SAWYER

The sound of a garbage truck in the alley pulls me from sleep. I blink open to sun shining through the window and stinging my bright red forearm. The events of yesterday flood back and pull my lips into a wide grin.

As much as I could lie under the covers obsessively reliving Aden’s kiss, my to-do list creeps in and pushes all thoughts of sexy sailors and summer flings aside.

After three cups of coffee to wake myself up and another liberal application of lotion to my crispy skin, I begin to sort Celia’s things. I assumed the process wouldn’t take more than a few hours, but I keep getting distracted. It’ll be a box of keepsakes that sends me to the couch to sort through so that I can learn a little more about my sister’s life, or a photo that makes my chest hurt so badly I have to go outside to get some fresh air.

Which is what I’m doing now.

The photo was of her blowing out birthday candles at what looked like some super-posh restaurant on the other side of the world. If she had any idea that this birthday was going to be one of her last—I suck in the salty air and focus on the crashing waves, trying to take a full breath.

My eyes scan the horizon, taking in the view. The seagulls that perch on the cliffs, some other kind of bird with a long, needle-like bill that digs in the sand by the water’s edge. There’s the cluster of surfers out past the breaking waves, and the occasional jogger that passes by. The wind is cool against my face and I consider going for a walk to try to clear my head, although being alone with my thoughts doesn’t seem to make any of this easier.

I soothe my anxiety by pulling out my notepad, this one rectangular because the sunflower was driving me crazy, and I rewrite my list.

The thwack of a screen door has me whirling around to see a woman on her porch. It looks like she’s trying to pull a garbage bag from inside but can’t seem to manage it with her walker.

“Good morning.” I make my way to her and her eyes narrow on mine through thick Coke-bottle glasses. I open my mouth to introduce myself, but decide I’ll wait for her reaction to see if we’ve already met, or rather, her and Celia have already met.

“Oh . . . good morning.” She’s out of breath and there’s a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip. “I think my garbage got too full is all.” She’s playing tug-of-war with the screen door and the bag.

I scurry to help her, freeing the overflowing bag and scooping up some of the trash that escaped. “I got it.”

“Thank you.” She leans her weight on the walker. “This didn’t used to be so hard.” She smiles and I return the sentiment.

“I’m happy to take this out for you.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t ask for—”

“It’s no big deal. Really.”

“Thank you, um . . . oh . . . I’m sorry, I don’t remember if we’ve met.”

Perfect. “I’m Celia, I live in number four.”

“Right, I know I’ve seen you around.” She holds out one hand, fingers curled up with what I’m guessing to be arthritis. “Mrs. Jones, but you can call me Mary.”

I shake her hand gently, not wanting to hurt her. “Nice to meet you, Mary. I’m running to the dumpster. Is there any other trash you need me to take?”

“No, but thank you.”

I open the screen door to help her back inside. The smell of rotting garbage becomes overwhelming and I wonder how long it’s been since she took out her trash. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can run out for you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I shut her door for her as she walks deeper into the dark cottage.

Holding the bag as far from my body as possible I race to the alley and heave the stinking mass into the dumpster. Then, holding my hands away from my body, I head straight inside for a long hand wash followed by hand sanitizer because you can never be too safe. In my haste I practically knock over a tiny girl. “Oh crap! I’m so sorry.”

Not a girl. A short woman.

“Celia, you’re back.”

I jerk my head up at the sound of her saying my sister’s name and have a brief oh shit moment because I didn’t have my Celia mask firmly in place. Standing just a foot away with a nose ring and a blond pixie haircut, the petite woman smiles and I immediately recognize her from some of my sister’s pictures.

“It would seem so, yeah.” Wearing a pair of yoga pants and an oversized tee I pulled from Celia’s closet that reads “The Confession Bar, New York, NY,” I hope I’m convincing enough.

She wraps me in a hug. “It’s great to see you.”

I pat her awkwardly. “It’s great to be seen.”

Pulling back she grins wide. “How was your trip . . .” She purses her lips. “Where were you again?”

“Ah . . .” Shit, what did I tell Brice? I clear my throat. “A little bit of everywhere, and then Phoenix.”

“Is everything okay? You took off without a word.”

I stare beyond her shoulder, her inquisitive eyes seeming to see right through me. “Fine, yeah. I’m good.”

She tilts her head. “You seem . . . different.”

“Me?” I allow my body to turn to Jell-O. “Oh, psht, no. I’m good, just . . . hung over from being out all night, you know how it is.” I trail off with nothing more to add because I’ve never stayed up past midnight unless it’s been to watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve from the safety of my bed.

“Oh yeah, where’d you go?” Her eyes flash with interest and excitement. “I heard Blink 182 played a surprise show at the Casbah. Were you there?”

“Uh . . . no, I was . . . at a bonfire party and everyone was night surfing and there was this ex-football player so we all played football on the beach. It was dark but they used the headlights from their cars and stuff.”

