Chapter 5
chapter five
eight months later
“Now, slowly, lower yourself into warrior two pose. Hold it. We’re going to stay here for ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight—great job, January—six, five, four, three, two, one. Release.”
The group sighs, standing up straight. Beachfront yoga is the most peaceful way to start the day.
The ten ladies in front of me have been faithfully attending since I began teaching it on Sunrise Beach a few months ago.
We usually meet down at the pier, but occasionally, we’ll hold it at my house for more privacy now that tourism is picking up.
A few of them I knew when I lived here before.
I was close to Wendy and Josie back in high school.
They’re sisters who run the local bed-and-breakfast. Josie is close to my age, and Wendy is a few years older.
They’ve always been good friends, like two big sisters in my life.
I forgot how much I’d loved that feeling of having a big sister around to lean on.
Silvie and I met when she came with her former nanny Birdie to a class, and I instantly connected with her. She’s hiding out in Coconut Beach after running away from her wedding. I’m secretly hoping she decides to stay.
“Now, bring your left foot forward, keeping your feet shoulder width apart.”
The sliding glass door behind us scrapes open.
I look up, expecting to see the builder, Javier.
Goose bumps prickle up the back of my arms, sending tingles over my entire body, when I see Dayton’s tall, built frame.
He braces his hands on his hips, the veins in his forearms visible from here.
I hate how I’m immediately self-conscious about the fact that my hair really needs to be washed.
He’s always too fucking perfect-looking.
His disapproving glare runs up and down my body.
“Uh, now drop down into child’s pose. Inhale for one, two, three, and … exhale. Continue a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales.”
I walk through the sand, over the few yards of grass, and up to the back porch.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the night I got drunk at Cocktails and Chaos and I told him I hated him. We’ve communicated strictly through Mr. Walsh and Javier.
He removes his aviator sunglasses. He’s wearing a white linen shirt and baggy black linen pants. He looks like he just stepped out of an ad for Ray-Ban.
“Finish up. We need to talk.” He turns and walks back into the house without looking at me again.
I clench my fists at my sides, the old familiar lead ball in my stomach weighing me down whenever he’s around. I return to the front of the beach and finish the class.
“Thank you all for coming. I’ll see you on Friday morning, bright and early.”
Josie and Wendy wave goodbye before heading down the beach to their house, which isn’t too far of a walk. Silvie hugs me before walking with Birdie toward January’s house next door. I watch them longingly, wishing I could join them to hear the town gossip instead of dealing with Dayton.
January has been a great neighbor, even if she is a little eccentric and predicts the weather. Silvie told me she’s known as the town psychic.
After the rest disperse and begin walking or biking home, I make my way up to the house. I’m coated in sweat, and my hair is sticking to the back of my neck. I walk toward the studio before meeting Dayton in the main house.
He can suck my dick and wait.
I push open the door.
I’ve made the space into an inviting home since moving in.
There’s a fiddle leaf by the door, and a giant, fluffy butter yellow comforter on the king-size bed.
The bed takes up most of the room, but I don’t care.
I sleep like a starfish. My clothes hang on a temporary clothing rack by the kitchenette.
The vaulted wood ceiling brings in a warmth that’s echoed by the kitchen cabinets.
The windows on three sides let in so much natural light that I only need the rattan lamp at night.
I love the shiny pearl-white scalloped tiles on the kitchen backsplash and in the shower.
I enter the small bathroom and peel off my lilac yoga pants and sports bra. I twist on the shower, stepping under it while it’s still cold. Any shock to my system is welcome right now. I’m about to enter a battlefield, and I need to get used to the pain.
After thoroughly washing my hair and body with my overpriced coconut and sea salt-scented shampoo and body wash, I step out and dry off.
I select a soft green cotton sundress that hits me mid-thigh.
It only takes me five minutes to get dressed and swipe on some mascara, tinted moisturizer with SPF, and lip oil.
I use my fingers to comb some leave-in conditioner and mousse into my hair to let the natural waves take shape.
