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I’ve had the same dream for years. I’m watching our childhood house go up in flames. The ambulance lights are flashing, and my parents are being taken away. I guess dream isn’t the right word—nightmare is a better description. I haven’t woken up from one—screaming, heart racing, bed soaked with sweat—since shortly after I moved to Virginia. Now that I’m back home in Reed Point, I’m afraid they will start again.
They’re terrifying, and no matter what I used to do to try to stop them, they still came. Jake would wake me up, shaking me, and then lie beside me until I fell back asleep. I don’t know if he had the same nightmares after the fire. Jake must have suffered, but he never fell apart, he never lost it in front of me. In some weird way, I wish he had. Bottling up that kind of pain inside is never healthy.
It’s also not healthy to keep people at arm’s length, but I realize that is what both of us do. It’s the reason neither of us have been in a committed, long-term relationship. After losing so much and feeling such intense pain, you never want to risk love again.
Realizing I’m not going to be able to fall back asleep, I climb out of bed and head to the kitchen. I turn on the kettle, thinking a cup of peppermint tea may help. When it has steeped, I take the steaming mug to my front porch and sit on the porch swing, gazing up at the millions of stars putting on a show in the night sky. Being near the ocean helps. The sound of the waves always soothes me.
The street is eerily quiet, the weather warmer than I remember for early July in Reed Point. I sit in my tank and sleep shorts, rocking the swing back and forth with the tip of my toe. I take a sip from my mug and exhale deeply. Maybe staying at Gran’s house is a bad idea. When I decided to move back home, my focus was on Gran and getting her settled, and on transitioning to the new office. I didn’t have the time or energy to surf around realtor web pages looking for a place to live. Besides, Reed Point is pricey, so being able to stay here is saving me a lot of money. Money I’m saving for other things.
I relax deeper into the cushions. My eyes betray me, drifting next door to Grayson’s house. His truck is parked in the driveway, the house dark except for the soft glow of the porch light. There goes that darn flutter in my stomach. It’s the same one I felt in Miami, before it turned into a full body shudder when he was buried deep, pouring himself into me.
My history with Grayson is just that. History. It was one night. Well, technically it was a weekend. One of the best weekends of my life, if I’m honest. Grayson made me feel seen. Beautiful. Wanted. At the club that night, it felt like something may have been happening between us, but I knew as soon as we both finished on top of that desk that sex had never felt like that before. Which is why I needed to go, to put distance between us, to get my head on straight before I started to feel things for him.
But then Grayson wanted to talk. Talk about what? There was no way I was going to stick around to find out. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Easy. No complications. I never expected that I would feel the way I did. What was that gooey warmth in my chest? I wasn’t sure, but I knew it had to be a bad sign.
It was ugly the way I grabbed my things, threw on my clothes and headed straight for the door. Grayson is a good guy, he didn’t deserve that. But he was never going to be any more than a one-night stand so the sooner I left, the better.
I didn’t let myself google Grayson’s name after our weekend in Miami. I told myself nothing good was going to come of seeing that man’s chiseled jaw or all-American boy-next-door good looks again. Maybe if I did, I would have pieced it together that he’s friends with my brother. I am still not quite over the shock of that. I polished off most of a bottle of wine after dinner with Jake last night, hoping it might help drown the memories of Miami that keep resurfacing. It didn’t work.
I take a sip of my tea and try to push these feelings aside, telling myself that I can handle living next door to him. It’s exactly what I tried to tellhimin the kitchen the other day.Let’s forget about what happened between us so things won’t be awkward when we see each other.
I need to take my own advice.
What I really need is to get some sleep, and then I’ll forget all about Grayson. He may be my gorgeous new neighbor, but he is also my brother’s best friend. And that’s all he ever will be. Nothing more. Period.
There’s room on Haven Harbor for both of us.
Right?
FIVE
SAUNA-LEVEL HOT
Sierra
Over the past week, I have gone out of my way to make sure I don’t run into Grayson. I got used to his schedule pretty quick. Our work hours are basically the same, so I try to leave a half hour before he does and when I come home, I make a beeline for my front door. Do not pass Go. Do not so much as glance towards his house. When I want some fresh air, I now sit on the back porch, hidden behind the tall sycamore trees that are rooted between our backyards. On the weekend, I drove to White Harbor, the big beach in Reed Point, rather than just walk to the beach across the street.
So far, my attempts to avoid Grayson have been a success. Now if only I could find a way to stop thinking about him.
I’ve been staying up way too late, packing up Gran’s things and unpacking my own boxes. I also decided to start painting the living room walls a pale blue. The house is a mess, but I figure it’s good to stay busy. By the time I collapse into bed at the end of the day, I’m too exhausted to pay my spinning thoughts much attention.
Scanning the living room, I eye the work that I’ve done. It’s amazing what a fresh coat of paint can do to a place. I’m nowhere near close to getting this place the way I want it, but it’s a good start. I still have to tackle the two bathrooms and the kitchen, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Taking my paint brush and tray to the backyard, I hose them both down and then clean up. I need to get ready for a charity auction that I promised Jules I would attend this evening.
Jules and her husband work for competing hotel chains—Beckett is vice president of The Liberty Hotel Group where Grayson works—and they’re co-hosting a baseball game to raise money for cystic fibrosis in a couple of weeks. It’s a cause that is close to their hearts as Beckett’s younger sister, Bean, lives with the genetic disease.
So, it will be The Seaside versus The Liberty, with the presidents of the two hotel chains acting as head coaches for their respective teams. Tonight they’re holding an auction and dinner at the ballpark to kick things off.
I’m pretty sure that means I’ll be seeing Grayson. He works for The Liberty, after all, and is close friends with Beckett. The event is guaranteed to be a good time—Jules knows how to throw a party. But I don’t know how I’m going to handle being around Grayson without it being awkward. I better figure it out fast.
I throw on a pair of skinny jeans and the company jersey with The Seaside logo on the front, then pull my hair into a quick braid. Before heading out the door, I stop quickly to check my reflection in the mirror and give myself a mental pep talk in preparation for tonight. I’ve managed to avoid Grayson for an entire week, but I think my luck is about to run out.
Grayson
I’m imaginingSierra in her jersey and a pair of really short athletic shorts when I walk into the ballpark for tonight’s big event. My pervy thoughts must be written all over my face because Beckett raises a brow when he walks towards me. “You laughing at your own jokes again, Gray?” he asks, patting me on the back. “I guess that makes one person who finds you funny.”
Not true. Everyone thinks I’m funny because I am. “I was telling your mom a few jokes last night when I was—”
