STEPPING OUT OF my room and carefully closing the door behind me, I padded down the hallway that led to the living room, stopping to grab my purse and the keys to Mom’s car. The rest of my family was at the church, meeting with the pastor who would be conducting the ceremony on Saturday, and I purposely scheduled Owen in during this time. It saved me from having to explain who I was meeting and why. I hadn’t told them about my job at Caldwell Publishing, and I certainly didn’t mention that I’d brought my boss home with me.
There was no point.
Owen wasn’t meant to be coming around, and it needed to stay that way.
Locking the house door, I jogged down the front steps and over to the small red hatchback parked in the gravel driveway. I slid in behind the steering wheel, a weird anxiousness swirling in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t seen Owen since we arrived on Sunday, and although we’d talked briefly the day before, no meaningful words had been exchanged between us other than the hotel room he was staying in and what time we were meeting. Our last real conversation had been through text, and somehow, that had felt deeper and more intimate than anything we’d ever shared.
As I drove through town, I tried not to think about it. I tried to focus on work and the Bower manuscript, but to no avail. Thoughts of him filled my mind.
Oh, Owen. What are you doing to me?
I parked in the first available spot I could find outside of hotel room seventeen and turned off the car. The Sunset Inn was a quaint little hotel, owned by Bobby and Rae Fischer. The furniture and decor were a far cry from what you would find in an upscale L.A. hotel, but it was comfortable, and the Fischers took pride in their rooms, making sure they were clean and everything was in working condition.
Stepping out of the car and gently pushing the door shut, I crossed the few feet separating me from the building. I stopped in front of his hotel room door, staring at the large brass numerals, and knocked lightly.
Only a second passed before it swung open, revealing a casually dressed Owen in a pair of faded jeans and a short-sleeved gray Henley. His hair was wet and perfectly messy, and the shadow on his jaw was a tad longer than I was used to seeing it.
My heart beat faster at the sight of him.
“Hey.” His voice was low, thick.
I swallowed nervously. “Hey.”
We stood in the doorway, unmoving, and his eyes sharpened. I shivered as he lazily ran his gaze down my body, clad in a tank top and jean shorts, and back up again. The slow perusal felt like a gentle caress, and it forced the memory of him on my skin to the front of my already foggy mind. My breath caught, and I hoped Owen didn’t notice.
He took a step back, his hand still on the knob of the door as he held his free arm out, inviting me in. “I already have the laptop set up and ready to go. This call shouldn’t take long. Liam just wants to discuss and give us a rundown of what will be happening over the next couple of weeks and what we can expect on their end. With them being on the other side of the country, we need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
Nodding, I slid past his frame, and as I realized where we’d be sitting for the call, my eyes widened and my pulse quickened. The bed. We were going to be sitting on the bed. The rooms at The Sunset Inn were too small to accommodate a separate sitting area for a table and chairs, and I hadn’t thought of how incredibly difficult and awkward this would be. The last time we were together on a bed, it had ended with him walking away from me.
“You okay?”
The air suddenly felt too thin, and I snapped myself out of the past—out of that hotel room back in L.A.—and turned my head toward the sound of Owen’s voice. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” He said the word but didn’t look convinced.
The call lasted longer than either of us anticipated. Nearly three hours longer. We had both missed dinner, too caught up in the details of the marketing plan to stop and think of food, and by the time the call was over, it was nearly nine o’clock. Any place worth grabbing a bite to eat from in our small town was closed, and while I could have returned home and gorged on last night’s leftovers, I felt bad knowing Owen would be left to fend for himself.
As he walked me to the door, I stopped, asking the question before I even had a chance to thoroughly think it through. “Are you hungry? Do you want to go get dinner?”
He smiled at me, an adorable lopsided grin taking over his face. “Yeah. I’d love that actually.”
“Okay then. I’ll just”—I tossed my thumb over my shoulder—“I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“I didn’t know you could drive.”
