Let Me In

by Parker, Ali

  Her rambling put me off my game a little. I climbed out of the car, leaving my shades on. “Do you always talk this much?”

  She burst into laughter. “I do. I have a feeling I have to talk enough to make up for the both of us. You don’t strike me as a great conversationalist.”

  “Not really,” I replied, closing the door and hitting the lock button. “I don’t mind the peace and quiet.”

  “I love a little peace and quiet as well, but a conversation isn’t really noise.”

  It was to me. “I suppose that’s one of those things everyone has a different opinion on.”

  “Subjective,” she agreed. “Thankfully, I am not one to care a whole lot about other people’s opinions.”

  I inwardly groaned. What in the hell had I gotten myself into? “Isn’t this place kind of touristy?” I asked, noticing the families taking pictures of every fucking thing.

  “I love it here, tourists or not. We all have our little space in the world.”

  “Seems awful crowded in my space,” I complained.

  She patted my arm. “I promise you will be okay. No one will invade your space.”

  I looked down at her hand touching my bicep. “Good to know.”

  “I’m sorry. I had to know.”

  “Know what?” I asked, quickly growing tired of the back and forth. She was exhausting me. I had only been with her for less than five minutes and I felt like I could use a drink.

  “If you were really prickly,” she said before bursting into laughter.

  Her laughter was contagious. I found myself laughing a little. “And?”

  “And you don’t feel prickly at all.”

  My short-sleeved T-shirt barely hid the tat, the standard barbed-wired, around the upper part of my arm. “Good to know. So where are you taking me? What is it you think is so special about this place?”

  I gave her a look. “I grew up in San Diego or the general area. Yes, I’ve been here.”

  “All right, all right, I was just making sure. I thought there was a chance you spent your days in a dark dungeon.”

  She was making a joke. Teasing me. That was definitely different than the other women I dated. I quickly reminded myself it wasn’t a date. It was—hell, I didn’t know what it was. “I suppose you want to walk through the shops and stuff?”

  “I was thinking we could go on a short walk and then to the Japanese Garden first,” she said with way too much enthusiasm. “I love going there. It is absolutely beautiful. Have you been before?”

  My brain felt like it had just been tossed on a hamster wheel. I was trying to keep up with the onslaught of talking. “Yes.”

  “Great! Then I won’t have to explain every little thing.”

  She was already on the move. I took a second to check out her ass in the shorts she was wearing. The shorts weren’t the booty shorts that had the cheeks hanging out. They were a respectable length that showed off plenty of leg without being too much. She was wearing a pretty pair of sandals with little jewels on the straps. The sandals showed off her toes that were painted with a bright red polish. The shirt she wore was fitted around the waist and flowing in the middle with massive shoulder cut-outs. Her long black hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She was beautiful.

  “Are we in a race?” I asked.

  She stopped walking and turned to look behind her. “Your legs are twice as long as mine are. Keep up.”

  My brows shot up. She was a bossy thing. “What exactly are we doing here?”

  “We are enjoying the beauty of the world we live in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we can,” she shot back. “Are you always this obstinate?”

  “I suppose I am. Are you always this pushy?”

  She laughed again. “I am.”

  “Why me?” I asked the question that had been on my mind all night. “Why are you insisting I come enjoy life with you? I’m not the most personable man.”

  “You’ve got that right,” she said.

  “Then why me?”

  She let out a long sigh, slowing her pace to fall in line with me. “Because I see a man in need of saving.”

  “Saving from what?”

  “Yourself.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are fine, but you are not great,” she answered. “I guess I can’t walk away from a project. I see a man in need of a boost. A man that needs to see the brighter side of things.”

  “I see things just fine,” I replied.

  “You see things in black and white and maybe a hint of gray, I suspect.”

  We kept walking, finding an easy pace that allowed us to talk without sprinting. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, if you are at work or working on a project. I am a very black and white girl Monday through Saturday. Sunday, I like to see color.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means on Sundays, I like to come here. If I don’t have a job on Saturday, I will take the whole weekend and go up the coast. I love to get out in nature and recharge. Nature is the place that reminds me how lucky I am to be alive. I need the color. I need the lively activity of nature. It’s like a reset once a week.”

  “You work six days a week?” I asked.

  “Most of the time. Sometimes, I take a Monday or Tuesday off, but during our busy season, it is usually six days.”

  I slowly nodded, having a newfound respect for her and the work she did. “I had no idea a party planner worked that hard.”

  She made a choking sound. “We work our asses off.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked when I noticed she wasn’t taking the usual route to the garden.

  “I wanted to show you something,” she answered.

  “If this was reversed, me taking you to some off-the-beaten-path place, it would be the premise of a horror film.”

  She laughed as she started to walk a little faster. “I promise I will not violate your body in any way.”

