Chapter Twenty-Six
Brew
I wake up to the sound of the wind softly brushing against the window next to the bed. The sky outside is a pale blue, and the sun kisses the curtains as morning just begins to stretch its arms. Everything’s quiet. Still.
Brandee’s curled up beside me, tangled half in the sheets and half with me.
Her bare legs are tucked under mine, one arm draped over my chest, her face pressed into my shoulder like she belongs there.
My shirt hangs off her—one shoulder exposed, collar loose, buttons half done.
It’s mine, but it looks better on her. Somehow both sweet and sexy, like she is just that way without trying.
Her breath is whispered and steady, lips parted slightly. She smells like the ocean and vanilla. My fingers twitch to brush the hair from her face, but I don’t. I don’t want to wake her. I just lie there for a minute, enjoying the weight of her against me.
I don’t know what this is—what we’re doing. I told myself it was casual. Fun. A fling with a beautiful stranger—or whatever you call it when you aren’t supposed to feel too much.
But lying here with her? It doesn’t feel casual.
It feels real.
And that’s a little terrifying.
I ease out from under her gently, careful not to jostle her too much.
She mumbles something and rolls over, clutching a pillow to her chest, still half draped in my shirt.
I pause, watching her breathe, wondering how this all happened.
I’m usually pretty good at keeping emotions out of my relationships.
I enjoy the company of women. I do. But I’ve never had a pull toward one like I do this woman.
I head to the kitchen because if I’m going to think this hard, this early, I need coffee.
The floor creaks under my feet, and I wince a little.
The old house isn’t built for sneaking around.
Still, I make it to the kitchen without waking the beautiful brunette currently recovering from last night’s escapades.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and find the coffeepot, then dig around in the cupboard until I find the tin of grounds.
Mornings like this used to be quiet, even lonely. I’d sit on the deck of my house, watch the tide roll in. Just me and my coffee, but today, there’s a second mug on the counter.
There’s a cat twirling around my legs and a pair of boots sitting with my old sneakers by the back door.
And I like it.
The smell of coffee fills the room. I lean against the counter, a fresh mug in hand. My thoughts are spinning when I hear the faint pad of footsteps down the hall.
Then her voice—husky, sleepy, perfect.
“You made coffee?” she says, leaning against the doorway, rubbing her eyes.
I turn, and there she is. Hair all messy, legs bare, still in my shirt. My heart stutters a little.
“Guilty,” I say. “But I was gonna bring you a cup.”
She smiles, walks over, and steals mine instead. Her hands wrap around the mug, and she takes a measured sip, sighing like it’s the best thing she’s tasted all year.
“Mmm.”
“You slept hard,” I say, watching her slide onto a stool at the island.
She shrugs, eyes still half lidded. “You wore me out, Brew.”
A mischievous grin spreads across her face, and I shake my head, chuckling.
“You’re trouble—you know that?”
“Right,” she says, sipping again. “I’m trouble.”
She watches me over the rim of the mug. There’s something in her gaze I haven’t seen before—curiosity. Like she’s trying to figure something out too.
“You always this domestic in the morning?” she asks, nodding to the coffeepot.
“I know my way around a kitchen,” I say, and she raises a brow.
“Is that so? Well then, there’re supplies in the refrigerator. Knock yourself out.”
She watches from a stool at the island as I find a skillet in the drawer beneath the stove, then gather what I need from the fridge and pantry before I busy myself cracking a couple of eggs into a bowl.
“Can I help?” she asks, already coming around to my side of the counter.
“Sit,” I say as I toss some bread in the toaster and slide the eggs around in the pan. “I’ve got this.”
She laughs as she plops back down.
We eat at the island, still in that quiet bubble of morning haze. Her bare foot brushes mine under the stool, and she doesn’t move it away.
She tells me stories about coming to Sandcastle Cove to visit her aunt and uncle as a kid, and I tell her about dirt track racing and playing football in high school.
She laughs with her whole face—head back, eyes bright.
And somewhere between her finishing my toast and me reaching over to wipe a smear of egg yolk from the corner of her mouth, something shifts inside me.
I realize I don’t want her to leave.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Because this morning feels good with her in it.
She catches me staring, leans back a little, and raises an eyebrow. “What?”
I shake my head, setting my fork down. “Nothing. Just … glad you’re here.”
The words slip out before I can weigh what they might mean. But I don’t take them back.
Her expression softens. “Me too.”
She scoots closer on the stool, lays her head on my shoulder, and slips her fingers into mine on the island. Her thumb traces the back of my hand.
“I don’t know what it means yet,” I admit. “But I know I like waking up with you. I know I like you stealing my coffee and wearing my shirt.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she leans in, pressing her forehead against mine.
“It doesn’t need to be defined,” she whispers.
We sit like that for a long time. The coffee cools. The eggs get cold. But it doesn’t matter. Because something real is starting to grow.
And for once, I’m not looking for the exit.
I’m just looking forward to the next morning like this one.
And the one after that.
After cleaning up the dishes, we shower together before I have to reclaim my shirt and get dressed. Willis is expecting me back at the shop with his boat and ready to work since the correct parts came in yesterday.
I kiss Brandee goodbye and head down to the dock. I’m untying the boat when I hear my name being called. I look up to see Sebastian descending the steps at the back of his home. He makes his way over to me.
“I see you had a good night,” he says as he takes in the boat with the blanket, cooler, and empty wine bottle.
I nod. “I did indeed.”
“I just wanted to let you know—warn you really—that the girls are planning a party to celebrate Parker and Audrey’s engagement.”
“Okay, that sounds nice,” I say.
“Yeah, well, they want to have it at Whiskey Joe’s so they can dance,” he continues.
I nod. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll have the VIP section reserved for them,” I say, not understanding what he’s getting at.
“That’d be great. I just wanted you to know that they’re inviting Brandee.”
I look up at him as it dawns on me. I need to talk to Brandee before that happens.
“Yeah, I told Avie to fill Audrey in on your situation, but I know that keeping it up may be tricky with both of you there and you not stuck behind the bar. I just see a million ways it could go sideways.”
“I appreciate the heads-up. When is this party happening?” I ask.
“Tonight.”