A laugh floated from my chest as I glanced over at Owen. “I can drive. There is just no point in having a car when you live in the city. I don’t have to tell you parking fees are astronomical, and honestly, I don’t mind walking or relying on public transportation.” Shrugging my shoulder, I turned down the road that led to the coast. “Besides, driving in New York makes me anxious.”
“Don’t I know it.” His eyes flashed to mine and he smiled softly. “Where are we going anyway?”
“You’ll see. We’re almost here.”
We drove for another five minutes or so, and as the trees lining either side of the road grew farther apart and the smell of salt in the air thickened, I felt that usual happiness sink into my veins. New York may have been home, but this…this was my everything. This was the cost of following my dreams, and there was no way I’d ever risk losing it.
Coming to a slow stop in front of the restaurant, I killed the engine and hopped out. Owen did the same, his hand lingering on the passenger side door for a moment as his eyes roamed over the large blue and white sign on the building before flicking to mine. “Callihan’s Pier. Is this your—”
“My parents’ restaurant?” I nodded, smiling tightly, feeling a mix of sadness and pride clawing at my chest. “Yep. Usually it’s open until nine thirty, but with Kimmi’s wedding on Saturday they’ve decided to close early every night this week.” I shoved the tips of my fingers into my pockets and bit down on the corner of my lip, rocking forward on my toes. “It’s all ours for the evening.”
“Wow...” His voice trailed as he closed the car door, and I pulled the keys from my purse, kicking a stone across the empty lot as I made my way toward the front entrance. A large wooden deck surrounded the perimeter of the restaurant, connecting to a pier which led out to the water. The beachfront view was just one of the many reasons why I loved this place so much, and deciding I wanted to share a piece of it with Owen, I stopped as we reached the double glass doors.
“Come on.” I gestured for him to follow me. “I want to show you something first.”
He followed without argument, falling in step beside me as we walked around the open-air patio deck. We rounded the rear corner, and as Owen’s gaze drifted over the sandy beach and the gentle push and pull of the waves as they lapped at the shore, I saw it. I saw the moment he fell in love with my everything.
A small gasp parted his lips, and his feet slowed their movement as he walked to the railing, placing his hands on top of it. I joined him, resting my elbows on it for support, and leaned forward, watching as the moon’s glow danced along the surface of the water. I tilted my head to catch another glance of his expression. “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”
His eyes never swayed from the view. “It’s amazing.”
This…this is the cost of following my dream, Owen.
I wanted to speak the words out loud. I wanted to make him understand, but I couldn’t, not without telling him all about my family's struggles, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to share that with him. It would lead to pity. And I didn’t want his pity.
“If you think this is amazing, you should see the sunsets. When the water meets the horizon, painted in its deep oranges and vibrant purples, there is nothing else quite like it. I swear that’s where heaven exists.”
Owen’s head snapped to the side, and I didn’t know if it was the glimmer of the moon reflecting off his eyes or if it was a thin layer of tears coating the dark green pools, but whatever it was, it stole my breath.
“You, uh...you really think that?”
I smiled warmly at him. “Yeah. I do.”
His chest rose on a deep inhale, and he took one more look at the water before turning to face me, and I suspected he was becoming uncomfortable. His expression lacked the admiration it initially held.
Straightening myself, I folded my arms over my chest and squinted up at him. “Ready to get something to eat?”
“Yeah.”
Instead of walking to the main entrance, we slipped in through the rear door that led right into the kitchen. I flipped the switch on the wall, and as the entire space brightened under the fluorescent lights, I walked over to the walk-in refrigerator and started collecting everything I needed to make us dinner. “I hope you like seafood!”
“I’m not picky.”
Grabbing a bag of freshly caught and peeled shrimp from one of the shelves, I stacked my arms full of ingredients, setting them on the center workspace before moving over to the pantry and retrieving enough pasta for the both of us.
Owen watched me as I tied an apron around my waist and pulled down a few pots and pans from where they hung overhead.
