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“I’m making some tea anyway,” he said. “It’s no imposition. I insist.”
“Okay, then.” I nodded. “Tea would be nice.”
A chill ran down my spine as I followed him into the kitchen, which was a cook’s dream—huge, rustic center island featuring a countertop made of butcher block. There was a bowl of papayas on it. Behind the top-of-the-line Viking stove was a wall of exposed brick. Off to the side was a brick oven. I imagined happier times in this house where perhaps Dax and his wife had made pizza together while sipping wine. My heart clenched.
I took a seat at the table and watched as Dax opened the cabinet and seemed to fumble with some things, eventually taking out two mugs.
“I have black tea, green tea…” He lifted a tin can and squinted to read it. “And this cinnamon one with orange peel. I think that’s Shannon’s.”
“Cinnamon sounds great. Thank you.”
“Do you take it with milk?”
“Just a splash.” I smiled.
Things were quiet until the whistle blew on the tea kettle. After Dax prepared two steaming hot teas, he carried them over to the table and placed one in front of me.
“Thank you.” I took a sip too fast, burning my tongue. I winced. The cinnamon taste was sweeter than I’d expected.
“Too hot?” he asked.
I blew on it. “It’ll be perfect in a minute.”
There was a bowl of various candies on the table. He must have noticed me eyeing it because he pushed it toward me. “Feel free to help yourself. Shannon apparently picked up some of the Halloween candy they’re starting to put out early in the stores.”
I faced my palm toward him. “No, thank you.”
He reached into the bowl and took out one of the mini bars of chocolate, placing it in front of me. “I think this one is fitting.”
Oh my God. Butterfinger. That was a total dig at my breaking the shell. I sighed. “Mr. Moody, was that an attempt at humor? That’s really out of character for you.”
“A poor attempt, yeah.” He chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You didn’t plant these here just so you could say that, did you?”
“No. It was luck.”
After a few moments of awkward silence, I asked a nagging question. “Were you…able to replace the shell?”
He stopped mid-sip and put his mug down. “I ordered another one online. It should be arriving this week.”
“Glad to hear.” I should’ve offered again to pay for it, as I did before I left the other day, but I knew he’d never let me. Instead of offering a second time, I stared down into my mug. “I’m so sorry again.”
He nodded. “Why did you have the shell up against your ear when I interrupted you that day?”
I laughed nervously. “The ocean.”
His eyes narrowed. “The ocean…”
“Yes. You’ve never heard of that? If you put a seashell to your ear, you can hear the ocean inside?”
“Can’t say I have.” He continued to stare at me like I was crazy.
“It was something my mother told me when I was younger…before she died. She passed away when I was five.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry, Wren. That’s terrible.”
I nodded and looked around the kitchen. “Can I ask what happened to your wife?”
He hesitated a moment. “Brain aneurysm. No one saw it coming.”
“She was so young.”
He swallowed. “Forty-two.”
“Older than you…”
His brow lifted. “How do you know how old I am?”
I didn’t want to admit my Googling. The write-up in The Boston Globe about Maren’s death hadn’t stated how she died. But I did notice that she hadn’t taken his last name. She still went by Maren Wade.
“Just an assumption,” I finally answered. “You seem younger.”
“She was twelve years older than me. I’m thirty-two.” He paused. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
He bounced his legs, seeming tense as ever. That massage definitely would’ve done him good.
Rafe suddenly appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” Dax asked.
The boy said nothing, just pointed to his ear.
“Shit. Your ear is worse?”
He nodded.
Rafe had thick, light brown unruly hair and big, beautiful hazel eyes that held a hint of sadness.
“Let me see where Shannon put that medicine.” He turned to me. “I’ll be right back.”
Dax stood, leaving a cloud of his masculine scent in his wake, and followed Rafe out of the room. I felt a little guilty for checking out Dax’s ass as he left. But his dark jeans hugged it quite well.
I could hear the two of them going up the stairs together.
After sitting alone for a while, the sound of a dog collar registered. The next thing I knew, Winston had entered the kitchen.
“Where did you escape from? You broke down the gate?”
He growled and barked before settling down on the kitchen floor.
I lifted my mug and walked over to where he’d planted himself near the center island. I sat on a stool and put my tea down. “You know, Winston, you’re awfully fluffy and cute for someone so mean. I don’t normally want to bury my nose in the fur of people who hate me.”
