by Ciara Knight
“Thanks. And no.”
“No?”
“I’m not having a midlife crisis. I’m having a midlife realization. Realization that life is too short to be so worried about money and success. It’s time to live my life, and when Trevor begged me to buy the hotel and I saw how happy he was here… Well, I decided to jump into the deep end of happily ever after before I realized I could drown.”
“You can’t swim?” Trace eyed the ocean through the window.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“You’re going to have to go swimming with me,” Trace said and meant it. She couldn’t imagine anyone not experiencing life underwater. He didn’t know what he was missing. “How are you going to run an oceanfront hotel and not know how to swim?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not happening, so move on. Besides, we have too much work to do to go swimming.”
Trace collapsed on the ottoman by his side. “So you’re not scared of sharks? You just used that as an excuse?” That razor slit in her resolve broke open into a gaping wound, so she shooed his hand away from his nose and stood behind him.
He tensed and eyed her over his shoulder. “Oh, no. I’m scared of sharks. And I didn’t say that I couldn’t swim. You said that.”
She turned his head to face forward and tugged his back to the chair.
“What are you doing?” His shoulders were stiff, neck straight and rigid.
“Fixing you so we can get to work and I can get you into the ocean.” With small, soothing rotations, she smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead.
“You can’t. It won’t work. I get these headaches all the time. It’s stress.”
“So stop stressing.” She ran her palm down over his eyes so he’d close them, and she massaged his face and rubbed his earlobes. His soft skin over his chiseled features was not lost on her, but she ignored the way a connection sparked between her fingertips and his body. “If I can tame lions and alligators, I can tame you.
“Many women have tried, hon.”
“Blah. Stop talking. Better yet, get over yourself already and be quiet. All you do is boast or lie. You’d be handsome if you didn’t speak.”
“I knew you liked me.” He stilled, stretched his legs out in front of him, and dropped his head back. “Ohhhh. Ummmm. That’s nice.”
“I’m not the one who liked you. You liked me. Trevor told Jewels your eyes popped from your head when you saw me in a dress. Hope you took a picture because that’s never happening again.”
Dustin stilled her hand and looked up at her. His firm lips didn’t pull into that wicked grin of his, nor did his dark lashes flutter in that flirtatious way he had. Instead, his eyes softened and he said, “You’re right. I did notice you.”
She didn’t know what to say, but she knew the compliment was only meant to distract her. That was Dustin’s way. To distract and then attack. She swiveled his head forward and returned to massaging the back of his neck.
“You go to massage therapy school?” he asked, his tone clearly saying they’d forget what he’d said and move on.
“No. I learned the trick working with dogs on a television show. They called me in to assess the movie set for animal abuse, and I figured out that the lights and sounds were stressing the animals out. I would rub their face and ears at certain trigger points to relax them. They were able to work again and not be upset.”
“You’re comparing me to some mutts?”
“If the paw fits.”
“What other men have you tried this on to get what you want?” Dustin sighed, and his arms fell to the sides of the chair. “Just to warn you, I’m immune to women’s charms, including yours. You won’t change me.”
“Rowan.” Trace slid her fingers down to his shirt collar and pushed her thumbs to the pressure points along his shoulders and then along his cervical spine.
“Seriously? Rowan? What kind of name is that? He even sounds like a player.”
Trace fought not to giggle. “Oh, he was. Tall, lean yet muscular, powerful. I mean, when Rowan strutted into a room, everyone stopped what they were doing. He was that memorable.” She stopped rubbing his neck and flicked him in the ear. “Now, let’s get to work so we can go for that swim.”
“So is that the man who made you hate all handsome, self-assured good guys?” Dustin stood. He looked better—less red and more relaxed.
“Not hate. Just ’cause I’m not attracted to a man or don’t want to deal with his overactive self-worth doesn’t mean I dislike all men. But, yes, Rowan did ruin all others for me. I mean, no man I’ve ever met since has lived up to my expectations after Rowan. He was so memorable and large and solid.”
“Okay, enough. I get it.” Dustin grabbed a box and swiped a shelf full of old junk into the cardboard container.
Trace enjoyed stabbing at Dustin’s ego. “What’s wrong? Jealous?”
“Me? Of a man? Never.” Dustin set the box down on the coffee table and eyed the side table.
“You know, he wasn’t much different than you, though.”
“Really?” Dustin’s voice hitched with a sense of pride.
“Yeah, he would relax when I tried to massage the tension away. He’d fall asleep when I rubbed his long, lean belly.”
“Belly? Wait a second. Are you talking about a dog again?” Dustin put his hands on his hips in that wide, commanding stance of his.
“No.” Trace couldn’t believe they’d gone from shooting hateful remarks to fun banter, but she liked this better. Perhaps because she was the one winning this time. And he wasn’t manipulating her to get what he wanted. “He’s eight feet. Ever met a dog eight feet long?”
Dustin crossed his arms over his large chest and looked down at her. “No human is eight feet tall.”
“Oh, there are, but Rowan wasn’t a human. He was a gator.”