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
I looked up at him, a warm feeling flooding through my veins at his offer. “Um...yeah. If you want, you can grab me the seasonings and fill the pot with water so we can get it boiling.”
“That I can do.”
In a few minutes, it was on the stove and the mouth-watering aroma of garlic and butter wafted throughout the entire kitchen. I dropped the shrimp into the pan, watching it sauté until it turned its desired pink color. Once it was finished, I added fresh parsley, lemon zest, and the remaining ingredients before finally setting it aside as we waited for the pasta to finish.
Owen sat on a stool, his elbows resting back on the countertop, and I found it difficult not to sneak tiny glances at him here and there. He was so handsome, and any apprehension I had about bringing him had completely fallen away.
“Is it wrong that I’m currently picturing a younger version of you working this kitchen and calling the shots?”
Unable to resist, I smiled, secretly loving that his silent thoughts included me. “No. It’s not wrong. I did at one point. As soon as I was old enough to help out, I was here, waiting tables and cooking in the kitchen if needed. It was part of the reason why I was so desperate to get out of this town. I didn’t want my life revolving around this place anymore.” Moving away from the stove, I pulled out the stool beside him and plopped down on it, mimicking his position. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it here. The view that I showed you…it’s everything. My family is everything, but I could never give up New York.”
“You belong in New York.” His lips pressed together momentarily, and then twisted to the side in a smile. “You make it look good.”
I shook my head and laughed. “I like this side of you.”
He lifted a brow. “What side?”
“Your charming side.” I flashed him another smile, this one kind and warm, and I didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped to my lips. As if it rolled in on the coastal tide, a thick tension whipped up in the small space between our bodies, and the heady sensation it swept over my skin had me rising to my feet. “The food should be ready soon. I’m going to go grab some glasses from the front.”
Owen started to get up. “Do you need help?”
“No.” I shook my head quickly. I needed a moment away from him because my head was beginning to feel dizzy with lust and I needed to clear it. “No. I can do it. I’ll be right back.”
Hurrying out of the wooden swinging doors, I walked over to the bar area and grabbed two wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. The last thing I should be doing was filling my blood with alcohol, especially in the presence of Owen, but it complemented the shrimp linguini I had made, and really, I needed something to relax my nerves. Making my way back into the kitchen and remembering the utensils at the last minute, I was greeted with that breathtaking smile of his as I pushed through the doors. He was in the process of mixing the sauce and shrimp into the pasta, and I set the glasses down on the worktable, where two dinner bowls already sat waiting.
Opening the bottle of wine and filling our glasses, I watched as Owen dished out each of us a generous portion of pasta before returning the pot to the stove and joining me on his stool.
He wasted no time taking a bite. “Wow, Elle. This is…this is really good.”
“Yeah?” My cheeks warmed. “I was afraid you might not be a seafood person.”
“Yeah, it is. And no, I love it. I can't remember the last time I actually had a homecooked meal either. Well, not that this is exactly a homecooked meal. I mean, it is a homecooked meal, we just didn't cook it in a”—he stopped, giving his head a little shake and laughing dryly at his own ramble—“ah, fuck. You know what I mean.”
Was it possible Owen Caldwell was nervous? This was new. I had never seen him be anything but self-assured and confident, except for that one time in the library, and loving that I was seeing another side to him, I smiled to myself. “I know what you mean.”
“Every Sunday, my mom used to make these huge meals. She would wake up in the morning and be in the kitchen all day long. And it was crazy, because it was only the three of us, no one else, and I never understood why she took the time to do that.”
Swirling my fork around the linguini, I brought it to my mouth, groaning internally at its taste. It was good. As I went to take another bite, I thought about what he had said, and my next question jumped from my tongue without thinking about how it may be received. “Do you miss them?”
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
He was silent for a moment, and I didn’t miss the way the muscle on his jaw tightened as he slowly chewed his food. I didn’t think he was going to answer.
“Like you wouldn't believe.”
