Chapter 6
Dinner for Two
Peyton
Forty-seven minutes past when I should’ve left.
But when Mrs. Henderson—a guest who’s been here for three days and complained about everything from the thread count of her sheets to the temperature of her morning coffee—decided the sunset view from her balcony wasn’t ‘sunset-y enough,’ I couldn’t exactly tell her to take it up with nature.
Instead, I smiled. Apologized. Offered her a complimentary dinner at our restaurant. She took it, of course. And added a complaint about the restaurant’s menu being ‘too seafood-forward for a coastal resort.’
Needless to say, it’s been a day.
I make it halfway across the lobby before my assistant manager, Chris, calls after me, “Peyton! Before you go—”
“Tomorrow,” I say firmly, not breaking stride. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“But the Fourth of July event—”
“Tomorrow, Chris.”
I push through the glass doors into the parking lot, the cool evening air hitting my face. The resort sits right on the water, all modern glass and natural wood, designed to blend with the landscape while still screaming luxury.
It’s beautiful. Prestigious. Everything I wanted when I applied for this position.
It’s also exhausting.
I climb into my car and sit for a moment, hands on the wheel, not moving. Through the windshield, I can see the marina next door. Boats bobbing gently in their slips. The water beyond, stretching toward the horizon.
Jake’s boat is down there somewhere.
I not so absently wonder if he’s still there…or if he’s already back at the apartment.
Or is it…our apartment? The thought sends a weird flutter through my stomach.
I start the car and pull onto the main road, my brain running through everything I need to do tomorrow. Check on the Henderson situation. Finalize the July 4th fireworks permit. Meet with the catering team…
My stomach growls, interrupting my mental checklist.
Right. Food. I sigh, realizing I forgot to eat lunch again.
As if on cue, I see the Thai place on Harbor Street up ahead and make a split-second decision to pull into the parking lot. Antonio’s Italian is next door, and the Mexican spot is across the street, but something about pad thai sounds perfect right now.
Within minutes, I’m standing at the counter, looking at the menu, when the woman taking my order asks, “For here or to go?”
“To go,” I say automatically, then pause. “Actually…make it enough for two.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. I order the pad thai, some spring rolls, chicken satay, and extra sauce. Way more food than one person needs.
What are you doing, Peyton?
I don’t have an answer. Just this weird impulse that made me think of Jake sitting on the couch last night, looking rough and tired, and the fact he’s probably had a long day at the marina dealing with his boat.
“You’re an empath,” my mother would say, “of course you let a stranger sleep on your sofa. It’s only right that you feed him, too.”
Stranger-danger never really was a thing to Mom. She always saw the good in people. I suppose that’s another thing she left me.
I shake the thought away and pay. I wait for the food, checking my phone. No messages. No missed calls. Just a reminder from my meditation app that I’ve skipped the last four days in a row.
The bag of food is warm in my hands as I walk back to my car. The smell fills the interior—ginger and garlic and peanut sauce—and my stomach growls again.
The drive home takes two minutes. The whole time, I argue with myself over why I decided to order enough for two…
You said roommates, not friends.
He said he’d stay out of your way.
He’s basically a stranger who walked in on you naked.
Between the way he said ‘have a good day at work’ this morning and the steady realization that’s been creeping up on me all day, getting louder with each hour of: I’m going home to someone.
For the first time since Mom died, I’m going home to an apartment that isn’t empty.
The thought hits me so hard my eyes burn.
It’s not the same. Of course it’s not. Jake isn’t Mom. He’s barely an acquaintance. He doesn’t want to be there any more than I want him there, but still, someone will be there when I unlock the door.
I take a shaky breath and pull into the parking lot. The apartment building looks the same as always. I grab the takeout bag and my purse, juggling everything as I scan my fob and head inside.
The elevator ride to the fourth floor feels longer than usual. My heart beating too fast and fluttering in a way that makes me feel ridiculous.
It’s just dinner. You’re being nice. Roommate courtesy.
I unlock the apartment door and step inside.
