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After last night, I just wanted a break from Dean. Some time to get my head back on straight so I can stop feeling so off-kilter. Which is why I raced over to the mainland as soon as the sun came up, skipping the beach day Birdie planned for the wedding guests, and spent the day grabbing supplies for the stand that I definitely didn’t need.
I did have fun with him on that island tour. Too much fun. It all felt so natural, having him there with me while I visited all the places I’ve been to a thousand times alone. Someone to open doors for me, carry all the bags of stuff I got, listen to me yammer on and on about the history of the places we went to and tell stories of funny things that have happened at them. Even arguing with him and telling him off is more fun than I’ve had in a really long time. But now he’s tainted every business and store that I love on this island. Now, he’s all I’m ever going to see, and hear, and feel, and smell when I walk into those places after he leaves, and that’s just bullshit.
Realizing I’m being an idiot, hiding behind the fridge when I have a business to close, I huff out a breath and stomp around it. Refusing to look out the front window, since the vision of that man with his thick, muscular thighs straddling his bike is already burned into my brain, I keep my head down and start grabbing toppings off the counter and putting them away.
Even though I don’t dare look out the front window, I know he’s there. I can feel his damn eyes on me the entire time I move around inside the stand, going through the closing procedures. I refill containers for tomorrow, stack more cones in the holders, replace empty ice cream cartons in the front freezer with full ones from the back storage freezer, balance the register, prepare the deposit that will go in the bank tomorrow, and wipe everything down until it’s spotless. My heart rate picks up and my hands get sweatier the closer I get to being finished and having to walk out there to get to my golf cart, so I keep finding more things to do that don’t really need to be done.
In just the span of a few short days, this man has completely thrown me into a tailspin. I feel like a giddy teenager, nervous to talk to her crush. He annoys me, he makes me laugh, he says the most ridiculous things, and… I hate that I don’t hate it at all. I love every annoying minute, and that scares the hell out of me. As maddening as that man made me on the island tour yesterday, ordering for me and buying things for me, it also felt nice. Too nice, having someone take care of me, even if it was something as simple as ordering my coffee. I still don’t even know what possessed me to go home after I dropped off that basket to his hotel room the other day and spend an hour and half making homemade lasagna, just because my heart hurt hearing him say he’d never had a home-cooked meal before.
When I realize I have nothing left I can busy myself with, I take a fortifying breath so I won’t be charmed by that man or anything he might say to me, turn off the lights, and head out the back door. Even though I did have a fleeting thought of having a quick fling with him while he’s here, I know it would only make matters worse. I already know he’s not the type of man I’d be able to sleep with once and never look back. We haven’t even kissed, and he’s in my head twenty-four seven. Sleeping with him would ruin me. I need to keep doing what I did all day today and just avoid him until he gets the hint.
Yanking the back door closed a little more aggressively than I wanted to, I wince when the glass in the door window rattles. My phone starts ringing from my back pocket as soon as I get the deadbolt locked.
Pulling it out and bringing it up to my ear, I walk around the side of the building to head toward the front, my feet stuttering to a stop when my eyes lock on Dean’s twenty yards away, where he’s still sitting on his bike. He pulled it forward into the parking spot next to my golf cart, and he’s been sitting on it backward so he can watch the stand. And me.
Seeing him in his hotel room the other day, barefoot and comfortable while he lounged against the wall and talked about his childhood, did things to my heart I’d rather not think about. Seeing him straddling his bike does things to me I have no choice but to think about, since he’s right in front of me. My skin heats even more as I watch him bring Ed’s milkshake up to his mouth and take a sip from the straw, his eyes never leaving mine. I have to force my feet to start moving again, when all I can think about is his mouth tasting like the sweet, buttery vanilla drink in his hand. His cold tongue sliding through my warm—
“…need you to go check on Owen at our house ASAP!”
Wren’s voice in my ear reminds me I answered my phone and makes me guiltily tear my eyes away from Dean’s as I stare down at my feet while I walk to my golf cart.
“Say that again, slower this time,” I tell my daughter, who sounds completely panicked on the phone, making me feel like a horrible mother that I was fantasizing about Dean instead of listening to her.
I fish my golf cart keys out of the front pocket of my shorts as I start walking faster, while Wren repeats everything she just said about being worried that something happened to Owen. Wren and Shepherd had to go over to the mainland earlier for an ultrasound appointment, and Shepherd convinced Wren they should make a night out of it to celebrate the pregnancy, just the two of them. He booked them a hotel in the city after they had a nice, romantic dinner, and now they’re supposed to be enjoying their alone time. Not worrying about a sixteen-year-old, who is more than capable of holding down the fort while they’re gone and knows he can call any one of us here on the island if there’s an emergency.
“I’m sure Owen is okay. Just because he sounded weird on the phone doesn’t mean anything is wrong. If he told you things were fine, I’m sure they are,” I reassure her when she finally stops freaking out as I walk around Dean’s bike and slide into my golf cart, refusing to look at him when I can still feel his eyes on me.
“Remember that one time you and Karen went on a girls’ weekend, and you called to check on things, and Karen said the exact same thing to you when we told you everything was fine? What happened?” Wren demands as I shove my key into the ignition of the cart.
“When I got home, I found out Tess got mad at a boy, burned one of his sweatshirts in the kitchen sink, and accidentally lit half of my counter on fire.” I sigh, quickly turning my key to the On position. “I’m going to your house right now, at top speed.”
Nothing happens when I turn the key as I end the call, and I mutter a curse, trying again.
Nothing.
I try four more times, cursing louder each time the cart doesn’t start.
“Need some help, sugar?”
I close my eyes and sigh, wishing the sound of his voice didn’t make my body tingle. Stupid, traitorous body. It’s already screwed up my periods, and my moods, and given me night sweats. I don’t need this kind of complication on top of it. It’s not like there’s a vitamin I can add to my daily regimen to stop getting turned on by a stupid voice.
“Nope. Everything’s great. You can go back to the hotel now,” I tell him, saying every prayer I know and wishing on every damn star in the sky above me as I turn the key again.
Nothing.
“It looks like you need my help.”
I can hear the humor in Dean’s voice, then he takes a loud, slurping sip of his milkshake. I shake my head and grind my teeth, even as the cart still refuses to start when I try one last time, and my phone starts dinging with rapid-fire texts on the seat next to me.
Wren: Did you leave yet?
Wren: Call me when you get there.
Wren: Are you there yet?
Wren: WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO LONG? MY SON COULD BE DYING?!!!!
“Get on the bike.”
