Chapter 4
Biology Class
Day 3
Mr. Gray’s voice broke through the classroom. “You should have started your incision from the frog’s cloaca to its lower jaw. Consult your instruction card if you need to see exactly where to begin the cut.”
A bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face as I grabbed the scalpel, fully prepared to ignore the dolt sitting next to me. I could do this. As soon as I figured out where and what the cloaca was.
I squinted toward the instruction card and placed the scalpel in the correct-ish spot. Dax nonchalantly tapped the desk to the beat of a song playing in his ear, but I felt his gaze. My right leg bounced up and down no matter how much I tried to keep it still.
“Tick-tock,” Dax murmured beside me.
I mentally flipped him the bird while my wobbly, scalpel-clutching hand pressed the tip into the frog’s skin. Nothing happened. I tried again, this time giving enough pressure to dent the skin.
“Did Ivy Brooks get her last partner to do all her dirty work?” Dax asked, a sudden interest in his voice. “Because that would make my entire day.”
“No.”
He nodded toward the frog. “Dig into him, then.”
His brown eyes were laughing at me. My nostrils flared, and without giving myself time to think, I jabbed the sharp edge into the frog. The feel of the knife cutting through layers of skin and body parts made me immediately drop the scalpel. I turned toward Dax as my body began dry-heaving in big, jerking motions.
With great alarm, Dax threw his hands to the table and pushed himself two feet away, the violent scrape of the chair on the hardwood breaking into the low hum of the room.
The Floridian sun warmed my skin as my steps quickened in the direction of Dax’s shop. With the entire island being only four miles long, it didn’t take long to walk or bike anywhere.
My resolve to walk directly to Dax’s shop held firm for an entire block. I arrived at the town square, just down the road from his shop, with startling efficiency. But it was fine. I was going to right a wrong. I just wasn’t sure why that tiny moment in my garage with him all those years ago kept playing in my mind. He probably didn’t even remember. I certainly never thought about it.
Until…last night.
So it was a little confusing how my mind suddenly seemed to remember every detail, down to the way he looked at me right before he?—
Hey, look at that!
The Book Isle was open.
With the exception of Sunrise Cafe, my old job and stomping grounds, The Book Isle was my favorite shop in town. I checked my watch. It was only a few minutes after 9. Showing up that early would make me seem eager. I had a conscience that refused to ease up, but that didn’t mean I wanted Dax to think I was excited to see him.
I entered the book shop and settled in for a good half-hour browse until I realized that yet another friend from high school, Briggs, worked there now .
“Hey, Ivy. Heard about the crash. How you holding up?” Briggs looked like he belonged in Hollywood. He had that boy-next-door vibe that worked well in his favor. Like now, his sandy-blond hair was curled slightly at the edges, and glasses framed a pair of sweet green eyes.
Why couldn’t I have crashed into his shop? He would have definitely been a gentleman about the whole thing.
Granted, I still didn’t know how Dax would react when I spoke to him, but I definitely didn’t think his eyes would be giving off sweet vibes.
“I’m okay. Thanks.” I smiled at him and attempted a change of subject, a reason for me to linger. “Is Sunny Palmer’s new book out yet?”
Briggs was quick to crush my spirits in his shy way, telling me that Sunny’s newest book would not be released until later this summer. After some small talk with Briggs and with no other books tempting me to purchase, I stepped out of the store in full adult mode, heading north toward Dax’s shop.
Apprehension caused my hands to sweat and my heart to beat like a drum in my ear. The feeling of puke lodged in my gut was a bonus for my efforts. This wasn’t a neighbor or friend I had accidentally wronged. Or sweet Briggs from The Book Isle. This was Dax Miller. The guy I’d basically told once to have a nice life amounting to nothing on the island.
Of course, that was after he had accused me of being a fake and caring more for the public opinion than my own. Just like my dad. Coincidentally, Dax had been one of the only people in my life that had seemed unmoved by my dad’s politician act.
So, crawling to Dax to thank him for his help as well as apologize for my actions wasn’t something I was pushing people out of the way to do.
Even though I was GOING.
