Chapter Eleven
Parker
I ’m antsy as I sit and play cards with Heather and Anson. The thought of Audrey just down the hall in my shirt and my bed is more than I can take. He doesn’t even have to cheat.
“He’s checked out,” Anson says mid-play.
“I can see that. Something distracting you, Parker?” Heather asks, pulling me from my wandering thoughts.
“The raging storm outside,” I say.
“Nah, I don’t think that’s it,” she states. “What do you think has him on edge, Anson?”
I glance across the table at my best friend. Don’t say it.
He grins at me. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably just wishing he hadn’t volunteered to sleep out here and was cuddled up in his comfy bed at the moment.”
I shake my head. Fucker.
Heather turns to me. “Is that it?”
“No. I don’t mind letting you ladies have the bed.”
She sighs. “Such a gentleman.”
That causes Anson to laugh.
“I have a feeling his thoughts are less than gentlemanly.”
I throw my cards at him, and the jerk laughs harder. I stand up, take one of the candles that has burned halfway down, and move to the sofa.
I should have kissed her. In that moment, I could have. She would have let me, but she would have regretted it, and that is what stopped me. She’s not ready, and I need to be patient and fight the urge to rush back into that room.
Heather grabs two beers and follows me. She hands one of the bottles to me and sits in the recliner to my right. “So, what’s your angle?”
I slide my eyes to her as I take a long pull on the lukewarm liquid. “My angle?”
“Yeah, I mean, what do you hope to gain by inserting yourself into Audrey’s life?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”
“Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. You’ve been loitering around for years, and now, out of the blue, she’s in your bed.”
I chuckle. “You think I conjured a tropical storm?”
“You know what I mean. All of a sudden, you’re not just a lurker. What’s the endgame?”
“Maybe I just want to be a presence in her life.”
“That’s rich, coming from the man who, once upon a time, couldn’t get far or fast enough away,” she snaps.
“Boy,” I correct.
“Excuse me?”
“I was a boy back then, not a man.”
“Yeah, well, she was a girl and didn’t have the luxury of running away.”
“I know.”
She considers me in silence for a minute.
“It’s going to take more than that pretty face and charming smile, you know. You’re going to have to put in the work and take a lot of shit.”
I nod.
“And even then, there’s no guarantee she’ll ever let you back in.”
“I know that too,” I say.
“Look, what went down between you two when you were younger was ugly, and she’s been carrying a grudge for a long time. Audrey is one of the strongest people I know. She’s as steady as a rock. Nothing throws her off, which is one of the traits that makes her good at running a crazy-ass bar. Nothing, that is, until you started working there. You get under her skin. So, I figure there must still be some pretty big feelings buried in there somewhere. And you, handsome, need to figure out how to uncover them. Gently. The clock is ticking. You have less than ninety days left.”
“Any advice?”
“Try getting to know her.”
“I already know her,” I say.
“You know the girl she was. Maybe try getting to know who she is now,” she suggests. “If she’ll let you.”
She clicks her bottle to mine and then rejoins Anson at the dining table.
I’m glad to know I have an ally. At least, I think I do.
“Oh no!”
I open one eye at the sound of the exclamation. Sunshine glaring through the living room window temporarily blinds me as I blink the sleep from my eyes.
Glancing over as I sit up, I see Anson stirring in the other recliner.
“What’s going on?” he mumbles.
“Not sure.”
Tossing the blanket aside, I bring the chair back to a sitting position and stand. Stretching, I turn to see Audrey looking out the kitchen window to the street. She’s still wearing my Hollister Charter shirt with my top sheet wrapped around her waist.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She startles as I come up behind her and peer out above her. There looks to be about two to three feet of standing water.
“Shit. That’s not good.”
“What is it?” Anson asks.
“Street’s flooded,” I call to him.
I walk over to the light switch by the door and flip it.
Nothing .
“Electricity is still out too.”
He stands and stumbles to the island.
“I’ll go dig the generator out of the utility closet downstairs. We’re gonna need coffee,” he says. Then, he looks at Audrey. “Heather decent? I need to take a leak, and I don’t want to walk in on Seb and Avie. Parents don’t get too many nights alone.” He wags his eyebrows.
