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“Approved.”
He glances at my beeping smartwatch—a reminder for me to get Mama’s arthritis cream on the way home. “What time do you close up?” he asks.
“In an hour.”
“Good timing, then. Can I take you somewhere?”
“Um… sure.” I agree despite him giving out vibes that I might not like the destination.
* * *
After I lock up,I follow Rob to his shiny Aston Martin. It’s not as over the top as Robby’s limo, but it still turns heads.
Once we’re in our seats, I find myself watching his every move, as if I’d never seen a man driving before. He starts the engine and reaches for the gear stick, shifting it to drive. Projecting an everything-will-be-okay expression, he pulls out into traffic.
“Really, where are we going?” I say in an accusing tone, as if he’s already done something bad.
He steals a glance at me, his hands calmly holding the leather steering wheel, but he doesn’t answer.
Soon enough, I find out where that ‘somewhere’ is.
A boat—waiting for us at Avila Beach.
“Rob? After last night, this is your idea of a second date?”
He cloaks me with a tight hug, one hand rubbing my back. “Give it a shot, come on. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
His soulful eyes penetrate my defenses—this time the need is not for himself, but for me to listen to him.
He’s a yachting boss, and a former SEAL. Having a girlfriend who can’t even set foot on a boat will definitely be a liability. Out of sheer embarrassment, I take a couple of steps closer to the gangplank, wrapping my fingers around the railings on both sides. The Pentela inside the Hartley Marine showroom was my limit—it spooked me to be on board, but I knew we weren’t exactly out on the water. There was no wind, no movement.
“I’m right behind you,” he reassures me.
My hands stiffen. The railings are so cold it’s like winter here. A breeze sweeps through, sending the plank to rise up and down quickly over a sudden surge of wave.
You’re mine, Amalia.
I turn around, ducking under Rob’s arm, and bolt back to the car.
My stomach muscles squeeze, and I hold my breath until Rob catches up with me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hugs me close and presses his cheek to my head, which is hung low in shame. “I didn’t mean to downplay your fear. I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“It’s not your fault,” I sigh. Surprisingly, being in Rob’s arms now makes me realize how quickly he can turn me around, from feeling like a loser to being somewhat okay. The warmth he imbues is a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal railings that have become the physical symbol of Aidan Rolland.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
I sit rigidly in the passenger seat like a pupil being punished.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says, putting his hand on top of mine as we head back. “I’ll be gentler next time.”
I nod, masking my anxious thoughts about whether there will be a next time. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Um… no, that’s okay.”
Why do I feel that I’ve hurt him? I know I haven’t. Maybe he thinks I need time to myself. “You’ll be hungry. It’ll be ten o’clock by the time you arrive in LA.”
“I’m not going back to LA tonight. I’ve got food on the boat.”