The road curved, and I sucked in a breath at my first sight of his building since the accident. Billowing blue tarps, held together by rope, flapped in the breeze while covering the gaping hole in the double-story glass window. I took it all in, unease filling my stomach to the brim.
I had done that. To someone else’s property.
Me and my accidental stupidity.
It was nothing but pure willpower forcing my feet to close the distance. A large driveway to the right of the building led to three garage doors—all of which were closed today—and a sidewalk down to Dax’s private marina where he stored and fixed boats. I made my way toward the front entrance, grateful to see that the damage had only been to the windows. At least it wouldn’t be months of repair to the entire building. Just a quick re-ordering of a humongous custom window set.
Easy peasy.
I opened the door and stepped into a large, empty, two-story room. The glass had been swept away with visible dust streaks on the glossy epoxy-coated concrete floor. In the center of the room were two large garbage cans full of…Lego pieces. A flash of the crash came back to me as I remembered the pounding noise they made raining down onto the golf cart. Realization sunk in. I had destroyed the Lego car . A literal town landmark, formerly showcased proudly on one of those fancy slow-rotating display pedestals. A gigantic car almost as large as a real-life Volkswagen Bug, now in shambles.
I cringed, thinking about the poor soul who would have to spend fifteen years of their life putting that back together again.
Against the back wall of the large room, there was a counter with several old barstools. I saw a bell, which I rang hesitantly, after a two-minute internal debate on whether I should just wait to speak with Dax in court, until my conscience won out. The sound of music wafted through the hallway that led toward a shop door with a partial window at the top. After another minute spent gaining courage, I stood and strode toward the closed door .
Woman up, Ivy Brooks. You can do this.
When I opened the door, the soft sound of music suddenly turned loud as I stepped into an uncharted domain.
Though I wasn’t sure how I knew it, the song “Old Time Rock & Roll” rang through the speakers. I was decades too young to know it, but the tune seemed to transcend all time and years, giving me the feeling I’d heard this song a thousand times but couldn’t place where.
Dust particles filtered the air as I looked around the massive room. In front of one garage door was a boat sitting on a trailer. Every other spare inch in the shop was cluttered with lawn mowers, weed eaters, trimmers, and golf carts.
I inched my way into the room, if only to give my body a job that didn’t include dancing to oldies music in a shop I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome in. But there was something off with this version of the song. A voice. A voice that got decidedly louder as the chorus picked up again.
But the part that drew my attention was the feet and legs sticking out from under a golf cart. It almost seemed strange, seeing a golf cart where a car usually would be, but that was Sunset Harbor for you.
Dax’s voice noticeably waned through the next verse, still making noises along with the tune but in a much more distracted way, like he was tightening a bolt at the same time. Hearing his voice without him knowing felt intimate. Too intimate. Dax had always been a wild card. I had no idea how this little chat would go. I was trying to get the courage to alert him of my presence when he suddenly rolled out from under the cart.
Our eyes met instantly. Though, to my slight disappointment, he didn’t startle at my appearance. Instead, he sat up, his dark gaze swallowing me up in one big gulp. My skin came alive with goosebumps as he bent forward, propping his arms on his knees. His eyes drifted briefly down my flowy tank top and blue shorts, landing at the bandages on my arm before returning to my face—at least, I assumed. I was occupied elsewhere.
He was shirtless.
So…
That’s where I was.
He leaned over and picked up his dusty phone from the floor, and soon, the music blaring from the speakers in all four corners of the shop was turned down to a normal level.
And then he spoke, erasing ten years between us with his words.
“Look who’s back in town, gracing us all with her superior and, might I add, explosive presence.”
It’s amazing what the brain can hold onto throughout a decade. In reality, though, my body sighed with relief at his words. The tone felt right. He’d be annoying, for sure, but we’d be fine. I deserved that, and I would graciously let him get it all off his chest.
“Yeah. Hi, Dax.”
He stood and sauntered toward me. To my surprise, he kept coming closer, and when he held out a greasy hand toward me, I stared, frozen, until he used the back of it to nudge my arm, gently pushing me away from his bench.
