He called twice the next morning. If she didn’t answer, he’d never leave her alone.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Tessa. Didn’t think you’d pick up.” He sounded deflated, as usual. Shady deals, the threat of bankruptcy, and a disinterested wife would do that to a guy.

“How are you?”

A heavy breath, then, “Fine.”

He was always fine. Even when he wasn’t.

“How’s Mom?”

“You know. Out.”

She was always out.

Tessa blew wisps of hair off her face. “What’s up, Dad?”

“Nothing much.”

Tessa stopped mixing the batter and leaned her hip against the counter. “Dad. You’ve called three times in the last twelve hours. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to talk last night. Something came up at work. But I’m here now. What’s going on?”

She could practically hear the gears in his head cranking. Plotting, trying to find the best way forward. She was surprised when he just came out and asked, “Have you heard from him?”

Asking “who” was pointless.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Right after I arrived. Again two days ago.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He wanted to make sure I’d arrived, told me to get settled. Let me know he’d be in touch later. When it’s time.”

“Please, Tessa. Do as he asks. Do whatever he asks.”

Tessa clenched her jaw. Of course she was going to do what he told her. And he wouldn’t be asking. That was the deal they’d made. The deal she’d been forced to take, despite the threat it posed to her friendship with Grace and her new life on the island.   

Of all of the days to visit her parents, Tessa couldn’t figure out why she’d picked that particular one. Couldn’t figure out how she’d decided to break her rule of never visiting them on the day their glossy lives had thoroughly cracked in half.

She rarely saw her mom and dad. Despite having lived in the same city almost her entire adult life, Tessa had distanced herself from them ever since returning from culinary school. They hadn’t approved of her career choice. Still didn’t, as far as she knew. Jacob, Managing Partner at McMillan & Associates and his beautiful, socialite wife, Beverly, didn’t think that their darling daughter was living up to her potential as a poorly paid baker. It didn’t matter where she worked or how good she was, Tessa had been a disappointment to them ever since they’d discovered that she’d been skipping piano practice every morning to apprentice at a bakery in Little Italy.

And now their darling, disappointing daughter was the only thing standing between her father and ruin. And her grandmother and something far worse.

“I told him I would. Told you the same thing. I’ll keep my promise, Dad. You don’t have to keep calling.”

“I just wanted…” His sigh was so deep Tessa almost felt sorry for him. But not quite. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine. Same as you.” Tessa didn’t try to hide her bitterness.

“If you’re sure.”

Tessa stabbed her spoon into the now-flat batter. “Anything else? I have to get back to work.”

“Uhhhh, have you had a chance to, um, make the transfer?”

Of course. The money. It wouldn’t be a conversation with her father unless they talked about the money. Tessa managed not to throw the spoon across the kitchen.

“It should clear by the end of the week.”

“Oh. Oh, great. Thanks so much.”

His relief only made her angrier. “Look, Dad, I really have to go. Call if you have any problems with the account. Otherwise…” She trailed off, don’t call again hovering on the tip of her tongue.

Her father made it unnecessary. “Gotta get back to work myself. Thanks again. You have a great day.”

He hung up before she could say goodbye.

* * *

Tristan read the message for the third time, his frown deepening after every pass.

You’re right. You are out of practice. Meet me. Kitchen. 7 PM.

Then, minutes later.

P.S. Finger licking prohibited.

He didn’t recognize the phone number, but it didn’t take much to figure out who’d sent the texts.

Grant and the workmen were talking through the complications of a sunken support structure, but Tristan couldn’t stay focused.

The answer to her invite should’ve been easy.

Yes.

A single word he’d typed often enough. With the right women, on the right nights, when casual company was the only thing that would drown out the pounding in his head. Both of them.

A tremor went down Tristan’s spine when he remembered the way she’d looked at him the night before. She been cautious, but curious, her eyes and her questions tempting him to stay when he knew the only right answer was to run.

Tessa was the exact opposite of casual company, which was why Tristan’s response consisted of two letters, not three.

Decision made, Tristan tried to refocus on work. His relief was short-lived.

Just as Grant was explaining how they were going to reinforce the exterior wall of the grotto against the weight of the damp sand, Tristan got another text. One he couldn’t ignore.

* * *

“Peter?” Tristan searched for the head concierge in the restaurant’s main dining room. The man had been a fixture at the resort for decades and knew the place inside and out. He was also the staff member Grace trusted most, which was why, despite it being completely out of his wheelhouse, she’d asked him to keep an eye on the restaurant’s renovation while she was away, with the caveat that he called Tristan if they hit any major snags.

When he found Peter, the older man was staring up at a gaping hole in the ceiling. It looked like a definite snag to Tristan. “Problem?”

“Definitely.”

When Tristan followed Peter’s gaze he was surprised to find a patch of blue sky instead of the underside of the roof. “I’d say.”

