“Yes. Just let me get dressed.”
“You’re not dressed?”
She glanced down at her yoga pants and grungy T-shirt. “These are my lounge-around-the-house clothes. I don’t actually wear them in public.”
His left eyebrow quirked. “So I’m not considered public?”
She leaned down, the collar of her shirt creating the perfect peek at her cleavage. She was more pleased than she wanted to admit when Jared obliged, staring, then licking his lips.
“Oh, you’re definitely not public,” she said. “What we do here needs to stay secret.” She straightened and strutted into the bedroom, very aware of the effect she had on Jared and how powerful it made her feel.
Once in the safety of her bathroom, door locked, she looked at her flushed face in the mirror. A mischievous grin adorned her lips, and she giggled. She couldn’t help feeling good about knowing she was wanted.
As she stood there, she realized she didn’t want just any man looking and wanting. Just Jared. The smile slipped away, replaced by the seriousness a relationship with him required.
She spun away from her reflection and changed into socially acceptable clothes. After retrieving the key to Sophie’s taco stand from the drawer in the kitchen, Millie exited the house. Jared waited in her driveway, his motorcycle already idling.
She beamed as she bounced toward him, kissing his cheek before accepting her helmet, and slithered in behind him for the jaunt along the beach. She didn’t linger too close to Jared this time, instead letting the wind whip through her loose hair, letting the sunshine infuse her soul, letting the salty scent of the air paint on her smile.
“The lighthouse?” she asked when Jared veered off the coastal highway too soon.
“You’ve been?”
“A couple of times.” Sophie had told Millie how magical the lighthouse was, especially at night. Millie had gone several times when she’d first moved to Redwood Bay, hoping the bountiful beam would help point her life in the direction it needed to go. She hadn’t had much luck, but then again, she’d already decided to open a dress shop and had leased the building by the time she visited the lighthouse.
“I think you’ve been here more than a couple of times.” Jared cradled her hand in his. “I grew up coming here. But let’s walk around a bit.”
She went with him, grateful for the sea breeze that cooled her cheeks. “Why do you think I’ve been here more than a couple of times?”
“The lawyer in me knows when you’re lying.”
The hair along Millie’s arms rose as her skin pimpled. “Great.”
He chuckled. “So how many times have you been here?”
“Too many to count,” she said. “When I first moved here your sister told me about the lighthouse. I came here a lot, hoping to figure out what to do with my life now that—”
Jared must’ve aced Patience While Interviewing Suspects 101 when he was in law school because he gave her a professional look that nearly made her crack.
“You moved from Seattle, right?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“And your parents still live there. And your brother. You visit them often?”
“No.” The wind stole Millie’s response, but somehow Jared had heard it. Or maybe he was really good at interpreting the emotions she wore like glasses.
“Why not?” he asked.
She shrugged, unable to tell him what phantoms Seattle held without spilling everything about Brady. “I just don’t.”
“Fair enough.” Jared pointed to the huge spotlight at the top of the tower. “I love that thing. So many different facets, different pieces, different shapes, all working together to make something beautiful.”
Millie had never considered the pieces of glass that made up the spotlight before. As she thought about it, as she put together the separate pieces of herself, of Jared, she realized how right he was.
“Must’ve been complicated,” she said.
“Most things worth having are.” He kissed her temple and she leaned into his strong body. For the first time since she’d arrived in Redwood Bay, Millie believed that she belonged there.
* * *
Millie jiggled the lock and yanked. Still wouldn’t budge. “You try.” She stepped back to let Jared have access and, of course, he had the door open in three seconds flat. He pocketed the key and stepped inside the tiny shack.
The glorious scent of salsa floated on the wind and Millie smiled. She’d eaten at Sophie’s stand every week of every summer since she’d moved to town, and had developed a real weakness for Mexican food.
“Still smells like her,” she commented as she entered the shack and got a whiff of Sophie’s shampoo, barely there under the more dominant scents of oil and onion.
“Looks like her, too,” Jared commented. “Plain. Neat. Functional.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is boring.”
“You said it, not me.” He flashed her a smile and flicked open a measuring tape. After several minutes of jotting down numbers and calculations, he opened the serving window.
“Are those tables hers?”
“Yeah,” Millie said. “She chains them to the stand in the winter.”
“Those will need to be replaced.”
Millie inspected them, almost lifting herself onto the shelf next to the till to see outside. “They will?”
“They look bent,” he said. “Maybe the gale got to them.” He wrapped his hands around Millie’s waist, causing her to make a sound like an emptying balloon as she froze. “Just sliding by.”
And slide by he did. Except he stayed right behind her for several clicks of her watch, pressed so close that when he finally moved, a chill took his place.
He examined the tables. “These are definitely trash. Victims of the wind.”
Millie joined him on the sand. “Anything else?”
“No.” He closed the window and locked the door before offering her his hand. She willingly took it, appreciating that he didn’t always assume he could touch her.