  “Too bad,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Her head whipped around to look at me. “My goodness—” She stopped talking. “I get that you want privacy and you are a closed book, but can I at least know your name?”

  I chuckled at the fact she only then realized we didn’t know each other’s names. It had certainly taken her long enough. “My name is Xander Holland.”

  She stopped walking and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you Xander. Officially, that is. My name is Evie Marsh.”

  “Evie, where are we going?”

  “Just a little farther,” she promised. “The view is gorgeous and there are not a lot of people up here.”

  “Why are you wearing sandals?” I questioned.

  She looked down at her feet as if she just realized they were there. “I always wear sandals.”

  “Even to go hiking?”

  “This isn’t hiking,” she said with a laugh. “It’s a nice walk. The sandals are comfortable. Far more comfortable than the heels I usually wear.”

  I shrugged. “If you say so.”

  We continued walking up a slight incline. I couldn’t remember ever visiting this particular section of the park. It was pretty. It was calming—minus the endless chatter from my walking companion.

  “It’s just up here,” she pointed.

  I didn’t know what it was, but this was her show. I was only along for the ride. We rounded a corner and came upon several benches set apart from one another. An older couple was sitting on one of the benches and looking over the view that stretched out below. She took a seat on the bench farthest from the couple and patted the spot next to her.

  “Is this what you brought me here for?” I asked.

  She smiled and pushed up her sunglasses. I did the same. The area was shaded and provided a nice place to cool down after the rather brisk hike up the hill. “Yes and no. Don’t you ever just like to sit and be?”

  “I think I do that pretty often,” I replied.

  “Outside?�
�� she questioned.

  I grinned. “I have a pretty nice backyard.” I didn’t go into details, but my backyard rivaled the park in my opinion. I didn’t have acres of gardens, but I had the ocean and that was better than anything else.

  She rolled her pretty blue eyes that were as blue as the ocean on some days. “Your backyard is not the same as this.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “It’s pretty damn close.”

  She looked skeptical. “What exactly is it you do?”

  “I’m an engineer,” I answered. “I design ships.”

  “Aren’t ships pretty basic?” she questioned.

  I smiled. I loved to talk about my work. Few people, besides those that were interested in buying my ships to increase profits, really understood or cared. “Yes and no. I design ships made with materials that are much lighter. The usual ships are made of heavy steel. Because they are so heavy, the ships can’t carry much cargo.”

  “Because they would sink,” she said with a nod.

  “Yes. My ships are lighter, a little smaller, but yet, they carry more cargo. Because they are lighter and smaller, they use less fuel.”

  She smiled. “Well, aren’t you a smarty pants?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not smart but forward thinking. Too many people get stuck in the way things are and don’t know how or don’t want to look forward.”

  “Why boats?” she asked. “You are a forward thinker, so why not solar energy or something like that?”

  “There are lots of people working on solar energy and I like boats.”

  “Do you own a boat?”

  I had to smile. “I do.”

  “Like a little speedboat or a big boat?”

  “It’s not a yacht, but it isn’t a speedboat.”

  “So, a big boat.”

  I had to laugh at her persistence. “It’s a good-size boat. I could probably live on it if I needed to.”

  She nodded, seeming to file away the information. “Would you like to show me your boat?” she asked.

  The woman always talked in a way that made me feel like she was dropping sexual innuendo. I wasn’t sure if that was the case and didn’t want to stick a foot in my mouth by saying something inappropriate. “I would like to show you my boat.”

  She grinned. “Then it’s a date.”

  Chapter 8

  Evie

  It was a fairly cool morning, or as cool as it could be on a summer day in southern California. I appreciated the shade that made it comfortable to sit outside while listening to birds and the happy sounds of kids enjoying nature.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  I turned to look at him, taking in the profile of the man that had caught my interest. “What about me?”

  “You’re a party planner. How did you get to be that?”

  The way he said it made it sound like it was a dirty word. “That?” I said with a laugh. “I think I always knew that I loved parties. Didn’t you like parties as a kid?”

  “I don’t think I remember a lot of parties when I was a kid.”

  “Birthday parties?” I questioned.

  He slowly shook his head. “No. Not really. I think we had one for my younger brother when he turned five, but that’s about it.”

  That struck me as odd. I couldn’t imagine a childhood with no parties. “Did you ever go to parties?”

  “I went to a few homecoming parties.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not a kegger. I mean a party to celebrate something.”

  “A homecoming party celebrates a military person coming home,” he explained.

  “Oh, I see. Were you in the military? Navy, right?”

  “No. I wasn’t. My dad was a Navy man.”

  It was becoming clearer. “And you probably moved around a lot, so you didn’t have a lot of friends and therefore not a lot of parties.”

  “Actually, no. My parents moved around a lot when my dad was first in the Navy, but he quickly climbed the ranks. Most of his time in the service was spent here in San Diego. When he had to go out, he went, and we stayed.”

