Chapter 7
Taco Tuesday
Jake
I replay the same ten seconds over and over in my head.
Those blue eyes wide, lips parted, breathing fast. How close I came to finding out if her mouth tastes as sweet as it looks…
And how I let go instead.
I throw an arm over my face and groan quietly into the pre-dawn darkness.
This is a problem.
She is a problem.
Not because she’s done anything wrong, she’s been nothing but accommodating despite me literally walking into her life, but because every time I’m near her, I want to be closer.
Every time she smiles, I want to make her smile again.
I want to hear her laugh, ask about her day.
And when she thanked me for coming home, like it actually mattered to her…
Yeah. Problem.
By the time her bedroom door opens, I’m in the kitchen making coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She appears in the hallway, and I’m awestruck all over again.
Beautiful.
“Good morning,” she says, but there’s something careful in her voice. Like she’s not sure what I was thinking last night. Hell, I’m not even sure myself.
“Morning.” I gesture to the coffee maker. “Just made a fresh pot.”
“Perfect,” she sighs, setting down two pairs of shoes she brought out of her bedroom by the door. She moves into the kitchen, and we end up doing this awkward dance where we’re both trying not to get too close, but also not make it obvious we have to be in this small space.
“You, uh, planning an outfit change?” I ask, attempting to break the tension.
She glances down at the shoes, then back up at me with a small smile. “Oh. No, I’m walking to work today. I wear sneakers for the walk and change into my flats when I get there.”
“You walked yesterday?”
“No, I drove. I was worried about rain.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “And I didn’t sleep well the night before, so I was tired.”
Because a stranger let himself in. My stomach twists at the knowledge I scared the hell out of her to the point she lost sleep over it.
“But the weather’s nice today,” she continues, “so I thought I’d walk. It’s only about fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes in the same direction I’m heading.
“I could walk with you,” I offer.
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh. You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” There’s that damn word again—want—but I can’t take it back now. “If that’s okay.”
A smile spreads across her face, slow and devastatingly gorgeous. “Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking down Harbor Street together. The morning’s cool but not cold, the sun just starting to burn off the marine layer. A few early joggers pass us. The smell of coffee drifts from the café on the corner.
Peyton’s changed into her sneakers; her flats tucked into her work bag. She’s got sunglasses perched on her head even though it’s not that bright yet, and she’s wearing a light cardigan over her peach blouse.
I’m in my usual clothes—jeans, boots, a T-shirt that’s seen better days. We probably look ridiculous together. The polished resort manager and the grease-stained boat captain, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and neither do I.
“So,” she says as we round the corner past the post office. “Tell me about the charter business. How’d you get into it?”
I chuckle. “You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
Fair enough. “I worked on fishing boats in Alaska for a few years after high school. Saved up enough to buy a small boat, started running tours out of Seattle. Did that for a while, then moved up here about three years ago when I found the Knot Working.”
“Why here?”
“Better waters, less competition than Seattle. And Luke was here.” I shrug. “Seemed like a good move at the time.”
“Do you regret it?”
I glance at her. She’s watching me with genuine curiosity, no judgment, just interest. “No,” I say honestly. “This is home now, or as close to home as I’ve got.”
“You mean on the boat?”
“The boat. The water. This town.” I pause, then add, “The people.”
She smiles at that, ducking her head a little.
“What about you?” I ask. “Always wanted to work in hospitality?”
She laughs and it makes my chest swell. “Not really. I kind of fell into it. I needed a job in college and started working the front desk at a hotel, and it just…went on from there. I worked my way up.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder.
“It’s not glamorous, but I’m good at it.
And I like helping people enjoy themselves, whether it’s a vacation, honeymoon, or wedding—it’s fun for me. ”
I grin. “Even the complainers?”
“Oh, you’d be amazed what people complain about. Last week, someone called the front desk because the ocean was ‘too loud’ and they couldn’t sleep.”
“The ocean was too loud?”
“Yep.”
“Did you offer to turn it down?”
She giggles. “I told him I’d speak to the tide personally.”
“And did you?”
“Absolutely,” she beams. “The tide and I have an understanding now.”
I’m laughing again, and it feels good, easy even. When’s the last time I laughed like this? Taken a walk with a beautiful woman simply because I wanted to? Damn near feels like never.
We walk in comfortable silence for a moment, and I notice small things. The way she walks with purpose, straight with her gaze ahead. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when the breeze catches it. The way she smells—jasmine mixed with fresh air.
“Can I ask you something?” she hums.
“Sure.”
“Why’d you name your boat Knot Working?”
I grin. “Because it’s a terrible pun and it makes people groan.”
She smiles. “That’s it? That’s the only reason?”
