by Jill Shalvis
playing, she’d heard something, someone, and she’d run the half mile to the warehouse, slammed into her loft, and with the lights still off plastered herself to the side of one of her windows.
Just in time to watch Sam vanish into the shadows.
The second night, she’d felt him as well, but when she’d stopped in the middle of the street and spun a circle to confront him, she’d been alone.
The next morning, when he’d come in for coffee, she’d searched his calm, even, handsome features for some sign that he was walking her home every night, but he gave her nothing.
So she kept it to herself. Because she knew what he was doing. He was just trying to give her back something he thought she was missing—her music. She appreciated that, even as she resented the fact that she was also missing something else.
Him in her bed.
You’ll tell me when.
The man confused the hell out of her. But denial had always been her friend, and that hadn’t changed. Early one morning, she unlocked and opened up the hut. She might have been hired to answer phones and greet customers, but she’d taken over handling their website, too. And then there was the ongoing planning for the upcoming Summer Bash, which had taken on a life of its own.
She started the coffee, brought up the schedule, handled all the charter’s online email and site correspondence, and then got to the Summer Bash stuff. Sam had reluctantly signed off on the pyrotechnics contract, the band, and the promos on Facebook and Twitter.
Becca was still planning out the logistics, hiring high school kids from the rec center for the setup on that day, renting tables and chairs and awnings. She was figuring out the decorations, too, some of which she’d found in the back storage room. She’d hauled out a big duffel bag filled with strings of white lights, wanting to use them along the dock and to decorate the boat. Problem was, the lights were literally in a huge ball, a tangled mess.
She’d been working on that here and there, and was at it again, sitting cross-legged on the floor, when Sam came in. He strode straight for the coffee. Saying nothing, he brought his mug up to his delectable mouth and eyed her over the rim as he drank. When the caffeine sank in about two minutes later, he finally spoke. “Mornin’.”
“Morning.” She paused, wondering which direction to take this conversation. Were they mad at each other? Still circling each other? Ignoring each other?
She gestured to the stack of paper, napkins, and whatever else they’d been writing email addresses on for months. “I realize you all had a system going here with this lovely pile, but I have good news—my system’s better. I’ve got you all caught up.”
He smiled. “Glad to hear that. You’ve been busy.”
“More than you know. Right now I’m working on the decorations.” She gestured to the big mess of lights in front of her. Stuck on yet another knot, she swore beneath her breath. “And by the way, this is a really stupid way to store your lights.”
“Yeah, and if Tanner sees that mess, he’ll kill Cole. Tanner’s pretty fanatical about the equipment.” Sam hunkered in front of her, took the ball, shoved it back into the duffel, and rose, slinging it over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking care of it.”
“You’re going to untangle that mess?” she asked.
“I’m going to take care of it,” he repeated.
Okay then. So she rose, too. “How’s your dad?”
“Sprawled out on my couch watching movies and eating me out of house and home.”
“So he’s . . . okay?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m seeing his doctor later today.”
Sam didn’t give off a whole lot of “tells,” but neither did he hide much. If he was feeling something—anger, amusement, arousal, whatever—he didn’t seem to have much of a problem showing it. When his gaze met hers, she saw hints of worry mixed with irritation.
He didn’t yet know what to think, and he was withholding judgment until he knew.
Which made him a whole lot smarter than her.
She tended to react first and think later. Hence the dreaming about him. The yearning for him. The kissing him the other night. . .In order to not repeat that mistake, she tore her eyes off his fine-ass self and instead looked at the walls.
There were a bunch of pictures, and she’d had a lot of time to study them. Most were of clients, some holding up large fish, others in scuba gear or just mugging for the camera on the boat and dock. There was one of a younger Sam, along with Cole and Tanner and another guy, the four of them on what appeared to be an oil rig, looking pretty badass. The next picture was in the same locale, but just Sam, Cole, and Tanner, with Tanner on crutches. “Seems like it must have been a real rough job,” she said. “And dangerous.”
Sam nodded, though to which she couldn’t say. Maybe both.
“Did Tanner get hurt out there?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He came to stand next to her, his gaze on the picture. “We nearly lost him along with Gil in a rig fire.”
“Oh, my God.” She turned back to the pic of the four men. She looked at Gil, so young, so full of life, and felt a pang for what they’d been through. “I can’t imagine how awful it must have been.”
