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I laugh, shaking my head. “My store’s small batch. We make everything in house in the back of the shop. I’m not big enough to have a factory. That’s for bigger shops, like?—”
Eliza growls, curling her little fingers into claws. “Like our mortal enemy’s.”
“Yes,” I say, but I’m really trying not to linger on that guy. Besides the bargain basement sales and the clear copycatting, Sebastian’s been relatively quiet in recent weeks. He hasn’t come by my store or the pop-up shop. It’s been peaceful to have him out of my life. When he slithered into my shop that day, I tried so hard to be calm as he spewed trashy words. Like when I had to be the steady, stable one when my parents came home drunk. Often, it was a relief when they ignored me as a kid. I feel like that with Sebastian now, grateful to be ignored at last.
“But enough about him,” I say to Eliza. “Why don’t you tell me why you started doing the beach cleanups? I’m more interested in you.”
With wide eyes and the confidence of a fearless eleven-year-old, she shares the things she’s learning in school about the oceans and marine life and plastic, and how she just wants to make the world better by doing her part.
“You have a good heart. You’re a lot like your dad and your grandma.”
Her green eyes look up at me, like she’s wrestling with something, then she pins it. “I really liked Kylie, but I like you better. She never asked me all these questions. She was fun and everything, but it’s more fun talking to you. Does that make sense?”
That last question is such a thing people say these days when they’re uncertain. Eliza’s hardly ever unsure. Gage has spoken broadly to me about his past relationships before. Rather than lingering on the differences between Kylie and me—since, really, they aren’t that important—I focus on giving her what she needs.
Reassurance.
“I like listening to you,” I say genuinely, even as my heart aches for the future. Come January will I even have the opportunity to listen to her stories? To wonder about the bright and curious mind of this young person? My heart climbs into my throat as I curl a hand over her shoulder and squeeze it. “Now, have a good day at school and come home and tell me more stories.”
“I will.”
She heads inside, and since I’m not due at my shop for a couple hours, I walk back to Zane’s home, logging into my banking app as I go. A warm, glowy feeling spreads in my chest as I see the loan balance shrink more and more each day.
I made this happen. All by myself. With no role model, no guidance, no handbook.
Though I didn’t do it alone. I did it with a partner. I wouldn’t have seen the uptick in business without Gage.
That fizzy feeling expands as I reach the house and head inside, following the clink of a ceramic mug against the counter, then the glug of coffee being poured.
My heart thumps harder, as I head into the kitchen. There he is at the counter, holding a spoon over a mug. Pouring his coffee probably. His dark hair is wet, slicked back, the ends curling up at the back of his neck. He’s freshly showered from his run, wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt. He’s so handsome, my chest hurts.
Immediately, I want to know everything about him. All the things I don’t know. Like his favorite book, if he still longs to play baseball, what his next tattoo would be, and why he makes soap. Why didn’t I ever ask him these things before?
I need to know them. Now. I need to discover every detail of Gage before time runs out.
I walk right up to him from behind, wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against the back of his shoulder, inhaling the clean, soapy scent of his neck.
Setting down the mug and spoon, he spins around, catching my mouth with his.
A soft kiss that makes my knees weak.
Strong hands wrap around my hips.
Bright eyes look into my soul.
My heart stutters.
I want to know, too, if he likes the real me, the messy me, the me that’s not the happy-go-lucky, flirty, dirty girl he met at Sticks and Stones. The one who had to pick up the pieces after her parents died, and take out a loan, and raise a kid with no handbook.
“What’s your favorite book?” I ask impulsively.
His lips crook up in a lopsided grin. “The Joy of Sex.”
I swat his chest. “For real.”
“That’s a trick question.”
“How is it a trick question?”