“I’m going to talk to my cousin about working for him,” Jared said as they made their way down the beach. They’d left the motorcycle at the lighthouse. With the beach deserted, Millie imagined she and Jared to be the last people on earth.
“That’s great,” she said. “What will you do?”
“Build boats,” Jared said, turning his face into the wind. “Like my dad.”
Millie detected the hint of coldness in his voice. “And that’s okay?”
Jared waved to nothing in particular with his free hand. “He’s dead now. My mother’s moved on. Sophie too. It’s time I let go of the past as well.”
She remembered how stiff he was when they’d gone to the restaurant at the wharf. “Have you been back to the dock?”
She had to squint into the sun to see him shaking his head. “But I will,” he vowed softly. “I need a job. Need to figure out where to live once Sophie returns.”
Millie almost blurted out that he could move in with her, but quickly bit back the offer. She’d known him for a month. Just because she enjoyed kissing him didn’t mean she was ready to move in with him.
“So you’re staying in town?” she asked instead.
His fingers tightened around hers. “I have a good reason to, don’t you think?”
She returned the squeeze, gently tugging on his hand until he stopped walking. “I don’t want this to come out wrong.”
“Maybe don’t say it, then,” Jared said, that devilish smile decorating his face.
“I need to.” She inhaled to calm her unsteady lungs. “I don’t want to be the reason you stay. I want you to stay because you want to stay.”
“Millie—”
“That’s a lot of pressure, you know? What if things don’t work out with us? Then you’ll flee Redwood Bay like you did last time, and maybe never come back. Sophie deserves a brother.”
Jared cupped her face in his hands. “You are somethin’
else.” He touched his lips to hers for a mere microsecond. “I want to stay in Redwood Bay, because I want to stay.”
Millie’s mouth made too much moisture. “I saw you when you rolled into town,” she said. “Fresh off a break-up. Remember?”
He snaked his hands around her back and brought her close. “I remember the color of your panties.” He kissed the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose. “Maybe I can see those again?”
She pushed against his chest, though she wanted nothing more than to do as he requested. “Maybe later.” She laughed as he stumbled backward. “Much later.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Jared.” Millie’s whisper broke his connection to unconsciousness, but he pretended it didn’t. If she succeeded in waking him, he’d have to go home.
“Jared,” she insisted.
“Hmm?” He shifted, tightening his grip on her body. She’d cooked dinner—the woman could make a mean crock of macaroni and cheese—and he’d selected the movie. They’d wrapped themselves together on the couch, where he’d fallen asleep halfway through the film.
“Time to go home.” Millie managed to get out of his arms, forcing him to admit he was fully awake.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” Millie folded the blanket and laid it across the back of the couch. “Don’t want the neighbors to talk now, do we?”
Jared scrubbed his eyes. “What neighbors?”
“Exactly.” Millie pulled him to his feet and practically shoved him toward the door.
“Mills,” he protested.
“You’ll be in the ocean by six. Go home and get some sleep.”
“I was getting plenty of sleep over here.”
“Well, I wasn’t.” She covered her ears with her palms. “You snore.”
He feigned shock. “I do not. Take that back.”
She giggled and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I won’t take it back. Now go home.”
He headed out into the night, shivering from the loss of Millie’s body next to his. He didn’t want to push too hard, or move too fast, especially since Millie still hadn’t told him everything. His gut instinct was almost never wrong. He’d noticed the silver picture frame was missing from her bedside table, just like the one that had disappeared from her counter at the shop.
He hustled into the house, brushed his teeth, and collapsed into his own cold bed. He couldn’t fall asleep because he’d gotten a two-hour nap at Millie’s. His thoughts circled back to her, and then Tripp and the boat construction shop at the wharf.
He felt scared because of how deeply he felt himself falling for Millie. Something had changed at her reopening party; it was as though they were now swimming in much deeper waters.
Terror consumed him at the thought of working for Tripp because he hadn’t confronted the phantoms in his father’s shop in far too long, if he’d ever confronted those haunting memories before.
Eventually his mind succumbed to his body, and he slept.
* * *
Jared spent too long body surfing and fraternizing with Millie on her balcony, which made him late for his appointment with Tripp. He arrived at the same time as a shipment of lumber, and he helped unload it into the warehouse.
This part of the operation was new. Tripp had added it after purchasing the business from Jared’s mother. Jared was able to traverse the new terrain without an entourage of memories. But when the planks were all in their proper place, Jared’s only remaining option was to seek Tripp in the front office.
The storefront was painted brown to match the wood of the waterfront. A sign that read “Newton’s Nautical Adventures” hung above the door. A chime sounded when he entered, and Tripp looked up from the counter. “Jared.”
“Got the lumber unloaded into the warehouse.” He handed Tripp the receipt from the truck driver.
“Great,” Tripp said. “Did you look around at all?”
“No,” Jared said. “I was already late, and thought you might want me to check in here first.”
Tripp appraised him, a calculating glint in his eye. “I know you can build a boat, Jared. I know you can fish. How are you with tourists?”
