Page 93 of Stick Break
Ran into town to pick up a few groceries. Want to do some stretches with you when I get back.
But the groceries aren’t the real reason I’m going. And I don’t want her knowing what is. Not yet.
I lock up behind myself, careful not to let the screen door slam. Inside, Charley sleeps soundly, her breath soft, her body curled beneath the covers, still tired from yesterday’s long, sun-soaked adventures… and the sweet, unhurried lovemaking that followed.
Lovemaking.
Jesus. If Roman ever heard me say that out loud, he’d yank my man card and frame it on his wall like a trophy. Then again, I’ve seen Roman and Gabby together. I married them in fact, and those two are a walking Hallmark movie, complete with the cozy gazes and sappy grins. They’re so sweet it makes my teeth ache… and yet, I wouldn’t change a thing about them. They’re good together and I couldn’t be happier for him.
Thinking about it makes my chest feel full in a way I’m not used to. Because for the first time, I can actually picture what it looks like to hang out with my friends as a couple, not the third wheel. I envision double dates, weekend trips, nights out that don’t end in one of us alone at the bar. I can see Roman and Gabby laughing with Charley across a table, clinking glasses, swapping stories. It’s the kind of life I wasn’t sure I’d ever have.
I stroll past Marta’s cottage and stop, letting my eyes linger. There’s something about this place that pulls at me. Something solid. Right. The idea of vacationing here again next summer with Gunther and Paisley, hell, maybe even renting kayaks or letting Emma bury me in the sand, it all feels… possible.
Look at me. Making lifelong plans without even consulting Charley. But the truth is, I want Charley in those plans. I just don’t know if she’s ready for the kind of step I’m about to take. If I told her, she’d probably say it was too much. Too fast. She’d tell me to slow down, to think it through. She’s not with me for the fame or glory or even to get the next juicy story. She sees me. The guy beneath the fame, the one who could be taken out with an injury. She’s honest. Real. And right now, I won’t risk overwhelming her with something that might scare her off. But I also can’t ignore this pull.
Just then, the cottage door swings open and Marta steps onto the porch, giving me a wave. Shit. I’ve been standing here like a total creeper, staring at her house like I’m casing the joint. I lift my hand in return, nod politely, and force myself to keep walking into town.
Heads turn as I pass a few shops. Odd, since no one has paid much attention to me before. I tug the brim of my ball cap lower, hoping to keep a low profile, then step into the real estate office. The cool air inside greets me, along with the jingling laughter of a middle-aged woman wearing a smile almost as big as her hoop earrings. Her bracelets jangle as she gestures for me to take a seat.
“What brings you in today?” she asks, head tilting ever so slightly as she ends the call she was on. Recognition dawns in her eyes, despite my best efforts at laying low.
“I’m here about Marta Conrad’s cottage,” I say, getting right to the point. “Just down the road.”
Her eyes widen, clearly intrigued. “Beautiful property. We actually had an offer on it last week, but Marta turned it down.”
“She turned it down?” I blink. “Why?”
“They didn’t have the right vibe,” she says with a knowing smile, as if she’s done this dance with Marta before. “She wants to sell it to someone who’ll love it. Really live in it. Not just toss it on Airbnb and call it a day.”
“She showed me around yesterday,” I say. “We talked for a while.”
“Well, that’s a good sign,” she says, clearly encouraged.
“Betsy Callahan vouched for us.”
“Us?” she echoes, eyebrows lifting.
“My…” I hesitate just a beat too long, and then force the word out, steady and sure. “My fiancée.”
The word lodges somewhere in my throat. It’s not a lie. Not really. Maybe not officially, but in my heart, it feels true.
She’s the one.
Now I just have to make her believe it too.
She claps her hands, bangles jingling like wind chimes. “How lovely.” She opens a file and begins pulling out documents related to the cottage. The next half hour slips by in a blur of signatures, figures, and official nods.
Once were done, I stand and hesitate. “Can you please keep this between us.”
“The Conrad’s have to know,” she teases.
I laugh. “Of course. It’s kind of a surpise for my fiancée. I’d rather her not know.”
She nods. “I can let Marta know that. I can’t guarantee that she won’t tell Betsy. Those two are pretty tight.”
For some reason I’m not worried about Betsy spilling any secrets. One thing I’ve learned since being here is that she’s good at keeping them. When I finally step back into the sunlight, it feels like something irreversible has shifted. I’ve put in an offer. On a cottage. With Charley in mind.
Damn, it feels good.
