into the living room, placing Drew and the red toolbox he’s holding down.
He’s changed out of his faded work jeans and into army green camo shorts and a plain white shirt.
Even his work boots are replaced with black low-top Converse.
His hair is slightly wet and a little tousled—like he was in a rush to get here.
He looks attractive standing in my living room. Like six years of working out every day in the Marines, kind of hot. Like maybe he does those sexy Marine calendar photoshoots where he holds puppies while he poses shirtless for charity.
I swallow, my eyes glossing over. Oh, fabulous.
Once I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, I make my way down the hallway to a small closet that holds the water heater, with Dalton on my heels.
As we create some distance between us and the living room, I can hear Drew press play again on the music.
A song about never getting back together blares through the speakers.
I cringe. How fitting.
I stop at the end of the hallway, fingers pulling open the knob on the water heater door. I make a grand, sweeping gesture. “Well, here it is,” I say, smiling. “What can I help with?”
Dalton’s eyes narrow, stepping around me to examine the water heater.
His shoulder brushes against mine as he leans in, finding the grey box on the hot water tank.
I’m mesmerized as I watch his large fingers fidget with the dial, twisting it from left to right.
My breath hitches as I watch him work quickly—the jerky movements of his fingertips make the moment feel erotic.
Jesus, Savanna, do not get turned on by a guy fixing your water heater.
Dalton glances behind his broad shoulder, clearing his throat.
“I think this is a one-man job here, Savanna.” He lets out an exasperated breath as he bends down to grab a screwdriver from the red toolbox he brought with him.
Standing up, he unscrews the bolts of the old thermostat. “Why don’t you go relax?”
I rear my head back as though I’ve been slapped.
Relax? Excuse me? I’m pretty sure I haven’t used that word in a sentence since Drew was born.
I suck in my bottom lip, contemplating my next words carefully.
When I take too long to respond, Dalton turns from the water heater, tilting his head to the side.
I wet my lips, glancing around. “Umm. I don’t know. There must be something I can help with.”
Dalton lets out a throaty chuckle at my offer. “Nope. There really isn’t. Trust me, I’ll have this done in no time. Plus, this hallway is pretty small…and you kinda stink.” He winks.
My eyes widen, mouth falling open at Dalton’s sudden playfulness.
I draw my head back, gasping with my hand pressing down on my chest. “Dalton, you did not just say that to me.” I slap his tattooed arm playfully. For a second, it feels like old times between us again.
Dalton’s masculine laughter radiates down the hallway. Trailing his eyes toward my lips, his laughter fades. Catching my hand before it makes contact with his arm again, he pulls me flush against his body. His gaze dips down, eyes full of intensity as he studies me.
My belly swoops, my pulse quickening, as I gaze back into Dalton’s eyes. The look on his face is eerily familiar to the one he gave me from across the bonfire the night I gave him everything.
I stare up at him, speechless, suddenly very aware of my throbbing core that's pressed against him. There are so many things I want to do with this man at the moment, and none of them involve relaxing.
Tipping his mouth down toward the shell of my ear, his warm breath lands on my neck. “You know I’m just joking with you, Savanna,” he rasps. “You always smell perfect. A combination of vanilla and coconut. It’s my favorite scent.”
I suck in a sharp breath at his confession, disbelief washing over me that he remembers my favorite perfume scent.
I look down at where our bodies are now connected, his arousal growing in his cargo shorts—now pressing against my inner thigh.
Instinct takes over, and I press my body firmly into him, rolling my hips into his bulging pants.
A hiss escapes his mouth at the feeling of my body against him. “Savanna…” he draws my name out in a warning. “Please don’t tempt me more than I already am.” His hands land on my hips, halting my grinding.
“I will toss you over my shoulder and fuck you in your bedroom right now if that’s what you want,” he whispers.
My breath hitches at his words, grinding into him once more before I can think better of it and pull away. Clearing my throat, I take a step back, watching the wildfire burning in Dalton’s eyes, like he’s about to make good on his dirty little promise.
It’s abundantly clear to me that Dalton Hayes has shed the shy, reserved mask he wore so well growing up—replaced now with a bold, confident, and in-control man standing before me.
My eyes track Dalton as he wets his lips in anticipation of claiming mine. “Why would I tempt you?” I ask, looking down at the ground, as warmth rises to my cheeks.
Dalton steps forward, his calloused fingertips curling into my hip as he lets out a groan. “Because it's you, Savanna. When have you not tempted me?”
Our eyes meet, and déjà vu transports me right back to the night on the beach—rendering me speechless. Dalton’s thumb traces my lips, his palm frames my face, gracing my jawline. “Fuck, Savanna,” he mumbles. “I wish I’d known the truth.”
“What truth?” I breathe.
“That you weren’t married.”
Married? He thought I was married?
I suck in a breath, lips parting. “Dalton, why would you think I was married?”
“Because I thought you were with Drew’s father.” His voice comes out strained as he traces my lips with his thumb, his eyes drinking me in.
A rush of breath escapes me, cheek warming from his touch. I consider telling him the truth, but before I can, Drew comes barreling down the hallway toward us. Dalton and I quickly jump apart from our embrace.
“Mommy, is the water heater fixed yet?” Drew bounces on her heels.
A laugh rumbles from Dalton’s chest as he reaches into his toolbox, grabs a screwdriver, and turns toward the water heater. “I don’t think I’m that quick, Miss Drew.”
“Aww.” She pouts, earning a throaty chuckle from Dalton.
“Let’s give Dalton some space,” I say, tucking her hand in mine. I lead her down the hallway and into the living room—because needing space from Dalton is essential right now.
Drew runs over to the entryway table, grabs her bucket of seashells, and pours them onto the coffee table. With my back pressed into the linen couch, I watch Drew sort the shells by color and size—my eyes stare transfixed as I replay the moment with Dalton in the hallway.
I repeat his words back in my mind on a continuous loop.
The loop gets snagged on the word married.
I was never married to Drew’s father because I never married him.