Chapter Thirty
Parker
“C ome on. Weren’t you the track star in school?” Audrey asks, looking over her shoulder.
“You should know; you wore my letterman jacket every day.”
She convinced me to go for a run with her this morning. I was so content, waking up with her wrapped in my arms, that I agreed. Now, she’s currently kicking my ass.
“Ah, I loved that thing. I was devastated when I lost it. I bet my dad burned it,” she says. “You still back there?”
“I’m enjoying the view,” I say.
She shakes her head, then turns and starts running backward.
“The view from the front isn’t bad either,” I quip.
“Weak, Alston. I guess that’s what happens when you turn twenty-nine, huh?” she cracks as she turns back around.
The little minx.
“Ow!” I shout, and she whips around, a look of concern on her face. “Cramp.”
I stop and bend over, clutching my side. She jogs back to me, but before she reaches me, I sprint forward, duck down, and lift her off her feet, tossing her over my shoulder.
“Put me down, Parker,” she squeals.
I smack her on the backside. “As you wish.”
I carry her to the door of the coffee shop and place her at one of the bistro tables.
“Running is over. It’s time for coffee now,” I say.
“We hardly worked up a sweat,” she groans.
“I haven’t run since high school, and I can think of many more enjoyable ways to raise our heart rate, Tiger.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll take a caramel latte, please.”
I run inside, place our order, and return to her. A few minutes later, the barista brings us two steaming mugs and a large cinnamon bun to share.
“Breakfast of champions,” I say as I hand her a plastic fork.
She drops the utensil on the table, picks up the sticky bun, and unravels the pastry, popping a large bite into her mouth.
“I love the way you do that,” I say.
She quirks a brow. “The way I do what?”
“Eat with your hands. You do that often—pastries, cheese fries, hash browns, waffles, pasta, and even salads. It makes it seem like you’re enjoying your meal more than everyone else.”
She immediately drops the confection, and her cheeks flush pink.
“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed,” I say, reaching for her hand. “It’s endearing, I swear. Part of what makes you, you.”
She quickly puts her hand back and dives back in. “Are you just going to watch me, or do you want a bite?”
I open my mouth, and she tears off a piece and places it on my tongue. Before she can pull away again, I wrap my hand around her wrist and lick the white icing from her fingertips. Her breath quickens.
“There you go. All clean.”
We finish our coffees and jog back to Lennon’s house to get our vehicles. She heads to Heather’s so they can go for an actual run, and I head home to meet my mother.
v
“Wow, I’m loving these colors!” Mom exclaims as she runs her hands over the tile inlay of the shower in the guest bath.
Although it’s not quite finished, the vinyl plank flooring has been installed, the vanity is in place, and the shower has been tiled and grouted. The walls still need painting, the shower requires glass doors, and the toilet and fixtures are still in a box.
“Are you doing the same ones in the master?”
I shake my head. “No. I want something less kitschy. I was hoping you might want to help me?”
“I’d love to.”
I lead her to the kitchen table, where I arranged the paint swatches, tile and granite samples, and catalogs.
“Oh, I really like this one,” she says, picking up a navy tile shaped like a Moroccan star. “And this one too.” She pairs it with a light-gray subway tile. “They would look great with the dark flooring and the granite that has navy veins.”
“Yeah, I like that. What do you think about the wall color?” I ask.
“Hmm … I think ice blue would work. It’s more interesting than boring gray but not as stark as white.”
“Sounds good,” I agree, sliding the catalog in front of her. “Now, should I choose the oval, slipper, or square tub?”
She examines the photos for a moment. “It depends. Am I designing this space for my single son, or should I take into account what a woman might prefer?”
I pull the catalog closer and look at the page again. “I’m sorry, but are these options really gender-specific?”
She smacks my arm and grabs the book. “I just don’t remember my son using the bathtub when he was old enough to bathe himself. It seems even less likely now that he’s a six-foot-three Sasquatch.”
I chuckle. “I want to make the place female-friendly. Who knows? One day, some woman might take pity on this Sasquatch.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. I just thought maybe there was a particular woman behind this remodel.”
I reach over and close the catalog. “I can tell you’re trying to ask me something, so just spit it out.”
“I was talking to Sabel the other day at the ladies’ church luncheon, and she mentioned that Audrey had come by her house with Sebastian, Avie, and you.”
“Ah, yes, Sabel Hollister is the best way to share information in Sandcastle Cove. Telephone, tell a friend, tell a Sabel,” I muse.
“She’s an island treasure. Now, spill,” Mom demands. “Are you and Audrey a couple again?”
“I’m working on it.”
She nods and says, “Your heart has never really gotten over that one, has it, baby?”
I shake my head.
“In that case, choose the oval tub. It’s elegant, and its curves are designed to support your back, shoulders, and neck. Interestingly, it even states that it’s big enough to fit an adult woman and a Sasquatch,” she muses.
“Really? I suppose we have a winner then.”
“Great! Now, let your mom take her baby boy out for a birthday lunch.”
“I can’t. Brew texted, and he wants to meet this afternoon. I need to shower and get ready. Rain check?”
She pouts. “Fine, but I’m going to hold you to it.”
I bend down and kiss her cheek, and she pats my face.
“Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”