It’s dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights through the windows.
My heart sinks. He’s not here.
The disappointment that crashes through me is so intense it takes my breath away.
Which is stupid. So stupid. He said he’d be scarce.
He’s probably still at the marina, or maybe he went to his brother’s, or literally anywhere that isn’t here because why would he be here when you made it crystal clear last night was a one-night stay?
I set the takeout bag on the coffee table, then stand in the dark, feeling like an absolute idiot. The bag sits in front of me, mocking me with its two entrees and yummy spring rolls.
My vision blurs.
Oh, god. No. I am not crying over takeout.
Except I am, apparently, because suddenly there are tears on my cheeks and my throat is tight and I’m sinking onto the couch in the dark like some pathetic—
I hear it before I can finish the thought. A key in the lock.
I gasp, quickly swiping at my face as the door opens.
Jake steps inside, and even in the dim light, he looks rough. His hair’s a mess, there’s grease on his shirt, and he’s got that same exhausted set to his shoulders from this morning.
He stops when he sees me. “Peyton?”
“Hi.” My voice comes out in a squeak. I clear my throat. “Sorry, I was just—” I gesture vaguely at nothing.
He flips on the light, and I blink against the sudden brightness. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at me. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I stand up, smoothing my blouse. “I’m fine. Long day. How was the marina?”
“Peyton.” He closes the door and moves closer. The genuine concern in his voice makes my throat tighten again. “What’s wrong?”
I try to smile but it feels wobbly. “I, um—I brought home dinner, but you weren’t here, so I…” I trail off, realizing how ridiculous I sound. “I got enough for two,” I finish lamely.
God, this is so embarrassing.
“Did you eat already?”
“No. I was just about to.”
“Good.” He moves past me toward the couch. “I’m starving. Marina food truck closed early, and I’ve been elbow-deep in engine parts since eight this morning.”
I follow him, my pulse racing. “Do you…want to eat with me?”
He sits down, leaning forward to pull containers out of the bag. “You got pad thai and spring rolls?” He peers up at me and there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I want to eat with you. Unless you’re rescinding the offer?”
“No. No, I just thought…”
“We can eat in my room if you want.”
My brow furrows. “You don’t have a room.”
“The couch.” He grins.
I can’t help but laugh at his lame joke and his returning smile lights up the entire apartment. I swallow and turn away, hurrying to gather utensils and two plates before taking a seat beside him on the couch. I start dividing the food between our plates.
We eat in silence for a moment. It should be awkward, but somehow, it’s not. Maybe because we’re both too hungry to care. Or maybe because the apartment feels less empty with both of us in it.
“So,” Jake says eventually, picking up his third spring roll. “How was your day?
I look up sharply. “Oh, um… Well, I had a guest complain that the sunset last night wasn’t sunset-y enough.”
He snorts. “What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea. But I smiled and offered her a free dinner anyway because that’s my job.”
“Your job is to manage the resort, not to manage unrealistic expectations about atmospheric phenomena.”
I raise a brow at his choice of words. Beauty and brains. What else is there about this boat captain I don’t know? “I’ll be sure to use that line tomorrow when she calls the front desk to complain about the tide schedule.”
He raises a brow. “She complained about the tide schedule?”
“Not yet, but give her time.”
He shakes his head and chuckles, taking another bite of his dinner. “How long have you been the resort manager at The Tides?”
“A few weeks. Before this, I was an assistant manager at a hotel in Seattle for three years.”
“Big change coming here from Seattle, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah.” I push a piece of chicken around my plate. “I needed a change. After my mom died, being in Seattle just…didn’t fit. So, when this position opened up, I applied. I didn’t really think I’d get it, but…” I shrug.
“When did she die?” he asks softly.
I sigh. “Six months ago.”
We’re both quiet for a moment. I focus on my food, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” Jake says finally.
“Thanks.” I risk a glance in his direction. His eyes are soft. Kind. Nothing like the gruff man from last night. “It’s been…hard. She was all I had. I’m an only child and my dad left when I was little. It was just me and her for most of my life.”
