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“Great.”
Tuck steps through his front door onto the porch of his shingled house overlooking the marina. He bends down to grab my suitcases. They’re huge, heavy thanks to the textbooks and toiletries they’re loaded with, but he lifts them like they’re light as a feather. The starched fabric of his light-blue button-up stretches over his back and arms as he moves, revealing Chris Hemsworth-like muscles.
I catch a whiff of yummy, woodsy man smell: smoke, balsam. Hint of cinnamon. Those Altoids he had at lunch last week?
“Katie should be home in half an hour. My sister just left to pick her up from camp.” He straightens, his eyes zipping up my body before he looks away. “I’ll show you the crofter.”
His attention draws my nipples to hard, tight points. I cross my arms. “Your house is beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He holds the door open with his foot so I can follow him. The inside of the house is just as gorgeous as the outside. The rooms we pass are beautifully furnished, stylish but also cozy and approachable. It’s not perfect, and I like that. There’s an overturned basket of toys in one of the bedrooms we pass; the cushions on a sofa are misshapen from use; a stack of folded sheets sits on the staircase’s newel post, waiting to be brought up to the second floor.
The house very much feels comfortable and lived in. But that fact is at odds with Tuck’s sharpness. His chilly, impersonal demeanor. If he’s an asshole, how’d he make such a warm home?
It’s not at all what I was expecting. Mom told me Tuck is worth millions, having made a mint working for real estate developer Riley Dixon, a local guy from the wrong side of the tracks who made it big. I thought for sure my new bosswould live in one of the gigantic mansions that dot Bald Head’s famously secluded beaches. But I was pleasantly surprised when my tram pulled up to a tasteful, shingled two-story house with lots of windows and big wrap-around porches.
Don’t get me wrong, the house still probably cost more than I’ll make in a lifetime. It’s not cheap to live on the island, especially right on the water like this. And I imagine Tuck spent a small fortune on the interior designer he clearly paid to furnish the place. But there’s something endearing about the fact that Tuck chose to live in such an under-the-radar spot.
He points out things as we pass through the house. It’s got a reverse floor plan, meaning the kitchen and living areas are on the second floor, where views of the water are best. Katie’s bedroom is down here on the first floor, along with the laundry room, the playroom, and an extra bedroom Tuck uses as a home office.
“Do you work from home often?” I ask.
We’re heading out onto the back deck now. It’s dotted with furniture and a grill, and it has a gorgeous view of the marina. I inhale the marshy, salty scent of the water that laps at the dock just a few feet away.
“I don’t.”
Okay, then.
The crofter is a detached structure right off the back of Tuck’s house. It’s two stories, with a garage on the first level, and the apartment—myapartment—on the second.
My pulse jumps. I’ve missed having my own place. It’ll be nice to feel like a real adult again, one who doesn’t live with her wonderful but slightly overbearing parents.
We go through the garage, which Tuck has turned into a legit home gym. Shiny equipment fills the space, everything from a treadmill and Peloton to a well-stocked weight rack and squat machine. There are mirrors on thewall and speakers in the ceiling. Medicine balls, kettlebells, and exercise bands are neatly arranged in a corner. A small fridge with a glass door is filled with water bottles and Gatorade.
Glancing at Tuck’s V-shaped back, I’m not surprised he has such a swanky set-up. The man must work out like a beast to have a body like that. I’d know, because I like to work out too. Nothing relieves stress quite like a great sweat session.
Looking over his shoulder, he catches me gaping at his gym.
“You’re free to use it.” He starts climbing the stairs. “If there’s a problem with any of the equipment, just let me know.”
I follow him. “Thanks. Quite the setup you have.”
“Gym keeps me sane.”
“I know what you mean. Working out clears my mind. I don’t love getting my butt to the gym, but I always feel so much better afterward.”
He glances at me over his shoulder again. “Exactly. So use it, please. Your résumé said you were a cheerleader at Carolina, right? Imagine you had to work hard to be in shape for an intense sport like that.”
I pause, hand on the banister. Tuck actually asked me a question.
Anintelligentquestion about something I love. I’m so taken aback that for a minute I just stare at him.
“What?” Tuck furrows his brow. “If you don’t want to talk about it?—”
I shake my head. “No, no, I love talking about cheer. It’s just... a lot of people don’t view it as a real sport that requires as much hard work and dedication as any other. I had to be in the best shape of my life, which meant getting to the gym every day, sometimes twice a day. There’s no way I could work out like that now, but I’m proud of the effort I putin when I was young and limber. The dancing aspect, the tumbling—it was fun.”
I smile. Tuck’s eyes do that thing again where they flick over my body. “Imagine it was.” He turns to the door at the top of the stairs and sets down one of my suitcases, digging into his pocket for a pair of keys hanging from aDixon Carts & Morekeychain. “No one on Bald Head locks their house except me. Maybe it makes me paranoid, but since I’m gone during the day, I feel better knowing y’all are safe.”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to lock up, then.”
