Page 88 of So Close

“We?” she teased.

He’d been amazing this weekend—leading hikes and bike rides, building beach fires, frying bacon—and generally charming the crap out of their guests. He acted like he’d been made for the beach inn life, like there was nothing he’d rather do than carry towels and chip in to make up beds in a pinch.

“We,” he said, nodding. “I want to ask you something.”

His voice had gotten very serious, and she turned her undivided attention on him. After a weekend in which they’d been too busy even for a quickie, she was ready for some alone time with him tonight. He looked good enough to eat—hair longer now, and perpetually rumpled, eyes still as intense as the first time she’d found herself caught in his gaze, and a body that could fill out an expensive suit or stretch the confines of a soft cotton tee with equally breath-stopping results.

“Okay.”

“When the sale of Home Base went through, even with all the debts, I made some money, as I told you.”

“Yes.”

“My original plan, before I met you, was to use most of that money to try to build to the next level.”

“To get richer. Build bigger companies. Make sure you could buy all your relatives stuff they don’t want.”

He made a face at her. “Smartass. Yes. That was the old plan. But I’ve been so happy these last few months. Making Beachcrest stronger, sturdier, safer, more beautiful. With you. I want—I want to keep doing it. Building on what we’ve done so far. And that would be a hell of a lot easier if I weren’t going back and forth between here and San Fran. If I were here—permanently.”

Her breath stuttered in her chest.

“If that works for you, of course,” he added. It was a tease, but also a question.

“That—works for me.”

“I’ve been doing some research, and there’s enough free land on this lot for another ADU. A little owner’s cottage. I could build it. For you to live in. And if you were up for it, for—for us.”

“Oh, Trey.”

Her heart was so full, her chest ached.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

He bent and kissed her.

“Marry that girl!” a voice called.

They laughed and broke apart. It was Carl—and that was his favorite line when he caught them in a public display of affection, however tame. He strode toward them now, cheerful and healthy—and a good twenty pounds slimmer than he’d been before his heart attack, thanks to a better diet and cycling with Trey on a gentle beachside path.

It had taken a while for Carl to forgive Trey for almost selling Beachcrest, but once he’d seen that Auburn held no grudge, he’d softened up, and before too long, the two men had started tackling overdue projects around the inn. Both Auburn and Trey made sure that Carl didn’t take on anythingtootaxing—sometimes Mason or Levi would come over to help out if an additional share of brute strength was needed. Luckily for Trey, neither Mason nor Levi knew the whole story of how close Beachcrest had come to being lost. Someday, when they were both in extremely good moods, Auburn might tell them.

“Trey. This is the tile I chose for the new kitchen island. What do you think?”

Carl held up a piece of cobalt glass tile the exact color of Auburn’s eyes.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Trey said. “But it’s Auburn you have to ask. It’s her inn.”

She grinned at him. Half the time he forgot to ask her approval himself, and they’d had a few all-out fights—including one in which she’d called him an alpha asshole with a control problem—but they’d also had some pretty epic makeup sex. She knew he respected her—and she also knew she was never going to let him get away with shit. Or—at least—she was going to dish out as much as he did.

“No one said anything to me about a new kitchen island,” she said. “I’ll have to think about that one for a few days.”

“But—” Carl and Trey protested simultaneously, and Trey said, “We were going to get started on it today.”

“Find something else to do. That front garden needs weeding pretty badly.” Then she relented, laughing. “I’m just yanking your chains. The tile’s gorgeous and that island iscrap. Go to it. Just—I’m going to be making cookie dough later, so make sure I can still work in there.”

When Carl had gone off with his piece of tile, she turned to Trey. “And? You have to let me photograph you working shirtless for the marketing materials for our next romance weekend.”

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