“It sucked.”
Sam didn’t use a lot of words. He didn’t need to. The few he chose were effective. She imagined It sucked covered it all. She took in the rest of the pictures, one with the three of them on a smaller boat than the one currently moored outside. “You’ve upgraded,” she said. She turned to face him. He was wearing black board shorts today and a plain gray T-shirt. No ball cap this morning, but his sunglasses were in place. “You’ve given yourself a great life here,” she said, realizing she was more than a little envious. “Working with your closest friends. All the adventures. . .”
A customer walked in. Actually, four customers, college buddies who wanted to rent surfboards along with Sam’s expertise to tutor them. Becca logged the equipment rental, and Sam headed out with them.
On the beach, all of them stripped out of their shirts, but Becca had eyes for only Sam. She tried not to look but she honestly couldn’t help herself.
Then he turned back, and caught her staring.
She considered dropping to the floor like she’d done when she’d gotten caught staring at him before, from her apartment, but it was far too late for that.
“Hey, Peeper,” he called, and crooked his finger at her.
Damn. She met him halfway on the dock.
“You got a suit?” he asked.
She tore her gaze off his chest. “Suit?”
“A bathing suit,” he said, looking amused. “Are you wearing a bathing suit under all those layers you’re so fond of?”
“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t know how to surf.”
“Lesson number two, in five minutes.”
Oh, my God. “I don’t—”
“You’re still living in your head,” he said. “Can’t live in your head when you’re surfing. On the water, you live for the here and now. Log yourself out a wet suit so you don’t get cold. Five minutes,” he repeated. “Give yourself an adventure.” And, as it turned out, he gave her the adventure. She wasn’t ever going to become a pro surfer, but she’d had the time of her life.
Late that afternoon Sam walked into the town medical building for a meeting with his dad’s doctor.
Dr. Josh Scott had been ahead of Sam in school by about five years, but they’d gone rock climbing together a bunch of times, so Sam expected to spend a few minutes bullshitting before getting to the nitty-gritty of his dad’s health problems.
What he didn’t expect was to find his dad in the waiting room.
With Becca.
“Hey,” she said, coming to him. “Your dad asked for a ride.”
Mark nodded but didn’t rise. It was hard to tell if his small smile was the usual I’m up to shenanigans, or an apology. “Next time,” Sam said, looking into Becca’s
eyes. “Call me. You don’t need to spend your time driving him around.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed a little bit, but she said nothing. She turned to his dad. “You take care of yourself,” she said. “And if you need another ride, or anything, you know how to get me.”
Mark gave her a real smile. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and then, without another look at Sam, headed to the exit.
“Becca,” he said.
Her response was to shut the door, with her on the other side of it. Great. Sam turned his head and met his dad’s gaze.
“Son, seriously,” Mark said. “I really believed you had all the brains in the family.”
A nurse brought them to an exam room, and Josh came in wearing a white doctor jacket with a stethoscope around his neck and a ready smile. “Mark. Sam,” he said. “Good to see you both. Sorry about the circumstances.”
“And what exactly are the circumstances?” Sam asked.
Josh looked at Mark.
Mark looked guilty.
“You didn’t tell him?” Josh asked.
“You do it so well,” Mark said.
Josh gave him a pained look and turned to Sam. “Liver’s failing. Slow, long deterioration, most likely caused by alcohol abuse. It’s not acute. I’ve put him on meds and requested a diet that includes no alcohol and a moderate exercise plan. A lot of the time, the meds work and slow the deterioration down, but sometimes they don’t.”
Sam sat heavily. “And if they don’t?”
“We’ll see. Maybe a transplant if there’s a serious lifestyle change,” Josh said, and paused. He didn’t say it, but Sam heard it—if he’s lucky. Sam looked at his dad.
Mark met his gaze, the usual flash of guilt in his eyes.
Shit. “It’s going to be okay,” Sam said.
Mark nodded.
“It is,” he reiterated, because like Becca said, saying it twice would make it so.
Chapter 15
Sweet baby Jesus,” Olivia whispered.
Becca hummed her agreement but didn’t take her eyes off front and center, which was a pack of three surfers out in the water. Cole, lean and rangy. Tanner, with more bulk to his muscle.
Sam, of the broad shoulders and ripped abs.
Becca stared at them and took a lick of her ice cream.