“Pretty much. Though,” I pause. “It’s also kind of true, in a sense. Being on the water has never felt like a job to me. I love it in a way it doesn’t feel like I’m working. So, in my mind, I’m Knot Working.”
“You should probably lead with that explanation over the pun,” she teases.
I can’t stop smiling. “Noted.”
We’re getting close to The Tides now. The resort looms ahead, all glass and wood and upscale coastal elegance. The marina’s just past it, boats visible in their slips.
I don’t want this walk to end.
“So, what’s on your agenda today? Engine surgery?” Peyton says as we approach the main entrance.
I chuckle. “Something like that. I’m waiting on a parts shipment, but there’s plenty I can do in the meantime.”
She stops at the base of the steps leading up to the resort entrance. “Well, thanks for walking with me.”
“Anytime,” I grunt, and I mean it. She could’ve asked for a damn piggyback ride and I would’ve happily carried her to work any way she wished. I’m also very aware of the fact that I don’t want to leave. I’d stand here all day just talking to her.
“I’ll cover dinner tonight,” I blurt out. “If you want. Since you got it last night.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, if you’re interested. No pressure.”
“I am,” she says a little too fast, then blushes. “That sounds great. What time?”
“Six-thirty?”
“Perfect.” She’s beaming up at me now. Smiling and stunning with her loose curls blowing in the breeze and her deep ocean eyes drawing me in like a siren. My chest tightens. “I’ll see you tonight, Jake.”
I nod. “See you tonight.”
She turns and heads up the steps, and I watch her go. I can’t help it. The way she moves, confident and graceful, her hips and ass swaying. Then she glances back over her shoulder and catches me staring—and the way she smiles when she does.
My face heats even as I grin despite the looming embarrassment of being caught checking out her ass, but then she disappears through the glass doors, and I’m left standing here like an idiot.
I haven’t even had breakfast and I’m already looking forward to dinner.
By 5:45 PM, I’m showered, changed into clean clothes that don’t smell like engine oil, and standing in my apartment—our apartment? Peyton’s apartment?—with a bag of takeout from Lupita’s.
Fish tacos, carne asada, chips and guac, the works.
The apartment’s clean. I even lit one of those candles Peyton has on the coffee table. Vanilla-something. Figured it couldn’t hurt. Now I’m pacing, checking my phone every thirty seconds like a teenager waiting for prom.
This is ridiculous. It’s just dinner.
Except it’s not just dinner, and I know it.
6:02 PM the door unlocks.
Peyton steps inside, and her face lights up when she sees me.
“You’re here,” she says, slightly breathless.
“Told you I’d cover dinner.” I gesture to the spread on the coffee table. “Hope you like Mexican.”
“I love Mexican.” She drops her bag and kicks off her shoes, and I try very hard not to watch the way her blouse shifts as she moves. “Is that from Lupita’s?”
“Yeah. You know it?”
“Chris mentioned it. Said they have the best fish tacos in town, but I haven’t had a chance to try them.”
“Chris is correct.”
She’s beaming now, moving toward the couch. We settle in like last night—her on one end of the couch, me on the other, food spread between us. She tucks her legs under her, looking relaxed and happy and so goddamn beautiful it hurts.
She unwraps a taco. “How was the boat today?”
“Better. Got some work done. Luke stopped by, offered to help this weekend when the parts arrive.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“He’s not completely useless.” I take a bite of my carne asada taco. “How was the resort?”
“Chaotic. Mrs. Henderson checked out, thank god, but we had a mix-up with a wedding party’s room blocks, and the head chef called in sick.” She shakes her head. “I’m just glad to be home.”
Home.
The word settles between us, comfortable and dangerous all at once.
We eat and talk, the conversation flowing easily. She tells me about the bridezilla who demanded the resort move the entire wedding setup because she didn’t like the direction the sunset would face. I tell her about the time a charter guest tried to jump off my boat to swim with orcas.
“Please tell me you stopped him,” she says, eyes wide.
“Barely. Guy was already halfway over the rail when I grabbed him.”
“That’s terrifying.”
I chuckle. “Welcome to charter life.”
She laughs, and the sound fills the apartment, warm and bright. I can’t stop watching her. Everything about her is pulling me in like the tide.
The tacos are gone. The guacamole’s demolished. We’re both full and relaxed, any tension there was from the last few days is completely dissolved.
“Thank you for walking with me this morning,” she says softly. “And for dinner. This was great.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.”
Want. Our eyes meet, and there it is again. That pull. This magnetic thing that’s been building since I realized I’d do anything to make her feel safe.
She leans forward slightly, setting her plate on the table. I do the same, and suddenly we’re closer. Close enough that I’m at risk of getting lost in the depths of her ocean gaze.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Jake,” she whispers.
My heart stops.
Fuck it.
I close the distance between us and kiss her.