A thickness collected in my throat, and I quickly chased it down with a gulp of my drink. We ate mostly in silence after that, sipping on our wine in between taking mouthfuls of our food. I had downed two glasses to his one, and I could feel the effects of it as it entered my bloodstream, warming me from the inside out. Or maybe that was just Owen and the way he’d occasionally look over at me, flashing me smirks that melted me into a puddle of goo.
I felt like a young girl again, crushing on a boy for the very first time.
Once we finished eating, he helped me clean up the dishes. I grabbed another bottle of wine since we’d emptied the first, or rather, I’d emptied it—Owen had stopped after his second glass—and we talked. We talked about my parents and how long they’d been married. We talked about the restaurant and Kimmi’s wedding on Saturday, and we talked about my writing. I was convinced it was the wine that had loosened my lips by that point, because a sober Elle would never have had the confidence to speak so freely about it.
“I may be a little biased, but for what it's worth, I think it's amazing. Even if you decide to not publish it, you need to at least finish the story.”
I cracked a one-sided smile. “Hate cliff-hangers, huh?”
He chuckled. “No, I love them actually, love the anticipation and that hanging on the edge of your seat feeling, but that's not the point. The point is to finish it for you. Not for me or anybody else.” He looked right at me. “Finish it for you, Elle.”
“I will. Once the words decide to come back, I will.”
Hours that felt like minutes passed, and I didn’t care to count them. I wanted to savor the easy night we had fallen into. It was the two of us, together, and every question that still needed answers didn’t matter. We laughed, we joked, and we smiled. And I wanted more. More moments like the one we were currently living.
Glancing down at the watch strapped to his wrist, Owen smiled sadly. “It’s getting late. We should probably get going.” His eyes flicked over the empty bottles of wine and then back to me. “I’ll drive you home and then I’ll call a taxi. Something tells me Uber doesn’t exist in Rock Bay, Maine.”
“You would be correct, sir.” My words might have been slightly slurred. Sure, they sounded fine to me, but I didn’t know the difference between “before wine” fine and “after wine” fine. I settled with the idea that I was somewhere right in the middle of the two. Sitting there, I watched as Owen rose to his feet and collected the empty glasses and bottles, walking to place them in the sink and in the recycling bin. Disappointment cut through me. This was it. Our easy night was over. Tomorrow the walls we kept stacked between us would be re-erected.
Swiveling around on my stool, I attempted to stand up, and as I did, the ground spun beneath me. I grabbed ahold of the table at the same time strong fingers curled around my hips. A bubble of laughter floated from my chest.
“Woah. Careful there. I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. I liked the sound of that.
See? I wasn’t totally incoherent.
Finding my balance, I twirled around. He was right there. Right in front of me. And I dropped my head back, looking up at him with an intoxicated grin on my face. “I think you’re right, handsome.”
“Handsome, huh?”
His shoulders moved on a chuckle, and as the humor faded, something thick and heavy replaced it, filling the space with tension. Owen’s hands remained on my hips, the heat of his palms searing my skin even through the fabric of my clothes, and I almost gasped at the way my body burned for him. There was an achiness in my breasts and a deep need simmering low in my belly, begging to be satisfied.
It was then that I realized that night in the hotel room in L.A. hadn't been enough. It'd never be enough. I wanted more of Owen Caldwell. I wanted all of him.
Holding his gaze, I watched as the expression on his face changed. His lips pinched together. His brows narrowed. The greens of his irises darkened, and his expression intensified.
My heart raced beneath my ribs at the way he was looking at me, and with a tremble and hesitancy in my movements, I reached up, pressing a hand against his chest, over his heart, curious if it was beating as fast as mine.
It was.
Oh God. It was. Was it beating for me? Was it beating because of me?
Using Owen’s body for support, I pushed up on my tiptoes, and as I brought my lips closer to his, the grip he had on me tightened.
His heart began to thud. Loudly.
Unless it was mine. I honestly didn't know. It all happened so fast. One minute we were standing there, and the next, he was lifting me onto the table and stepping between my legs.