Audrey shakes her head. “Yeah, go ahead.”
He gives her a salute and heads to my bathroom.
“How are we going to get out of here?” Audrey asks me.
“I have a kayak in the garage,” I say.
“Very funny. I need to get to Whiskey Joe’s.”
“It’s Tuesday. The bar’s closed,” I point out.
“I know, but I’m supposed to meet Leena there this afternoon.”
“Leena?”
“The new bartender. Van hired her yesterday. She was dropping in to pick up some paperwork.” She looks down at her phone. “And I’m not getting a signal so that I can call and reschedule.”
“Cell towers are probably down, but if we’re stranded, she’s probably stranded too,” I say.
“You think it’s flooded beyond the bridges? She’s coming from Wilmington.”
“Let’s fire up the generator and see what the news reports,” I say.
Sebastian and Avie emerge, and Sebastian, Anson, and I venture outside to assess the situation. The ocean is still rocky, and the streets are flooded as far as the eye can see. Our neighbor has a police scanner and am radio, and he says that the bridges leading onto and off the island are indeed flooded. Sandcastle PD has closed access to both until they are safe to pass.
We grab the generator and bring it up to the deck. Anson hooks it into our breaker box while Sebastian and I fill the girls in.
“I bet my parents are losing their minds right now,” Audrey mutters.
“Why?” Avie asks.
“I guarantee Dad took his boat out to the area near my apartment at the wharf this morning, and my car’s not there. I’m not answering my door, and he can’t call my phone. They probably think I was driving and got swept away by the storm.”
“Here, I have a hotspot. You’re welcome to call them from my phone. That’s how we reached Sabel this morning,” Avie offers.
Audrey’s eyes go wide. “No. He’ll want to come for me.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Avie asks.
She turns to me. “If I tell him I stayed the night here, yes, that’d be very bad. He’d likely bring his shotgun.”
“Just tell him you rode out the storm with me at my house, and we’re gonna stay in today and do girlie shit. He’ll buy that,” Heather mumbles as she shuffles into the kitchen.
“That might work.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled, I’m going to start a pot of coffee. It looks like it’s toast for breakfast,” Anson says as he grabs the rest of the sourdough and heads for the toaster oven.
Audrey walks back to my room to place her call while the rest of us eat. When she returns, she’s wearing her clothes from last night, and her hair is pulled up into a top knot. She thanks Avie and hands the phone back to her before taking the seat across from me at the kitchen table.
“Everything good?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Mom was frantic, and I had to talk her down,” she says.
“So, I take it Rand did go looking for you.”
“Yep. First thing this morning, and when I wasn’t home, he started searching the island. Including Heather’s house.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
My eyes go wide with surprise.
She sighs and continues. “Heather and I went out to the beach to watch the turtles hatch, got caught by the storm, and ended up being rescued by the husband of one of the officials from the rehabilitation center. We decided it was best to stay with them for the night.”
I nod. “That is the truth. Did it ease their minds?”
“Dad still wanted to come get us, but I told him that we were going to hang out until it was safe, and then we were going to hunker down at Heather’s for a few days. It seemed to pacify them.”
“I think it’s sweet that they still fret over you,” I muse.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh yes, it’s awesome being a twenty-seven-year-old woman and still being treated like you’re twelve.”
I chuckle. “You’ve always been the apple of Rand’s eye. Nothing wrong with having a father who gives a damn.”
“I guess,” she says, but her tone says she doesn’t really mind.
Anson walks over and sets a plate of toast and a jar of jam in front of her. “Here you go. Eat up.”
“This is great,” she says as she smiles up at him.
“I’ll get you a knife. You want coffee?” I ask as I stand.
“Please.”
I pour us both a mug, adding cream and sugar to hers, grab a knife for the jam and return to her.
“You still take it light and sweet?” I ask as I hand her the steaming cup.
“I do. Thank you.”
I like this. I could get used to waking up with her in my house and having breakfast at my table.
Patience . I remind myself.