Jared refrained from rolling his eyes or scoffing. He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch. “I can do anything you want, boss. I just need a job.”
Tripp took his time filing the receipt. “I’m gearing up to head a co-op of small businesses this summer. The big Seattle fishermen are trying to encroach on our market. We’re banding together to advertise to tourists and surrounding communities.” He checked something on his clipboard.
“Sounds great,” Jared said.
“It’s going to take me away from everything here.” He glanced around, soft wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll need a manager. A foreman, if you will. Someone to take care of the construction orders, the tourist bookings, and anything else that comes in.”
“What else comes in?” Jared asked, his enthusiasm for the job deflating. He didn’t want to manage Tripp’s business. He just wanted to cut, hammer, and nail wood together. He wanted something measurable to be done at the end of the day. At least he didn’t feel like smashing the wall open just by being in his dad’s old office.
“Sometimes we get private groups for deep sea fishing.” Tripp gestured toward the shop. “Want to come back? All that lumber is for a furniture order. Two dressers.”
Jared swallowed the swirling contents of his stomach and followed his cousin. Stepping through the door was like stepping back in time. The smell of sawdust, oil, and sweat hit him like a punch in the gut, and Jared stopped. He’d spent many hours in this space with his father. He’d argued with him more often than not. Chastised him for speaking so harshly to Sophie.
Every time he did, his father got better for a few days. Sometimes a few weeks. Sophie would go to the shop with him, and those days were the best because she could prevent him from drinking, something Jared had never managed to do.
He glanced around, noting but the bones of the shop remained intact. The walls had been painted, but the tools hung in the same places. Jared heard his father’s voice, smelled his dad’s whiskey-infused breath, saw a younger version of himself run from the shop, leap on his bike, and leave town.
Jared touched his jaw; the ghost of an ache bloomed there from the last time his dad had hit him.
“Jared?” Tripp’s hand on his shoulder brought Jared out of his past. He looked at his cousin.
“Sorry. There’s a lot of memories here.”
Tripp nodded. “I’m sure there are. You gonna be okay here?”
“Yes,” Jared said, reminding himself that not every memory of his father ended with fists and fury. After all, his father had taught him how to clamp two pieces of wood together until they dried; taught him how to dovetail corners; taught him how to level a table so it stood exactly straight.
Tripp handed him a folder. “Specs and diagrams in there. I gave the customer a delivery date of two weeks.”
Jared cleared the cobwebs in his throat, filed the filaments of memory away, ready to let them go next time he floated in the ocean. “No problem, boss.”
Tripp headed back to the front office. Just before he left, he said, “Jared?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me boss. You’re older than I am.”
“You got it, boss.” Jared grinned as he flipped open the folder, his fingers already itching to get started on the dressers.
* * *
“So I was thinking of putting in a new counter.” Jared stared at the stainless steel prep area in The Sandy Tortilla like it had the answer to life’s deepest questions scrawled across it.
“Sure,” Millie said. “Sophie mentioned that she likes bamboo.”
A frown played with his eyebrows. “Do you think a wood chopping block would work?” He glanced at her, uncertainty in his eyes.
“I have no idea.” She giggled. “Who knew there’d be so much to learn about—?” She s
topped speaking when Jared put his arms around her and drew her closer to him. She gazed up into his handsome face for a moment past comfortable, finally pushing onto her toes to touch her lips to his.
He responded instantly, his pent-up emotion spilling into his kiss. “What’s wrong?” She wasn’t so blind to the turmoil he had swirling inside him even if he hadn’t said anything.
“Nothing now.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I like the way you laugh.” He leaned down like he’d kiss her again, but didn’t. “And when you kiss me first.”
Millie didn’t need more of an invitation. She pressed her lips to his, pleased when he took control of the kiss like he took control of her roof and Sophie’s taco stand. The embrace morphed into an argument similar to the verbal ones they’d had previously. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, but he guided her hands to his shoulders.
He lifted her onto the counter, but she wanted to press her whole body into his. She gave and took, finally relinquishing control to him when he pressed her to the door and kissed her so completely she wanted to come down to this beachside taco stand with him everyday.
“So, a wooden butcher’s block?” he asked, his lips brushing hers with the question. “You think that would work?”
“Is that really what you’re thinking about?”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “But I’ve gotta get some work done today.”
“Do you?” Millie slid her hands into his back pockets and watched as liquid desire pooled in his stormy blue eyes.
A measure of power and satisfaction that she could influence him so strongly sang through her, and a sly smile curved her lips before he claimed them again.
* * *
For the next several days, Millie didn’t see Jared except for when he pulled himself from the ocean in the mornings and spent a few minutes with her on the balcony, sipping tea. He talked about his new job at Tripp’s and kept her up-to-date of his evening schedule. Sometimes he worked at The Sandy Tortilla, sometimes on Polly’s lawn, and some nights he didn’t share his plans, but he didn’t show up at her house either.