Breathless, I gazed into his eyes, my cheeks flushed and my breathing unsteady. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips while mine clenched fistfuls of his shirt. He dropped his forehead to mine and shook his head slowly, his breath hot on my lips.
“Elle...”
Heat from the way he said my name dove right down to my core, and my foggy brain was still trying to process the emotion behind his tone as the sound of distant voices in the main dining room grew closer.
Before either of us could say another word, I shoved him away from me, my eyes widening in panic.
Shit.
I had never sobered up so fast in my life. I looked around, frantically searching for an escape or a place to at least hide Owen.
It was too late.
There was no hiding him. Not anymore.
Kimmi burst through the kitchen doors, her fiancé, Chris, in tow. “Elle are you here?”
My cheeks flamed red, and I slowly spun on my heels. “Kimmi, what are you doing here?”
“Mom and Dad were worried about…” Her voice died as her gaze landed on Owen, a thousand questions flickering behind her baby blues. Her blonde brows climbed her forehead as she returned her attention to me. “And who might this be?”
Confident Owen was back, taking control of the moment as he stepped forward and offered my sister his hand. “Owen Caldwell. It's nice to meet you, Kimmi. Elle has told me a lot about you.”
Her mouth hung open, and her brows blended in with her hairline. They sure had, because when she turned to face me, they were gone. Speechless and still obviously confused, she gave me that “Holy shit, he's hot” look and shook his hand.
I sighed at the awkwardness of the entire situation. “Owen is my boss. He flew into town with me because we have an important project we are in the middle of working on and he needed to be able to meet with me this week. It was either that or I miss your wedding, and that wasn't happening, so I had no choice but to bring him. We had a conference call tonight which ran late, and since everything was closed, we decided to come here for dinner.”
“Oh,” she said, as if she finally understood. “Well, why didn’t you tell us? You know Mom and Dad wouldn’t have minded if you’d brought him over for dinner. They would have been thrilled to meet him.”
Ugh. No. Nobody was supposed to meet him.
She looked at Owen. “It’s nice to meet you. Elle doesn’t really talk a lot about her work or her life in New York.” There was a sadness in her tone that I didn’t miss. “How long are you in town?”
“Sunday. I fly back with Elle on Sunday.”
“So you’ll be in town Saturday for the wedding then?”
Owen and I both spoke at the same time.
“Yes.”
“No.”
He frowned at my “no” response. He would be in town, of course, he would, but this…all of this…was heading in a direction I wanted to steer clear and far away from. He wasn't here to meet my family. He was here because he needed to be here.
“Well if you’re not busy, please feel free to come as Elle’s guest. Her invitation included a plus one, and last time I checked, that spot was still open.”
I glared daggers at her, my eyes wide.
What the hell was she doing!
Owen spoke. “Thank you. If it's all right with Elle, I think I'll take you up—”
“No.” I shook my head, adamant in my response. “He’s here for work. That’s it. Not to accompany me to your wedding.” As soon as I said the words, I regretted them. I didn’t need to look at Owen to know he was staring at me with disappointment in his eyes. He wanted to accompany me. That’s what he had been about to say before I cut him off.
“Yeah. You know, she’s right. I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to have to pass. I have a lot of work to do anyway.”
Guilt stabbed through my chest, and I glanced at Owen, wanting to take it all back. “Owen.”
His eyes met mine, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Everything was written so clearly across his face. We stared at each other as if everyone else in the room had disappeared, and my heart ached, unbearably so.
Turning back to Kimmi, he said, “She’s had a bit to drink. I was going to take her home, but seeing as you’re here, I think it might be best if she gets a ride with you, if that’s okay.”
My stomach sank.
Kimmi nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you need a ride?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”
“Owen.” I spoke louder this time, trying to get his attention.
“It’s all right, Elle. I get it.” He smiled sadly, reaching out and brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I’ll call a cab.”
And then he walked away.
He walked away from me, and I wanted to call him back, but something told me I needed to let him go. No matter how much it hurt, I needed to let him leave.