“I wouldn’t lean against that bench in those clothes.”
I stepped away, still unable to say much as I soaked him in. Experience with Dax had taught me to be prepared, and if I had to give a bodily description to a detective someday, I’d say he was pushing six foot two, had grease all over his…neck and chest area, which was highlighted by glistening sweat, and he had definitely filled out since I’d seen him last. My eyes raked over what I could see of his tattoos spanning the width of his shoulders. An outline of an old car was what I made out before I forced my gaze to move farther north.
“Please tell me you didn’t drive here.” He reached for a towel stuck in the waistband of his jeans and began wiping the grime off his chest and hands.
I followed his movement with fascination until I closed my gawking mouth and focused on an interesting set of wrenches lined up on a pegboard above the bench.
“I walked.”
He nodded, throwing the towel down on one of his workbenches surrounding the perimeter of his shop. “You alright?”
His voice seemed lower to me, more manly than I remembered. It sent chills down my spine and had me imagining cozy snuggles by the fire—before I reminded myself that I was currently on a very hot island in the middle of summer, and stamped that stupid fire out.
“Yeah. I’m good. Just a few cuts and scrapes, but you already know about those.” I raised my arms briefly, in case he was interested, but other than a quick glance, he didn’t seem to be. Were his eyelashes always that long?
Nope. Stop it.
Pull yourself together, Ivy Brooks.
Just because I felt bad about destroying half of his shop didn’t mean I should let my brain turn him into some sort of person I ogled. Save that for the women who LIVED HERE.
Also the women who didn’t...you know…break his building.
Dax seemed to be waiting for something—which was my cue.
I flung my hand back toward the doorway I’d entered. “I tried ringing the bell, but you didn’t hear me. So I came to find you.” By nature, apologies weren’t a strong suit of mine, so to ease myself in, I attempted the old trick of forcing him to apologize for something first.
“It’s Sunday. The shop is closed.”
“Oh.” I deflated.
Dax folded his arms, leaned against his bench and considered me, a self-satisfied look on his face. The kind of look that told me he knew exactly how hard this little chat was going to be for me. For the record, I would give him my apology. I would. He deserved it.
I was just warming up.
“So, it looks like I’ll have to add breaking and entering to your list of crimes,” he said.
I smiled sweetly. “The door was open.”
“The whole front side of the building is open.” His tone didn’t sound angry. It was more matter-of-fact, with a slight, gleaming-eyed edge to it.
“Yeah…” I trailed off, attempting to gather words. “Anyway. About that. I’m really sorry I ran into your building.”
Dax blinked. Several beats passed before a slow smile crossed his face. And then he laughed, rubbing his forehead while he did so. I stood there with shifting feet, hating every miserable second.
“Thanks, Books,” he said once he finally got a hold of himself. I stilled at the use of his old nickname, and once again, a wave of problematic familiarity came crashing over me. When I began to turn away from him, he held his hand out. “Wait.”
I turned back to look at him.
He stayed still, almost like he was waiting for something to happen. My eyes narrowed warily.
“Yeah, I think I feel a tear welling up.” He leaned closer, pointing to his eye. “This eye. Do you see anything?”
I leaned forward to swat him across his stomach while he laughed again and began rummaging through a toolbox. I froze, shocked at my boldness. I hadn’t seen this guy in ten years, then I destroy half of his shop, and now I was basically throwing myself at his half-naked body. The way he went about unfazed was a definite red flag. The feeling between us like I’d just seen him a week ago wasn’t lost on me.
But it certainly wasn’t welcome. Time to move this along.
“Anyway, I really am sorry. Truly. ”
He made a noise but didn’t actually acknowledge me before reaching deeper into his toolbox.
“I feel terrible,” I tried again. Still no reaction.
My fingers curled into fists. Here I was, basically groveling at this man’s feet, and he couldn’t even give me the decency of eye contact. But I wasn’t going to get annoyed. I took a deep, calming breath—the soothing kind I would write to Dr. Barb about.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked sweetly.
He pulled out a tool and inspected it, wiping some grease off with the towel before looking at me, the glint in his eyes telling me he knew exactly what he was doing.
