"The floor coordinator told them his vitals are stable for the moment, but the crisis was a massive shock to his system. The initial diagnosis is an acute hypertensive episode. The doctor explicitly stated that nothing has changed since they transitioned him to the intensive care unit, and they are keeping him under strict chemical sedation to ensure his blood pressuredoesn't spike a secondary time." Martin kept his eyes straight ahead as he drove them as fast as he could.
The cabin fell into a heavy, tense silence for a few miles, the only sound being the hum of the tires against the asphalt. Martin cleared his throat, his gaze remaining fixed on the road ahead.
"Did you just kiss Isabel back there on the ramp?" Martin surprised him by asking.
Owen didn’t think anyone had seen that.
"No!" Owen denied immediately, the response coming out far too fast and sharp to be convincing. He let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his palms as the truth caught up with him. "Maybe. I also think I asked her on a sort of date."
"Whoa," Martin's brows shot up to his hairline, a low whistle escaping his lips. He nearly swerved off the road as his head shot around to glance at Owen. "Say what now?"
“Hey! Keep your eyes on the road. I want to get to see George, not end up in a bed beside him,” Owen roared. His knuckles went white against the dash he’d reached out to grab.
“Sorry,” Martin said, smoothly getting the vehicle under control. “But this is your fault.”
“How is you nearly killing us in this huge gas guzzler death trap my fault?” Owen’s jaw dropped slightly as he gaped at the man who had become like a brother to him.
“You dropped that bombshell on me about actually asking a woman out on a date,” Martin told him. “I thought you were about to become one of those old men that sat on his porch in a rocking chair, shotgun in hand, waiting for dogs and kids to run on his precious lawn.”
“Are you a financial consultant or a movie director?” Owen asked. “Because I think you should change careers. Your overactive imagination has been wasted on you crunching numbers.”
“Funny,” Martin snorted. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“And since when do you say things like ‘say what now?” Owen offered a dry drawl, trying to deflect the spotlight. "You've been hanging around with the kids too much lately." He glanced over at his friend's choice of attire, noting the bright patterns on the fabric. Since Martin had started helping out with the physical labor down in the excavation basin, his standard professional wardrobe had vanished, replaced by a rotation of loose shorts and loud, tropical shirts. "And you look like a Temu Magnum PI."
“Talk about being influenced by tweens.” Martin snorted softly, adjusting his sunglasses with a flourish. "Are you just jealous because I can actually pull this look off?"
"Sure, if that's what you think," Owen conceded with a sarcastic sigh, rolling his eyes toward the windshield. “I think you’re having a belated midlife crisis.”
“And I think you are protesting too much,” Martin pointed out. “I”m not going to stop asking about Isabel, so you may as well just cut the deflection and tell me what I want to know.”
“I’m not deflecting,” Owen said stubbornly.
But Martin ignored his stuffy intellectual friend.
"So, you asked Isabel on a date, huh?" Martin said, easing the conversation right back to the primary topic with the ease of an older brother. Over the years, the close bond between Owen,Martin, and Michael had evolved into a tight unit of brothers, with Owen and Martin constantly fighting over the senior positions while Linda and the kids fought over the older-brother positions. "That's big for you. Especially since you've rejected nearly every date Michael, Tom, George, or me ever set you up with."
"What?” Owen spluttered. “You and Michael made a dating profile for me and then chose dates for me to go on," he reminded Martin as he met his friend's amused look. "That wasn't setting me up for romance. That was trying to get me a freaking stalker."
“Are you still bitter about that?" Martin snorted, shaking his head as he kept his eyes on the road. "Geez, we did it for your own good."
"Really?" Owen drawled skeptically, shifting his weight against the passenger door. "And what about you, huh?" He pulled a face, glancing over at his friend who was focused on navigating the morning traffic. "Why aren’t you dating?" His eyebrow rose. “Why didn’t you think to maybe set yourself or Michael up? Then there are also George and Tom.” His eyes narrowed on his friend's profile. “You’re all single. I didn’t see you setting your profiles on an app to get dates.”
"Okay, we're all bachelors." Martin paused, slowing down as they approached a tight curve near the coastal highway. "Wait, no. Tom is off the market now, and so is Michael." He turned his head slightly to grin across the cabin. "And it looks like you might be too." A brief flash of realization showed in his eyes. "Oh, no. All my poker buddies are falling into relationships."
"It's a bit soon for me to define my relationship with Isabel," Owen pointed out, adjusting the strap of his canvas vest. "And she also works for me at the café."
"So?" Martin frowned at the windshield, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "What a flawlessly clever way to get to know someone. Seeing her every day while working so close together."
"Yeah, and just when I find I might be getting a second chance at romance..." Owen's jaw clamped tight, his hands tightening into fists. "In walks the wicked witch of the South."
"I believe she's here on the island. Michael told me," Martin said, his shoulders moving with a visible shudder. "I'm sorry, buddy." He remained quiet for a brief moment, letting the truck glide past the marina intersection before throwing a strange, contemplative look across the seat. "Have you ever thought this might just be fate trying to help you ditch and clean up the past while showing you what could be your future with Isabel?"
Owen's brows shot up in shock as he stared at his friend of six years. "That's kind of profound of you."
"I've loved and lost too, you know." Martin's eyes carried a brief flash of pain, the familiar shadow that always appeared whenever his thoughts drifted back to his late wife, Suzie, who had passed away years ago. "While it's good to shut down and grieve for as long as it takes, it doesn't mean you give up on ever finding at least a companion, if not love again."
Owen shook his head, astonished by the sudden wisdom. He stared at his passenger as if the man had grown a secondary head, unable to hide his amusement. "Are you for real rightnow?" He reached out, playfully shaking his friend's shoulder. "Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?"
