Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Wes
The house is already awake by the time I come downstairs, dressed in my uniform ready to head to the airport.
Angelina is at the kitchen island rolling homemade pasta, flour dusting the countertop, the rhythmic scrape of the rolling pin filling the room.
Through the wall of windows overlooking the backyard, I catch a flash of movement.
It’s Lottie, walking into the pool wearing a dark navy string bikini. My mouth immediately goes dry.
The morning sun catches on her skin as she pauses on the first step in the water. Like an asshole, my gaze drifts lower to her amazing ass and the tiny swimsuit bottoms riding high enough to show off her cheeks.
I’ve seen her mostly naked, and unfortunately, my brain has decided to revisit that image with alarming frequency throughout the day.
Every day. Just when I think I’ve gotten a handle on myself, another memory surfaces.
The feel of her skin under mine, how much my cock liked being inside her.
I’m constantly re-playing the sound she made when she said my name as she came. It’s becoming a problem.
“Jesus Fuck,” I groan to myself, watching her glide into the pool, cutting through the water in smooth, steady strokes.
She reaches the far end of the pool and disappears beneath the surface, then pushes off again.
When she reaches the shallow end, she emerges, the sunlight catching the droplets on her shoulders.
It’s one of those rare Deep Cove mornings where the sky is cloudless and the air already carries the promise of a hot afternoon.
Sunlight glitters across the surface of the pool, turning the water a brilliant shade of blue.
I faintly notice her scar from where I’m standing thirty feet away, but force myself not to look too closely, knowing that Lottie wouldn’t want me to see it. I turn toward the kitchen in time to see Angelina watching me with an amused look in her eyes.
“Honey, if you want me to pretend I didn’t catch you staring at your wife out there, you’re going to be disappointed.”
She pushes a cup of coffee across the counter toward me and I take it gratefully. “My wife is a smoke show. What am I supposed to do? I’m only human.”
Angelina smiles to herself as she returns her attention to the dough. I glance toward the backyard again.
“Did she take her medication this morning?” I ask.
Angelina eyes me, looking over the top of her glasses. “She did.”
A strange sensation of relief hits me.
“You know, you ask me that almost every day and every day the answer is yes. She’s on top of it, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry.”
I walk to the fridge and pull out the container of food Angelina packed me for lunch. “I’m not worried.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Her tone makes it clear she’s not buying it.
“You’re flying too much, Wes,” Angelina says, glancing at me.
“Well, it is my job.”
“You have a wife now.”
She points the knife that she’s using to cut vegetables at me. “I’m serious. The girl is home by herself more than you are home with her. You’re in the honeymoon stage. You should be here, together.”
“Now who’s worrying?” I tease, stealing a red pepper from the board. “She has her business to run and her dad to take care of. She’s not complaining. Lottie is fine.”
“Those are excuses, Wes. Lottie isn’t the type to complain. She’ll adapt. My point is, if you keep disappearing every chance you get, don’t act surprised when she stops looking for you.”
I set my mug in the sink and reach for my keys but pause to look once more at Lottie as she glides across the surface of the pool. Why do I torture myself?
Angelina is right, though—Lottie has never needed anyone to take care of her. She’s built a career she loves, a circle of friends who adore her. Her world will keep turning whether I’m in it or not.
“Don’t you have a plane to catch?” Angelina asks, that same grin from earlier back on her face.
I drag my gaze from the backyard. “Yeah. I better go.”
She smiles. “Call your wife while you’re gone.”
“Goodbye, Angelina.”
Her advice stays with me the entire drive to the airport, and so does the image of Lottie swimming laps in that navy swimsuit.