“Well, I can’t compete with that.” To her surprise, he didn’t get angry at her for teasing him. He laughed. A sincere, easygoing sound that made Trace believe he might actually be a decent person after all.
Almost.
Chapter Twelve
Dustin sealed the twelfth box and stacked it on top of the others near the door. His headache had diminished to a dull roar, despite the shirt-clinging, sweat-slicked, corrosive environment of sun, sand, and sauna steam.
He watched a proud Trace working to near exhaustion. The woman had two speeds: fast and exhaustive. But how did a woman in shorts, worn T-shirt, and hair pulled back look good cleaning a home?
A flickering of happiness knocked at him. When was the last time he was happy?
Perhaps Trevor was right. He did overcompensate for her rejection by lashing out. But how was he supposed to handle a woman who wasn’t interested in him? He hadn’t had to deal with that since fifth grade when a girl pushed him off a swing when he tried to kiss her. Maybe Trevor was right and she was attracted to him to, but not his—what did Trevor call it again? Oh, right, cocky character.
Trace stood, staring at a book she’d moved around the room several times. Trevor was right. She wasn’t the usual kind of woman Dustin went for. She was all wrong for him and it would never work, but he could tone down his flirtations enough to be friends. And right now, with the way she studied the book in her hand and her delicious, off-limit lips drooped into a frown, she needed a friend, not a hook-up. “We could take a break.”
Trace set the book down once more. “We had a break.”
“That was two hours ago and a pound of fluid secreted from my pores.”
“Dramatic much?” She tilted her head. Her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail made her neck look as long as Audrey Hepburn’s. He’d loved those old movies he’d watched with his grandmother for their special days when he’d escaped his parents’ suffocating house.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he watched her and processed what he saw instead of lunging into some teasing comments like a child with a schoolyard crush.
When she’d packed the first box, she’d held th
e book above the rest of the stuff but set it on the couch before she sealed the box and went to box two. That time, she set it in the box but took it back out and set it on the shelf. “What’s the book?”
She shrugged. “Nothing really.”
“It has to be something. You keep holding on to it.” He picked up the side table and set it by the door, careful not to break the rotting wood. Despite everything in this rotted old shack being unsalvageable, he’d realized how much she struggled to let any of it go. He couldn’t claim to understand, but if he ever wanted to make things work, he needed to respect her struggle.
“It’s not because of what the book is. It’s that I can’t figure out why my father left it for me.”
Dustin joined her by the desk near the hallway and looked over her shoulder—which wasn’t tough to do since she was five-foot-nothing. The book was old and worn, Anne of Green Gables. He’d heard of the movie before from a woman he dated but didn’t know it was a book. “It looks old.”
She touched the cracked edges as if to read a hidden message telepathically. “Had it since I was in middle school, I think.”
“What’s significant about it?”
“I guess I can’t pack it because I can’t understand why my father left it wrapped for me.”
“Did he used to read it to you?” Dustin asked, hoping to help her process whatever she needed to so they could be done for the day.
“No, not that I remember. I haven’t seen it in over thirty years, though.” Trace’s voice dipped eight feet below ground.
Dustin understood the parent struggle. “I’m estranged from my mother and father right now too. I dread going home and have avoided it at all costs in recent years.”
“No.”
“No?” he asked, but when she looked up with misty eyes he knew she raged an internal war with her past.
“We weren’t estranged. I never realized it, but he’d always meet me out somewhere or come visit me at Jewels’s the two times I came home. We met in Jamacia once when I convinced him to fly out to go on a fishing trip with me, but other than that, we didn’t see much of each other.” She shrugged. “Not that I didn’t want to. I was just always busy, and he never encouraged me to come home. It was as if he didn’t want me to. We were so close growing up. He was my everything. I guess it kind of hurt my feelings, believing he’d moved on with his life and didn’t have room for me. As if he’d only pretended that he wanted me around all those years.” She turned and eyed the four corners of the room. “But obviously he hadn’t moved on.”
“That infamous Summer Island phone line didn’t send you word about him on occasion?” Dustin asked, recalling Trevor’s mention of how everyone in town knew everything and they didn’t even need to text.
“The Salty Breeze Gossip Line only said he’d become a hermit. But that was Dad. He liked to be alone and free.” She hopped up on the desk and held on to the memory. “When I was twelve, I was a handful. I’m surprised my father put up with me. I was angry at the world.”
“Sounds like most twelve-year-olds.”
She chuckled. “Based on my torturous, short-lived stint volunteering at the San Diego Zoo to teach children about sea life, I’d agree. But I was worse.”
He settled in next to her, their arms touching. It was too hot to sit that close to anyone, but he didn’t mind. He liked this side of Trace. The vulnerability and openness. There was something about her, an honesty he’d never witnessed in a woman before. It was refreshing. Even if too dramatic at times. “In what way?”
“In all ways.” She dropped her hands, still clutching the book in her lap. “I was mad over stupid things like clothes and money.”
“But you said you had a great life.” He shouldered her, sending her swaying away from him, which made him regret his movement until she returned to him skin-to-skin.