Once I don my cute white tennis shoes, I’m ready to brave the inevitable war zone that is any conversation with Dayton Copeland.
I lift my chin as I cross through the backyard and up to the side entrance of the house.
I open the door and enter, easily finding Dayton.
His brooding, overwhelming presence is like a beacon of doom.
He’s studying the box of tiles for the kitchen backsplash like it’s personally offensive to him.
Javier is overexplaining the reason for changing up the design that was originally planned and approved in the virtual mock-ups. I begin braiding the unruly front section of my hair.
“Ms. Sullivan did say that you were in agreement on the change, sir.” It’s only nine a.m., and Javier is already breaking a sweat, and it’s not from the humidity.
Dayton turns to me. His eyes are lit with a spark of anger. His jaw is clenched so tight that I’m sure his dentist must beg him to pick up a hobby to find a better way to deal with stress. I smile at him sweetly before approaching Javier and patting his arm.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and check on the new flooring that’s being replaced? I’m worried they may have missed a few of the warped pieces and left behind some remaining water damage. I’ll show Mr. Copeland the adjustments.”
He nods at me with clear gratitude in his brown eyes before scurrying toward the stairs.
Dayton picks up a stray piece of pacific-blue tile. He inspects it like it’s a hair in his food.
“I found them on social media, from this perfect little pottery shop on Maui. The artist blessed them with a Hawaiian prayer.”
“Was the prayer extra?”
“Don’t be silly.”
Maybe. It wasn’t as much as the shipping.
I flip my hair over my shoulder.
He tosses the tile back into the box. “And the shipping? How much did that cost? You’re not still talking about a mural, I hope.”
“Still a firm no on the mural?” I offer a forced smile.
I avoid mentioning that the shipping cost more than the tile itself and that I already signed a contract with the mural artist. It had to be done. His books were filling up.
Dayton spins around in the unfinished kitchen.
The backsplash will be a mix of pacific blue hues shaped like scales.
I want it to feel like a classic coastal kitchen.
The designer’s previous choice was a horrific gray subway tile with black grout.
My mother never got the chance to approve it, and I know for a fact that she’d have loved the blue ten times better.
The fisherman basket pendants are being custom made now, and I know they’ll tie it all together.
I open my mouth to explain all this to Dayton, but he speaks first.
“I saw there was an order placed for custom-made acacia wood cabinets with engraved handles,” he says.
I silently gulp before nodding. “You want to see the mock-up? They are beautiful. The cabinet maker came very highly recommended.”
I’m trying to be nice, to get along with him. Maybe if I throw him a bone, he’ll feel more included and stop bitching about the changes. If we start arguing, who knows how out of control things could get? He should be thanking me for saving the project and making so many tasteful changes.
He purses his lips. “What was wrong with the premade white ones?”
I gesture around. “Isn’t it obvious? This house is so much better than premade particle board garbage. This home has a rich character and history. The cabinets will have cute little palm trees engraved on each one. Imagine! That’s a selling point, Dayton.”
He plants his hands on his hips again and speaks through gritted teeth. “This isn’t a custom remodel. It’s a standard, builder-grade flip. We don’t have a buyer yet.” His voice has a lethal undertone.
“Oh, we will. People will be lining up outside the front door, waving their money in our faces. Imagine how much more we’ll profit if the house doesn’t look like something you’d see in a cookie-cutter neighborhood in Miami.”
Dayton’s biggest motivator is money. If I can just convince him this is what’s best for the sale, maybe he’ll start to get it.
He closes his eyes, running a hand through his dark hair. I can’t tell if he’s flexing or if his veins are always that defined in his forearms.
“Do you understand the concept of a budget?”
A surge of red-hot anger melts over my skin. The insult in his condescending words makes me want to pick up a piece of hand-painted tile and launch it at his smug face.
“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer.”
“The money for this renovation is not an endless supply of cash. We have a set amount in the bank to finish it. At the rate you’re going, there won’t be anything left to even buy a stove.
” He’s practicing an incredible amount of restraint.
He’s holding himself back. The old Dayton would be screaming by now.