“So, you really are starting from scratch here.”
“Pretty much.” I manage a weak smile. “No friends, no family, just me and a job that requires me to smile while people complain about breathtaking sunsets.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says, meeting my eyes, “I’m sorry for being an ass about the apartment situation.”
“You weren’t an ass. You were surprised, and so was I. There’s a difference.”
His mouth quirks. “Fair.”
We go back to eating, but something’s shifted. The tension from this morning is gone, replaced by a less awkward form of…companionship, maybe? The word feels off, but it’s the only one that comes to mind sitting here having dinner and talking about our day-to-day life.
“So, how bad is your boat?” I ask, because I’m curious.
His expression darkens. “Bad. Cracked engine block, cooling system damage. I need to order parts, and even then, it’s going to take at least two to three weeks to get her running again.”
Oh. “That’s a long time to be out of commission.”
“Tell me about it. June, July, August are my busiest months. I have tours booked almost every day. Well, had.“
“Had?”
“Cancelled the rest of June this afternoon.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “I gave everyone refunds, apologized profusely. Lost probably ten grand in revenue, easy.”
“Oh my god, Jake.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “So. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while. Unless you want to kick me out, which honestly, I’d understand.”
I should say yes, tell him to find somewhere else, that this isn’t going to work for that length of time, that I need my space. But instead, I hear myself say, “You can stay.”
He beams. “Yeah?”
“I mean, it’s not ideal for either of us, but Danny’s clearly not going to help, and you don’t have anywhere else to go, and…” I hesitate, then decide to be honest. “I don’t hate having a strange man as a roommate as much as I thought I would.”
His grin widens. “Glad to hear it.”
We finish eating, and I start to clean up, but Jake waves me off. I want to argue, but honestly, I’m exhausted. So I let him take care of the dishes while I return to the couch, kicking off my work flats and tucking my feet under me.
He finishes and comes into the living room, drying his hands on a dish towel. He gestures to the TV. “You want to watch something? Or are you heading to bed?”
I check my phone. 8:15 PM. Early, but I’m wiped.
“I should probably go to bed,” I say reluctantly. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Yeah, same here.”
Neither of us moves.
“Thanks again for dinner,” he says as I start to stand.
“Thanks for coming home.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and my face heats immediately. “I mean—not like—I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” His voice is low and close and rough in a way that has my pulse spiking. Our eyes meet, and for a second something charged and completely inadvisable passes between us.
I clear my throat, slipping past his towering, stonewall of a frame mere inches away. The heat from his chest lingers around me and I nearly pause mid-step simply to be closer to him. It’s been…a long time since I’ve been with a man, or on a date, for that matter.
I can’t even tell you the last time someone touched me, hugged me, kissed me…
How depressing.
I inhale deeply, his musky, manly scent flooding my senses before I sigh. “Well, um, goodnight.”
I make it two steps before his hand catches my wrist.
Not rough or demanding. Warm. His fingers wrap around me like a question.
I stop breathing.
“Peyton.”
The strain in his voice has me turning slowly, and he’s right there, so close I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. The shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his broad chest rises and falls just a little too fast.
“Yes?” I breathe.
His gaze drops to my mouth as his thumb strokes across the inside of my wrist—once, twice—and I feel it everywhere. He swallows hard. His eyes meet mine again and there’s a kind of loneliness in them I know all too well. “Goodnight.”
He doesn’t let go right away, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, his body close enough that if I leaned forward a mere inch—
He releases me suddenly, stepping back and putting distance between us like he needs it to take his next breath.
I don’t linger. I turn away and walk to my bedroom on shaky legs, very aware of his eyes on me down the hall. I close the door and lean against it, my heart pounding.
My wrist still tingles where he touched me.
I fall onto my bed and stare at the ceiling, replaying the way he held onto me, the way his thumb stroked my skin like he couldn’t help himself…
And I wonder, lying here in the dark, acutely aware he’s just on the other side of the wall, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t let go?