Page 18 of Fragile Hearts

“I worked at the lagoon,” he tells me. “As one of the guys who set up chairs and umbrellas, showing people how to use SUP boards, handing out towels. Occasionally being yelled at because there were fish in the lagoon or the sand was too hot.”

I laugh at his explanation. People really do complain about things like that. Working the front desk, we get all kinds of complaints.

“Good tips though, I’ve heard.”

“Oh, yeah, people, especially after drinking too much, tend to tip big.” He stops for a second, looking at me, his eyes this interesting shade of green flecked with gold.

I get lost in his eyes, the way they take me in, how calming they feel as he watches me. My tongue slips out, wetting my lips, and his eyes fall to my mouth.

“Once I had someone call the front desk to tell me her ice cream melted too quickly, and she wanted to speak to the manager,” I say, a little hesitantly, worried I might be crossing a line since it is his parents’ hotel.

“It’s ice cream,” Owen replies, shaking his head. “It melts. What happened?”

“You know what happened,” I say, raising a brow, letting him fill in the rest of the story.

“Free bottle of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, a free dinner, a comped night.” He lets out a sigh.

All of those things. They’re our go-to for pleasing disgruntled guests. It tends to work, and it probably doesn’t really cost all that much for the hotel in the end. But it might bring these guests back, and that’s what matters.

“I really do like working there,” I now say, feeling that I need to add that in so he doesn’t think I’m ungrateful. “It’s one of the best places I’ve ever worked. Your parents are really nice.”

“They’d love to hear that,” he tells me. “They do try hard to make sure it isn’t a shitty place to work. Unless it’s their own kid. Then they’re all over my ass.” He says this like it’s a joke, and I can see his parents being the kind of people who don’t cut their kids any breaks.

We both fall quiet again, the sun now completely gone, the stars beginning to dot the darkened sky. I love it out here. It feels a million miles away from everything, like a sanctuary.

“Thanks again, Owen, for everything,” I now say, my fingers laced through Mochi’s fur. It’s starting to feel more like a place I live rather than just a stopover in another move.

But again, it’s not home.

It’s a house.

“Of course. What would you have done if I hadn’t told you that you could move in with me?” His question comes out quickly, and it catches me off guard. This is certainly not where I thought this conversation would go.

I pause, letting it sink in. He’s probably never been in this situation, and his question is asked with genuine curiosity.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I respond. “I didn’t have enough money to rent a place on my own, so I guess…” I trail off, not wanting to admit to Owen Sinclair that I would have been homeless.

“Do you really think your friends would have let you be without a place to live?” He doesn’t use the word homeless, and I don’t know if that’s intentional or not.

“I don’t know. Alana has Flynn now, and Sage and Nate don’t have any room. Daisy’s kinda in the same situation I’m in, and she was just going to move in with her sister or mom. She ended up with her mom.”

“Not one of them would have let it happen, and I want you to hear that.” Again, there’s that harshness to his words, a possessive quality that makes my stomach flutter. “I would have never let it happen.”

“And you didn’t,” I say softly.

“You deserve better, Sloane, and you’re working hard to get there. I wouldn’t let something I could so easily change for you ruin that.”

His words sound loud and booming in my ears. They’re kind and protective, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst in my chest. I might be working hard to make my life better, but what I don’t deserve is a guy like Owen Sinclair.

He’s too good for me.

But I push that thought aside. What if I do let him in? What if I give him a chance and he falls in love with me? What if this simple gesture changes my life?

The trouble is, I have to let it happen, and I’m not sure I can. It’s a terrifying thought, the back and forth of my thoughts, the idea that I might get my heart broken. That he’ll leave when he realizes I’m not worth staying for.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he now asks, changing the subject. Mochi pops up, his little eyes squinting in the darkness.

He hops off my lap and trots the few short steps over to where Owen is sitting. He jumps up into his lap now, spinning around a few times before he plops down.

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