“They were trying to hang a light fixture, found the ceiling was soft. So they opened it up and discovered a leak.”

“They discovered that? That’s huge. Someone should’ve noticed that a while ago.”

Peter shook his head. “No, that”—he jabbed his finger skyward—“is new.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A workman got too enthusiastic with a hammer. Hit one of the softer spots behind the tile and….”

“It crumbled.”

“Exactly.”

“Well.” Tristan felt the back of his neck tingle and balled his fists. At the rate this week was going, he’d rub his skin raw. At least, more so than usual.

“I’ll ask Grant to patch it today. We’ll need to figure out if the ceiling is damaged anywhere else before the storm arrives.”

“Agreed.” Peter turned to look out the windows that ran along the back of the restaurant. The ocean beyond was stunning. Calm. “We got an updated report this morning. Category 3, moving faster than expected. Could make landfall in a week or so.”

“That’s not a lot of time, but enough. We need to finish up some things at the spa then shift gears, get windows boarded up. Sandbags down to limit flooding in ground level rooms. Grant and his guys will help.”

“I’ve talked to some nearby residents. If we have spare hands, they could use the help.”

“Done. I’ll figure out a schedule tonight. We can start to get plywood, tarp, and sandbags distributed tomorrow.”

“Good.” Peter looked up again. “This was bad timing.”

“Especially since Grace’s furniture just arrived.” Tristan scanned the dining room, mentally inventorying the new tables and chairs that Grace had hand-picked for the restaurant. Thankfully, everything was still wrapped in a protective plastic covering.

“Bad timing for what?”

Tristan spun to see Tessa. She held one kitchen door open, a large mixing bowl propped on her hip. Her chef’s coat was partially unbuttoned and her decadent, dark hair was braided and fell across one shoulder. There was a smudge of what might have been chocolate across one flushed cheek.

She looked disheveled. And absolutely wonderful. Warm and soft, her mind still half-focused on whatever she was in the middle of making. A divine smell followed her from the kitchen, as if it belonged with her and nowhere else.

The scent threaded through Tristan’s lungs and his stomach hollowed out, giving him a sudden attack of vertigo. Tristan caught himself on the ladder the construction crew had left behind.

Peter was talking, his answer to Tessa’s question dulled by the hum in Tristan’s ears. It took more than a few seconds before Tristan identified the sensation swamping him. How in the hell?! No, that couldn’t be right. Could it? How could she possibly make him feel homesick?

For the first time in almost twenty years, since he’d been sixteen, while staring at a woman he barely knew, Tristan felt a yearning cascade through his body with such subtle power he swore his organs slowed, stilled, and then thrummed back to life at a frequency that was entirely foreign. And wholly fucking disconcerting.

This was insane. He needed to look away. To leave. To do anything to escape the soul-shifting emotion rolling through him.

You can only run so far, you know.

Fuck logic, fuck his brain. But it wouldn’t shut up.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to escape forever. You knew you’d start to sink eventually….

Tristan gave his head a rough shake, dismissing the warning. But not because of this. Not because of her.

“Tristan?” Tessa’s voice cut through the hum. “Peter said the storm is coming?”

“Where did he go?” Peter was gone and Tessa was watching him, her face pale.

“He had to do something.” Tessa’s fingers were white against the bowl. “What’s happening with the storm, Tristan?”

“Category 3 hurricane. Expected to make landfall in a week.”

“Are we going to be okay?”

Tristan was headed towards the exit, anxious to be anywhere she wasn’t, but the fear in Tessa’s voice stopped him. “What?”

Tessa tapped her fingers against the bowl, an erratic tattoo trembling in the large room. “The storm.” Her eyes flicked out the windows. “Are we going to be okay?”

Christ, she was terrified. Even from across the room Tristan could see it. Her complexion was sallow. Her mouth was thin and tight, and her eyes were darting between his in a way that told Tristan she wasn’t seeing a thing.

“Yes.” It was the only answer he could possibly give. Tristan could barely stomach the fear in her eyes. He wasn’t going to do or say anything to make it worse.

“You’re sure? You’ve been through this before, you know what to do?”

He moved closer, her hands easily within reaching distance. But Tristan didn’t touch. You aren’t allowed to touch.

“Not here, no. But I’ve weathered my fair share of storms back home. And Peter and the rest of the staff have been through this more times than they can count. We’ll prepare the buildings to minimize damage as best we can, and we’ll make sure everyone moves up to higher ground, if it becomes necessary.”

Tessa’s gaze was still unfocused and Tristan noticed one foot had joined the tapping action.

“Tessa.” He reached out and stopped just shy of her hand. The motion caught her attention and she straightened, some of the haziness clearing from her face. “We’ll be fine. You,” he clarified, “will be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Tristan had no clue where the impulse came from, or why he sounded so certain, but his need for her to believe him sprang from deep down. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Tessa. I promise.”

