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“In fairness, I thought you were an intruder.” I smile, unable to hide how pleased I am to see him. After he didn’t reply to my text, I figured I’d ruined it for good, and didn’t have anyone to blame but myself.
He limps toward me. “I should’ve called first, huh?”
Ignoring the question, I reply, “Not too many people come by here, so I tend to hear the car first. Did you get dropped off or something?”
He gestures back at the car by the road. “No, I drove. If that’s your early warning system, you might consider something more dependable.”
“I was reading,” I say, like that should explain everything. “Got lost in it, I guess.”
“Anything I’d know?”
I shake my head. “It’s one of Ms. T’s old romances that I’ve been meaning to give back. Found it on one of the shelves inside and figured I’d give it a third read before I hand it back. Pretty soon, all of this is going to belong to someone else, so I can’t be leaving anything behind.”
“You’re selling?” He seems surprised.
“Gifting,” I reply, wondering if the whole conversation is going to feel this awkward. “I don’t need it anymore, I don’t think I’d ever have the heart to sell it, so this is the middle ground.”
Rowan nods, obviously confused. “Who’s the lucky recipient?”
“Mae. Don’t know if you know her. She’s worked for the DuCates her whole adult life, but she’s retiring soon, and she’s kind of fallen in love with this place, so it’s hers.” My tongue is stiff in my mouth, and there’s too much distance between him and me. Distance that I put there by being so moody, keeping him at arm’s length, refusing to reply to his messages, generally making him feel like I’m not interested in him.
Rowan’s eyes brighten and he shambles closer. “That’s really… something, Summer. A good deed. Truly.”
“I want it to be enjoyed,” I elaborate shyly. “Anyway, what brings you here, aside from the urge to get a couple of bruises and a splinter or two?”
He chuckles, and I have the faint hope that things might be okay. “Your message. Were you aware that the DuCate mansion is in a cell service black hole? I know it sounds like an excuse, but I didn’t see your text until this evening, and when I saw it and I couldn’t send a message back, I hopped in the car and now I’m here with a throbbing leg and a broken bottle of champagne and… what I hope is the awkward charm of a schoolboy with a crush.”
“The DuCate mansion is notorious for sucking the life out of most things,” I reply, my smile spreading wider, my blood singing in my veins, though that might be the evening buzz of bees sipping the last nectar of the day or the cicadas and frogs striking up their night chorus. “Still, you’re here now. Stay right where you are—I’ll get ice and something to sweep up the glass.”
Turning on my heel, I run to the back porch and bound up the steps, trying to remember where I last saw the dustpan and brush. A lot of things have been moved around, turning the cottage into some kind of alternate reality: my old home but not my old home, everything similar but not quite the same.
Throwing open all of the kitchen cupboards and drawers and even the narrow storage closet that I don’t think I’ve ever opened before, I ransack the place in search of anything I can use. A crusty old broom would do the trick, but there’s nothing. Maybe, Mae takes her cleaning equipment with her whenever she leaves, or she’s put it all in a safe place that I don’t know about, psychically preparing for a day when this cottage might become hers.
That’s when I hear the soft wheeze of the back door and footsteps on the white-painted floorboards. I turn slowly. He’s there, standing in the place I used to love so much, where I fell completely for the man I used to love so much, where I thought I’d finally found happiness. I wait for it to sting my heart, I wait for the unease of having Rowan where Ben used to be, I wait for it all to feel wrong, I wait for my voice to tell him to get out and stay where I told him to stay, but none of that comes. There’s the slightest ache in my chest, nothing more.
Dressed in a blue-and-white striped t-shirt and jeans, with matching blue and white sneakers, he fits right into the cottage with its maritime décor. I can’t believe just how right he looks, standing nervously in my old living room, glancing around with increasingly widening eyes.
“Shit, this is incredible,” he tells me, giving a low whistle. “You sure you want to give this up?”
I swallow, forgetting the dustpan and brush. “Depends what you mean. The cottage or…?” I trail off, moving toward him. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”
“I thought you might need some help.” His eyes sparkle, flitting down briefly to take in my casual attire. After all, I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I’m pretty much in my pajamas: thin gray shorts and a matching tank top, with a cardigan over the top. My skin has the first bronze hint of a tan after two days of sitting out in the garden, basking in the summer heat with Ms. T’s dusty romance novels, and I didn’t bother to put on a bra after my shower, so I can guess what’s caught his eye.
I take another hesitant step toward him. “You haven’t answered my question—what don’t you think I should give up?”
He crosses the living room in a heartbeat, his arms catching me mid-step, pulling me against him. His breath shallows like he’s run a marathon instead of the few short steps to me, his forehead creasing in a pensive kind of pain as he gazes down into my eyes.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he murmurs, bringing one hand up to cup my face. “I don’t want to do anything that puts us back where we were before, with us avoiding each other or worse, acting like strangers. You’ve been through so much, Summer, and I can’t pretend to understand, so if this isn’t something you want—if I’m not what you want—then, so help me, tell me now and I’ll drag my sorry ass out of your house and forget it all. Otherwise, I’m ready to walk at your pace. I won’t try and sprint ahead.”
I think of the cypress board, floating out on the wavelets, carried far away from me. I haven’t seen it since I let it go. It hasn’t tried to return to me, though the summer storm had every opportunity to send it back, and I haven’t tried to search for it, either. And as I picture it, drifting far out into the ocean, sinking beneath tall waves, swallowed up by the deep, I raise up on tiptoe and I kiss my second chance, my second hope. I pull possibility into a tight embrace and crush a fragile dream of more against his lips, breaking it like a vial and praying there’s a cure and not poison inside.
For a moment, he does nothing, his body rigid with fear. Doubt sneaks in, and I pull back with a gasp of horror; I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t what he wanted. This ismesprinting ahead, when we’ve got a whole racetrack of hiccups to resolve first—namely, me being a rude bitch who kept him dangling on a hook, shunning him and making him think he did something wrong when he didn’t. Honestly, I’m shocked he came here at all.
A second later, he sweeps in, kissing the gasp from my mouth. His body thaws, melting into me until there’s nothing between us but a veil of fabric, soon to be lifted. And I press back against him, pretending it’s not there, as a soft palm glides up my back, sneaking beneath my tank top like he’s thinking the same thing. My breath shallows at that slight, tentative touch, remembering so much more, longing forevenmore than we’ve shared before, and he listens. The soft caress of his palm becomes a grasp, his other hand pulling my hips closer to his, his lips hungry, his shoulders rounding as he puts his entire body into every kiss, until my head is swimming with desire and I’m kissing him back with everything I have.
I need you. Now.The secret request whispers from my burning lungs in frantic breaths, and Rowan translates in an instant. The room blurs around me as we move in one another’s orbit, spinning closer and closer to an impact that will change the face of life as we know it.
My back hits the nearest wall and he steals the surprise from my mouth, my hands sliding through his thick, silky hair, tugging gently as a playful payback. As he kisses me deeply, the rhythm of his hips in sync with his mouth, his fingertips run along the bridge of my arm that connects me to him. All the while, his lips tease fast and slow, his teeth lightly grazing my lower lip, his tongue dancing with mine, but never too much—just enough.