“Yes, the living part, the freedom, that was all fantastic. The teasing, not so much. Kids are cruel. They’d chant ‘little tomboy’ at me on my way to school. Rhonda even posted a picture of me in the girls’ locker room in high school with the caption HELP THE NEEDY. The kids knew I couldn’t afford my own clothes or the latest music or a car or anything. It made life difficult once I reached middle school. My father tried. He worked two jobs and anything odd on the weekends he could manage. But I was ungrateful for his sacrifice. All I cared about was what those kids thought of me.”
The way her head fell, chin to chest, made him want to pull her in for a hug to comfort her. She looked lost, confused, upset. Had he done that to her by trying to demolish her childhood home? “I’m sorry. Rhonda told me that this place meant nothing to you, and I listened. I shouldn’t have. I never meant to tear down something so important to you. I’m not heartless.”
She shot straight and slid him a sideways glower that said she didn’t need anyone. “It doesn’t.” She tossed the book into the box and headed to the kitchen. “It did to him, though.”
That’s when he knew the truth. Trace didn’t want to face something in this house. He wasn’t sure what memory she hid away from, but he didn’t like how it made her switch back to her distant, angry voice and posture.
When the sun set below the trees, he decided enough was enough. “Without electricity, we need to stop.”
“Why? We can get some lanterns or candles.” She dropped a box of pots and pans next to the pile that nearly reached the ceiling.
“Are you a camel?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“I figured you spoke animal, so I was trying to relate. I’m asking if you can go days without eating, because I can’t.”
“First of all, you don’t speak animal. Trust me. Secondly, camels don’t need water.”
“Actually, they can last months without food, too.” Dustin said, pride bubbling to the surface for one-upping her on animal speak.
Trace snagged her phone off the Formica counter and plugged away with her thumbs. “Hmmm, you’re right. I’m afraid I’m not up on my land creatures. How’d you know that?”
His pride whirled around the drain of embarrassment. “That’s not important.”
The buzzing around his head gave him a way out of the conversation, and he took it at a full sprint. “Bugs are closing in.” He pointed to the open door. “And it’s too hot to shut that. I’ll buy you dinner if you’ll agree to call it quits for today.”
“Avoid much?” She didn’t stop working, so he turned up the heat.
“Listen, I just thought you might like a nice evening out. I’ll take you to a fancy restaurant, and we can have drinks and…”
“And what? Does that work on the ladies? Offering to spend money on them so you can get what you want? News flash, not interested. I’ve been poor my entire life, and I won’t fall for some money being thrown around to impress me into your bed.”
“That’s not what I was doing. If it was, you’d be interested. Trust me.” Dustin grabbed his wallet and keys.
“Seriously? I wounded your pride so you’re going to run away? Are you really that insecure, or are you scared of me?” Trace squatted and reorganized the box he’d only finished packing a few minutes ago. “Don’t feel bad. Most men aren’t strong enough to handle me. I’m used to it.”
“I don’t run. And I’m not scared of you. I can handle any woman. I’ve had plenty of practice. My ego can take what you throw at it, especially when you’re only avoiding your true attraction for me.” Dustin chuckled to make sure she knew he was only teasing. “Besides, I know exactly who you are, and nothing you do could be more than I can handle.”
She shoved the box toward him and stood, facing him with a smile like one of those women on her dad’s Playboy magazines. With a hip sway that would make Kim Kardashian look like a paper doll, she sashayed toward him. “You’re right. We should take a break. I’ll go shower,” she said in a seductive you-could-join-me tone… or so his man-gination told him. “Then I’ll do my hair and make-up. I’ll put on a nice, hip-hugging dress.” She p
ressed one finger to her plump lips. “Would that work?”
“Yes—I mean no.” He took a step back, his thighs hitting the desk. Mayday alerts sounding in his head. “Ah, sure.”
She laughed, a full-on girly laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You and your ‘I know everything about everyone’ way.” Trace snapped to her rigid frame with her shoulders pushed back. “To think you’d believe I’d put on a dress for you. I won’t put on a dress for any man. Especially not you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trace shuffled through the woods side-by-side with Dustin in silence. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him.
The way he’d listened to her and asked questions about her past made her think he actually cared about her and not just the hotel and business. But Robert Remming had seemed overly interested in everything about her, and it had only been an act.
No way she’d be manipulated by a fancy meal and wooing again.
They reached the hotel, and she paused at the edge of the docks, looking up the small hill toward the hotel and Trevor’s place. “Dutch. Not a date.” She continued ahead, assuming that was the end of the conversation, but he followed by her side.
“Non-date, but I pay.” He thrust out his hand like a business deal.
“Why would you pay? You just worked on my father’s house for hours with me pushing you to do something you hate for someone you don’t like.” Trace huffed, wishing she could read people better. If she had Wind’s gift for that, she would’ve known Robert had been playing her like a teenager on a hoverboard.
Most people were a mystery to her, and with Dustin—despite their easy banter and obvious physical attraction—she didn’t know the right thing to say or do.
“Is that what you think?” Dustin trotted ahead, then turned in a football field block position.