Tessa looked slightly more relaxed, but her frown lingered. This time, it was aimed directly at him.

“You don’t believe me?”

Tessa tilted her head, the end of her braid sliding over the slope of one breast. The simple motion had a different kind of reaction bolting through him.

“I believe you.”

“Then why the face?”

Tessa gave him one last hard look before returning to the kitchen. “I believe you. I just don’t understand you.”

Tristan followed her to the room’s central island. “What does that mean?”

“Just that you are…enigmatic.”

“And now I don’t understand you.”

Tessa cranked the bowl of her stand mixer into place with a jerk. “Why did you come to my apartment last night?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Because Mark and Grace wanted me to.”

Tessa flicked on the mixer and the beater sprang to life. “That’s the only reason?” Her eyes tracked the twist of the blade through the dark batter.

“Yes.” Tristan’s fingers found the back of his neck without thought. “No.”

“So, why else?”

“Because you’re new here and don’t know anyone. Because I thought you might be lonely.”

Tessa turned off the machine, silence filling the large room the instant the mechanical hum died. She paused, her head still down. “You thought I might be lonely?”

“Yes.” His nails were digging small crescents just below his skull.

“And that was enough to bring you to my apartment with dinner, but not keep you long enough to eat?”

Tristan opened his mouth then closed it, not knowing how to answer. Tessa moved to the stove, her back to him as she stirred something in a pot. “Like I said,” he finally managed, “I’m out of practice. I don’t have dinner with friends very often.”

Tessa’s whisk clinked against the side of the pan. “Are we friends?” She was watching him over her shoulder.

“No. Yes.” Tristan pushed out a heavy breath. “Sort of.”

“Sort of,” she repeated, turning away again.

Tristan couldn’t figure out which made him more uncomfortable: their conversation or the fact that he couldn’t see her face.

“So you do have dinner with sort-of friends?”

“Yes,” seemed like the obvious answer.

“But you don’t accept dinner invitations from sort-of friends?”

Tristan felt like he’d been the one spinning in the mixer. “You got my text.”

“Yes.” Finished at the stove, Tessa flicked off the burner and brought the pan to the counter, a thin line of steam curling up around her face.

Tristan stopped short of leaning forward and taking a deep inhale. Of it, and of her. “What is that?” Whatever Tessa was adding to the mixing bowl smelled sweet and dark and a little sharp, and Tristan’s mouth was watering.

“If you’d agreed to dinner, you’d have found out.”

“I—” Tristan had to suck in a breath, his grip on his neck was so punishing. “I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“My point exactly.” Tessa’s focus was on the fragrant, dark ribbon she was pouring into the batter, each pass of the beater blending the concoction together. “You enjoy eating food. Especially mine, if our first two encounters are anything to go by. You don’t want me to be lonely, so you show up at my place to keep me company. But I invite you to do both at the same time, and you say no. Even though you’re standing here, now, in my kitchen, staring at this bowl like it’s an oasis and you’ve just crossed the Mojave Desert. Like I said. I don’t understand you.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” The words were out of Tristan’s mouth before he could stop them. “My answer is yes.”

“Too late.” Tessa dipped a spoon into the bowl and licked the tip. “I’m not interested in forcing you to do something you obviously don’t want to do.”

But, oh, how he wanted to. He couldn’t begin to wrap his head around how much he wanted to. Tristan was pretty sure the skin on his neck was about to crack open and bleed. “Ask me again.”

Something in his voice made Tristan flinch. And Tessa stop. When their eyes met, Tristan saw hers widen. God knew what she was seeing, but he had no doubt it was something he’d spent a very long time trying to keep hidden.

“What?”

Tristan’s heart pounded just a little bit harder. His voice wasn’t the only one that sounded off-balance. “Ask me to dinner again.” Then, softly, “Please.”

Tessa waited a beat before she spoke. “Tristan Hurst,” Tessa murmured, cautious, “would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

That question had become a refrain over the past hour. And Tristan knew he didn’t completely believe his answer. “Yes.”

“Good.” The pieces of hair that had come loose from her braid fell in front of Tessa’s face as she resumed mixing. “Same time, same place.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Tristan could almost feel the corners of his mouth curving up. At the very least, he didn’t think he was frowning anymore.

“Okay, now I really don’t believe you,” Tessa half-teased him from across the counter.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shot back. “Too late to take the invite back now.”

“Hmmm,” was her only response. She’d wandered away again, lining up cake pans along the counter. Tessa’s attention was back on her work. Tristan headed towards the exit, an unfamiliar prick of anticipation sliding beneath his skin at the thought of returning.

A question stopped him. “Tessa, why did you ask?”

Her head was still bent, but Tristan heard her answer clearly. “Because I don’t think I’m the only one who’s lonely.”