“No. I’m good. Thanks, though.”
My gaze drifted across his arms, landing on the tangle of ink dressing his shoulders. The casual, deliberate way he pushed my buttons came flying back to my remembrance. I was suddenly aware of why I had been so nervous to speak to Dax. It wasn’t that I was scared to talk to him. It was the way he made me feel.
This weekend was an anomaly. A crazy shift in the universe. So him making it seem like this was something he knew would happen one day had me clenching my fists into balls. It was like being on the second day of my period and someone next to me chomping on the crunchiest vegetable in the world.
Annoying.
But not today. I wouldn’t let him push me that far, which meant I needed to wrap this up. I had said my first apology. And I still had one more.
Also, he needed some clothes.
“Oh, are you looking for your shirt?” I looked around the room, found what I sought, and grabbed the crumpled t-shirt from the floor, shaking the dust off before holding it out to him. “It’s right here.” I smiled at him, friendly-like, as if to say let’s put our differences aside and forget about me smashing into your building.
He eyed the shirt like taking it would give me too much satisfaction, then just stood there and looked at me while I awkwardly continued to hold it out. I shook it at him.
“Come on,” I said, like he was a cat I was trying to convince to eat.
He leaned against the workbench, his ankles and arms folded, taking me in with definite joyous undertones.
“Why do you need me to wear it?”
“I just think you would feel better wearing the shirt while I’m here. While we talk business.”
Oh, I don’t know, Dax, maybe because it’s the professional thing to do .
I had no business telling this man what to wear. I knew this. Yet the deliberate way he was trying to trigger me was…triggering.
He spread his arms out wide and looked around. “This is my business. That you broke into, I might add. So no, I won’t be putting on a shirt. But I’m sorry if it’s distracting for you.”
I was in the process of begging the flush rising on my cheeks to disappear when he leaned toward me, flashing a brief grin and adding, “Man, it’s good to see you.”
I pretended to brush a speck of dirt off my sleeve. “Listen, I know you’re enjoying all of this?—“
“Am I?” he asked.
My gaze narrowed. “You know you are.”
“Just tell me one thing…what does Karma feel like?”
“Dax!” I drew in a breath, physically stopping myself from punching his arm. My hand slapping against what I could only describe as warm, solid rock definitely wouldn’t help anything.
He moved toward the golf cart while he flipped to a specific song he wanted. He was clearly dismissing me, but I wasn’t finished. Not even the song “Witchy Woman” would get me to leave.
Also, these songs…what year was this?
“Listen, Dax,” I began, raising my voice louder to be heard over the music. To my surprise he turned to face me. It took an immense force of willpower, but my gaze locked onto his, ignoring the temptation to peek downward to the land of muscles and abs.
“I also wanted to tell you thanks for your help the other night. And for calling Beau.”
He studied me for a long moment. “You’re welcome.”
It was the humor lurking on his face that transported me back to high school biology class, watching a troubled, dark-haired boy attempt to hold back his sly smiles. Though, there was something more settled about this manly version of Dax, his body still held tight with hard edges and a touch of defiance.
Before I could say anything else, Dax motioned me toward the door. “Well, let me see you out. You probably need to get some beauty sleep for your upcoming mug shot.” The look I gave him did nothing to quell the growing smile on his face. Since I said what I had come here to say, there was no other option than to follow him out of the shop and into the lobby.
Motioning toward the garbage cans full of Lego pieces, I said, “Good thing that was just a fake car, right? Pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to afford a real version if I had totaled it.”
“You’re looking at a beloved landmark for Sunset Harbor tourism.”
I huffed out a laugh before giving him my best patronizing smile. “I’m sorry I knocked over your Legos.”
I metaphorically patted myself on the back. I’d given three apologies, not just two. Not a bad day’s work, given how terrified I was to come here.
He blinked before peering into my eyes, as though he were checking my sincerity and finding it lacking. To be fair, I hadn’t been serious. I found the Lego car to be quite dumb.
“Good luck in court, Books,” he said in a voice that sent a nervous thrill racing down my spine. He held the front door open for me. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”