Page 12 of Dr. Stone
He slid out of me with a final, teasing kiss and sat back on his heels, that dangerous grin returning. “After what I just felt?” He shook his head, amused and intent. “I’ve got plenty left.”
“Prove it,” I said, smiling.
“I will.” He stood, peeled off the condom, and glanced over his shoulder at the shower. “Two minutes. Helps me recover faster.” He grinned. “Care to join?”
“Shower sex happens to be one of my favorite pastimes.” I rose, unabashed and still humming with aftershocks, and followed him toward the glass and steam of a yacht that suddenly felt like it belonged entirely to us.
SEVEN
Andie
After getting home earlyfrom my crazy one-nighter, I smiled when I saw how much brighter and beautiful my condo appeared to be again.
I wasn’t sure if having a man worship my body all night long had reignited my spark again, or if it was just the act of getting out and doing something wild, crazy, and completely unlike me.
Who knew, who cared? Whichever it was, it’d served the purpose I’d set out to accomplish far better than I had planned.
I tossed my keys on the counter, jumped in the shower, and giddily freshened up before making the hour-and-a-half drive to Santa Barbara to pick up my son.
After a short nap, feeling like a million bucks, I slid into my Porsche 911, dropped the top, and headed up the coast on a perfectly warm, sunny day. Everything looked bright and vibrant, matching the way I felt inside.
The dark clouds of depression were gone. I couldn’t wait to see Brandon. From here on out, he would see a strong womanwho fought for her life and his, not someone letting the weight of the world dull her spirit.
“Baby girl,”my mom said as I walked through the charming beachfront cottage they’d owned since I was a child. “Did you have a—” she stopped, stepped back, and framed my face with her hands. “You look radiant. You look…happy?”
“You say that as if you’re questioning whether you can trust my smile,” I chuckled and hugged the petite woman I loved with all my heart. “I think I’m finally back, Momma,” I said, feeling a tear slip out of the corner of my eye.
She rubbed my back before pulling away. “Dad and I knew you’d bounce out of this. I figured it would take something to jar you out of it, but we knew it would happen eventually.”
I smiled. “And here we are,” I said, somewhat nervously.
If only my religious mother knew what I’d done to climb out of the hole I’d been living in since Jonathan left me like he did.
She smiled in that sweet, unmistakable way, her dark bob framing a face that radiated warmth. Barely four foot nine and delicate in build, she somehow filled every room she entered. Her laugh was quick and infectious, the kind that made strangers smile without knowing why. She gave without keeping score, loved without hesitation, and had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world.
My dad, Mr. Harry Miller of Marina Vista Yachts—the brokerage he built and lived for—was her polar opposite. Where Mom sparkled, Dad was steady. It pained him to see his only daughter in despair, though he’d never say so outright. He wasn’t one for big displays of emotion; silence was his way of caring, even if it didn’t always land that way. I took after him in that, though I’d inherited just enough of Mom’s openhearted nature to make life interesting to navigate.
“So? Are you going to tell me what brought you out of this depression? You know I’ve had the church praying for you,” she questioned, looking at me like she was waiting to hear a secret.
“I really have no idea,” I lied. My mother, the quintessential kindergarten Sunday school teacher and devout choir member, didnotneed the details about how those prayers were answered.
“I just had a really fun night with Ashley and her friends on their beautiful yacht,” I said. Technically true. I’d been having a great time with the ladies long before the evening took a more athletic turn.
“Honestly, I don’t even care what turned things around for you. I’m just thrilled something did,” she said, guiding me through my childhood home. “Let’s sit out on the back porch and enjoy some fresh air while we wait for Dad and Brandon to get home. Do you want some hot tea, honey?”
“I’d love some,” I said, noticing tears of happiness well in Mom’s eyes before she turned toward the kitchen to put on the kettle, just like she always did when I was a kid. Some things never change, and thank God for that.
Mom and Dad’s cottage was a single-story retreat along the sunlit shores of Santa Barbara, the kind of place that felt pulled from a seaside daydream. Weathered cedar shingles, softened by a patina of sea salt, gave it a timeless warmth.
I had countless memories here, from Mom brewing tea to teaching me to make spaghetti, to Easter egg hunts in the yard and Halloweens that smelled like caramel apples. I’d been lucky to grow up in such a loving home with parents who cared deeply, even if they sometimes drove me nuts.
Still, even here, the thought of Jace had a way of slipping in, bringing with it the memory of his smile and everything about last night, every look, every touch, every breathless moment.
I settled into one of the wicker rocking chairs on the wraparound porch, identical to the others lined up in a row. Thewhite wooden shutters framed the windows perfectly, a finishing touch my dad had installed as a Mother’s Day surprise. He had stayed up all night putting them in, and I’m pretty sure they were the only material gift that ever made Mom cry happy tears.
Beyond their manicured backyard, the sparkling ocean stretched to the horizon. I’d lost track of how many times I’d walked through the little wooden gate, stepped off the lush green lawn, and onto warm sand to build castles between Mom’s Adirondack chairs. If childhood had a postcard, mine was right here.
For the first time in too long, I felt like I was stepping back into it—with a certain blue-eyed doctor still tugging at my thoughts, refusing to let go no matter how far away he was.