Olivia stared at them, too, and took a lick of her ice cream.
It was Sunday afternoon, and they were both off work. They’d made a pit stop at Lance’s ice cream stand on the pier, where Becca had also bought a bag of ranch-flavored popcorn for herself for later, and then they’d planted themselves on the sand to watch the show.
“I’d have paid money for this,” Olivia said. “Who’s the deliciously mocha-skinned one?”
“Tanner,” Becca said.
“Tanner’s pretty damn fine,” Olivia said.
“They’re all fine.”
Olivia snorted. “Like you’re looking at anyone besides Sam.”
This was true. Still, Becca tore her gaze off the guys to look at her cohort. “How do you know Sam but not Cole or Tanner?”
“Sam stopped one night on the highway when I had a flat tire and helped me fix it. Until I moved into the warehouse, I’d never seen the other two; they’re not exactly my shop’s usual clientele.”
Becca smiled at the thought of any of the three guys shopping at the very lovely but very feminine store Olivia had created. “You could probably easily go out with either of them, if you’re interested.”
“I’m not,” Olivia said. “At all.” But she kept looking.
So did Becca.
That night, Becca FaceTimed with Jase, who was at her parents’ house. He asked her again to come to Seattle for his upcoming concert.
And though Seattle was only two hours from Lucky Harbor, she once again declined.
Her mom and dad tried to pressure her into saying yes. They were worried about Jase, and for good reason. But Becca couldn’t carry that burden alone again, not even for Jase.
“He can’t continue without your support,” her mom said.
Becca wanted to say, And what about me? Who’s giving me support? But it was far too late for that question.
Jase had nudged their mom out of the way and rolled his eyes at Becca. A we’re-in-this-together gesture that was so familiar, Becca ached. He looked good, she thought. Great actually. Rested. He’d gained some of his weight back, but the telltale signs were there, and she knew why her mom and dad were worried. He talked too fast, too scattered, and his eyes were way too bright.
He didn’t ask her about herself. He didn’t dare, because he knew. And when Becca came right out and asked him if he was using, their connection was suddenly lost.
She tried calling him back but he’d gone radio silent.
And a radio-silent Jase was never a good thing. Anxiety kept her up all night, watching the moonbeams dance across her walls. At dawn, she forced her concerns out of her head and went to work. Since she was early, she started the coffee and used her phone to search for cheap sheet music for the kids.
A minute later, Sam walked in. As he did every morning, he went straight for the coffeepot. He was in his usual uniform of loose, low-slung board shorts and a tight rash-guard T-shirt that clung to his mouthwatering body, complete with the cool sunglasses that made him look like the perfect combination of delicious and trouble. “Good weekend?” she asked.
“I worked on a boat.”
“You did?” she asked. “I never saw you.”
He eyed her over the rim of his mug. “Yes, you did. You and Olivia watched us surf.”
“Oh.” She felt the blush creep up her face. “Saw that, did you?”
“Little bit,” he said, obviously amused. “So did Lucille, by the way. She posted a pic of you on Pinterest, and you both look like you might be drooling.”
“It was really good ice cream,” she said weakly, and desperately sought a subject change. “So, how’s your dad?”
“He’s facing liver failure, but there’s meds, and his doctor is hopeful.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to kick his ass if he screws this up,” Sam said simply. “He’s not acting like a guy who got some really bad news. He’s acting like he was awarded a trip to Disney World.”
“That’s because he’s living with you. It’s a dream come true for him.”
Sam didn’t say anything to this. Instead, he gestured to her phone screen. “What’s that?”
Clearly, he’d made his own subject change. “I’m trying to find music for the kids.”
“You get a budget, or you spending your own dough?” he asked.
“No budget.” She shrugged. “It’s not too expensive, and I want to do this right with them. What’s going on with the lights?” she asked, pointing to the duffel bag on his shoulder.
He set it at her feet.
She bent down and unzipped it, and then stared at the neatly stacked lights, still in their packaging. “You bought new ones,” she accused.
“Yeah, so?”
“So that’s cheating.”
“You had a problem, it’s solved,” he said simply.
She stared at him. Wasn’t that just like a guy. “I could have untangled them,” she said. “Eventually. I’d have saved you money.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
Maybe she should have been annoyed. Instead, she felt that frisson of awareness skitter up her spine. His gaze met hers, his heated, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Not just