  “That had to make your life easier,” I reasoned.

  He shrugged. “I suppose.”

  It was a subject he wasn’t going to discuss. That much was clear. “I love a good party,” I said, starting up the conversation again. “Parties, especially the themed ones, are a chance to go all around the world. You can be anyone. I love to create these imaginary worlds where a person can forget who they are just for a few hours.”

  “Themed parties?” he questioned. “Like the boat thing?”

  I laughed. “That was not a theme. That was decorations. I will admit I probably missed the mark with that one. I should have done something a little more fun. To be fair, I got exactly six days’ notice and zero direction from the client.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Short notices?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “No, not really. Usually, in my world, a short notice is a month or two.”

  “It takes that long to plan a party?” he asked with surprise.

  I laughed, nodding. “Yes, at least our parties do. It isn’t always parties. It can be a wedding, an anniversary, a grand opening, and things like that.”

  “Do you plan weddings?”

  “I do,” I answered. “I do it all.”

  “Do you go to school to become a party planner?”

  I didn’t get the sense he was asking it to be rude. He seemed genuinely curious. “You don’t technically have to. I have a degree in public relations with some business admin classes as well.”

  “I never knew it was such a serious industry.”

  “Have you ever been to a wedding?” I questioned. I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  “I’ve been to a couple.”

  “Weddings are ridiculous to plan, big weddings that is. There are so many details. Add in people’s nerves and feelings and it can get pretty crazy. We take away the crazy.”

  “I don’t envy you,” he said. “It is not a job I would ever want.”

  “Yeah, I kind of get that from you. I don’t see you being a real people person, handling a hormonal bride that cries when there is a single bead out of place on her veil.”

  “Oh my god,” he said with shock. “Does that actually happen?”

  “It does. A lot.”

  He shuddered as if he was truly repulsed. “No fucking way I could do that job.”

  “It’s not all bad,” I assured him. “Sometimes, it can be so much fun. I love the big budget kid parties. I love the princess parties with castles and fairies and stuff like that.”

  “Whimsy,” he said.

  “Whimsical and dreamy,” I corrected. “Tell me more about your boat.”

  “Why? It’s a boat. It floats.”

  I burst into a fit of giggles. “Do you try to be funny or is this the real you?”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. This is the real me.”

  I slapped at my knee. “You are so dry.”

  “Is that an insult? It feels like an insult.”

  “It isn’t, I promise,” I said, trying to hold back my laugh. “You have a very dry personality and it is actually very funny.”

  “Okay,” he said as if he wasn’t sure he believed me.

  We fell into an easy silence. I noticed him scanning the area. I remembered the first time I had come upon the benches. I sat down and probably sat for an hour. I was taken with the beauty of it all. “It’s hard to resist, huh?”

  “What?”

  “The view.”

  “It’s nice,” he agreed.

  “It’s beautiful,” I answered. “I love the contrast between the park and the city. When I was younger, I used to pretend we were in a dome. Like a terrarium of sorts.”

  “It is a very peaceful place,” he said.

  “Sometimes, especially after a particularly long week, a little bit of peace is necessary. What do you do to unwind after a long week?”
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br />   He shrugged. “I don’t know. I go down to the beach.”

  “Do you surf?”

  He scoffed. “No. It’s the hair, right?”

  I grinned. “It’s a little bit the hair. What do you do on the beach?”

  “I walk. I swim. I just kind of chill.”

  “Do you live near the beach?”

  His coy smile told me he did. “You could say that.”

  “Stop being so cagey. You have one of those big beachfront mansions?”

  “It’s not as big as some of the others. I preferred more land and less house.”

  My eyes widened. “Oh my god, you are being serious!”

  “Yes, I am. Why would I lie?”

  I turned to look at him, making a big show as I did. “The boat business is that good?”

  “It is,” he said with a soft smile as he nodded.

  “That explains a lot,” I said, putting all the pieces together.

  “What does?”

  “You are one of those wealthy, eccentric types.”

  “I don’t think I’m eccentric at all. I like to keep to myself. I don’t go out a lot. I don’t care to go out a lot.”

  “Because you don’t like people. I remember. Do you live in San Diego?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I live in the La Jolla area.”

  “Wow, no kidding. I grew up in the general area. Not in one of those big fancy mansions on the beach but the general area.”

  “I grew up on base mostly. We did finally move off base to a house just outside the city.”

  “That’s pretty cool. Which base?”

  “Pendleton,” he answered.

  “Oh, yes, I know where that is.”

  He smirked but didn’t say anything about it. “Can I ask how old you are?” he asked with slight discomfort.

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Because you look young,” he answered. “Maybe a little too young. I don’t want to be accused of anything.”

  “I’m twenty-eight, plenty old enough. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “What do you think you would be accused of?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It always surprises me.”

  “Are you saying you have been accused of doing things with young girls before?” I asked, only half-joking.