Page 41 of Tender Heart
And I’m not alone.
Not anymore.
At least for a little while.
When the Coast Guard boat fires up and the throttles purr as it chugs away, I glance back at my best friend. I know he’s right. Until I have no reason to stay, I’ll be here. If that ever changes, I might try my luck across the ocean in my homeland. Maybe track down my parents’ families...
A yearning to visit the fishing hut, to be close to my dad, flares like an old memory. Tomorrow. I’ll take off and spend the day there. I could use a day to myself.
Reaching the house, I pull my cap from my head and hesitate. I should knock.
On my own damn front door.
Fuck, Em’s right. I’ve let her in. This feels more like a date than eating my own food in my own house. I resist the urge todrop my forehead on the wooden door. Instead, I take the handle in one hand and press it down, pushing through the door.
It’s when I see Evie, flustered and looking as out of her depth as I feel, that I realize things have changed between us. They shouldn’t have. I should have been smarter about this.
I’m good at denying myself the things I want, usually.
Usually.
Until this woman.
Until Evie took over my spa?—
“Oh hey, almost ready. I think?” she pants.
I offer her a soft smile and wander to the living room. This little dinner is going to have to be two friends enjoying a meal. Nothing more.
We can’t be anything more.
Evie is rushing around the small kitchen like it’s on fire. Give it a minute and it might be, by the smell of whatever she is trying to cook in the pan. I would step in, but the girl is determined to whip up some sort of apology meal. Who am I to interfere?
The frypan sizzles violently.
She whips back, giving whatever’s in there a stir, and spins back around to resume chopping furiously. Pieces of cucumber from the garden fly across the counter. The house looks different. Then I see why. Small jars of flowers are dotted around the place. A few on the windowsills. One placed on top of the fireplace. A handful spaced out on the bookshelf.
The bright colors strike me as too familiar.
They’re from the greenhouse.
Stolen flowers for an apology dinner.
I tamp down the chuckle wanting out with that little irony. This girl is all irony. Her being here with me—ironic. For years I have lived with others’ collective opinion that no woman should be left in my care. Now, for some godforsaken reason, this one has been dropped on my island. Literally.
The spatula clatters to the floor.
Evie jumps sideways. “Shit.”
I wander around, taking in the tiny ways my house has changed since she moved in. The coffee table is turned ninety degrees to run parallel between the two sofas. I think I actually like it more. The bookshelf is... organized alphabetically. To that, I raise an eyebrow. I had a fucking system.
Geez, is nothing sacred?
The hats and coats are hung in groups; nothing tossed on the wall any old how.
Grunting, I drop onto the sofa. Three books are stacked in a neat-ass pile in the center of the coffee table.
My books.