Her eyes narrow and I try not to shift in my flip-flops. “Isn’t that a movie?”

“Hm?” Oh shit.

“Point Break. The movie, you just—”

“What? No. Lame.” I can’t believe I actually thought I could pull this pretending to be Celia thing off! I paste on a big smile. “How’ve you been?”

“All right, I guess. You know me, never a dull moment in the life of Zöe. Hey, everyone’s been asking about you down at the bar. Think you might be able to drop in tonight?”

“Tonight?” I dip my chin seeing the word confession on my shirt and wishing I could do just that, confess who I am and be done with this stupid charade. I crank my mind back to the photos I saw of this woman and hope they’ll give some hint as to what bar she’s talking about. “Maybe, it depends how much I get done here.”

Her perfectly sculpted brows drop over crystal-blue eyes and she tilts to look through the window of my cottage. “Are you moving out?”

“Yeah, I’m going back to Phoenix.”

She sticks out her lower lip. “What a buzzkill.” The disappointment is short-lived and she grins. “All the more reason for you to come to the bar.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great!” She leans in and wraps me in another hug. “You’ll keep in touch from Phoenix, right? Maybe come out for a visit? Oh! Will you still be here on the Fourth? OB is one of the best places in the world to spend the holiday.”

“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.”

She pulls back and smiles. “Cool! So I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mmm.” I roll my lips between my teeth to avoid giving a definite answer.

She doesn’t seem to mind and skips away with a finger wave.

I’ll need to figure out what bar she’s talking about. I’d ask Brice, but after that kiss he gave me the first night I’m afraid to bump into him again. God, I’ve been here two and a half days and kissed two different guys.

I didn’t kiss Mark until our second date.

Suddenly feeling naked and exposed I turn and duck back into Celia’s house. Oh my God. I’m a slut! And strangely the idea of seeing Aden again makes my pulse jump in my veins and butterflies race in my belly. He’s the most masculine man I’ve ever known. Not as pretty as Brice, but he wears his male sensuality with the kind of confidence I rarely see on men.

My nerves tingle and stir.

Leave it to Celia to talk me into living as her, and leave it to me to enjoy it. At this rate I may never want to go back to being myself.

ADEN

I managed to stay away from the cottages most of the day. Having no good excuse to go there, I spend my time on the boat doing some minor repairs that I’d been putting off for weeks. I kept my phone in my pocket in case Celia called. And when it buzzed less than an hour ago I forced myself not to answer it on the first ring.

It’s when I answered to the shaky voice of Mrs. Jones from cottage six that I was disappointed as well as charged up to have an excuse to drive to the cliffs. I took a quick shower and put on my cleanest T-shirt in the off chance I might run into Celia. I contemplated what I’d say on the drive over. If I bumped into her would I invite her to dinner? I haven’t been on a real date since before I enlisted and that was at eighteen years old, almost ten years ago when I was still thinking mostly with my dick. From then on, knowing I was married to the military indefinitely, I didn’t want to create any long-lasting attachments so my “dating” life was mostly the fly-by kind. In and out, not a chance of building any kind of connection longer than the physical.

When I pull up to the cottages I park in my property manager assigned spot and see Celia’s Thing parked down by her place. Something that feels an awful lot like excitement stirs in my gut and calls me up short. What the fuck? It’s been so long since I’ve felt excited about anything.

Soaking in this strange new feeling, I head over to Mrs. Jones’s cottage, making sure to keep my eyes forward when I pass Celia’s place. Last thing I need is to be caught looking in her damn window like some kind of stalker. But still, I can’t help but wonder why she hasn’t called me. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since she left the boat with the possibility she’d be in touch, and in that time she’s managed to turn me into a desperate jackass who’s hoping for the second date that never happens.

“Oh, Aden . . .” Mrs. Jones must see me from her open door as I make my way up the steps. “I’m so sorry to bother you, honey.”

“You’re never a bother.” I push in through the screen door and it slams closed behind me.

“I don’t know if I believe all that.” Her voice shakes with age and her eyes disappear behind her cheeks when she smiles.

I motion to her ancient television. “What’s this one about?” Mrs. Jones is always sitting in front of some cheesy Hallmark movie.

“This man is in love with this woman that he thinks is a waitress, but she’s really a very famous foreign actress in hiding.”

Wow, that’s stupid. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh it is.” She places one frail hand covered in protruding purple veins to her chest. “She’s leaving for her country and if she doesn’t tell him soon he’ll lose her forever.”

I feign interest watching as some good-looking actor charms his way across the screen. “Hm.” A few seconds pass and I turn away from the TV before my balls shrivel up and fall off from the estrogen-infused romantic overload. “Is it your kitchen or bathroom sink?”

She struggles to stand, her arms shaking with the effort of pushing herself up.

I lay a hand on her shoulder. “You sit still, just tell me which sink and I’ll take care of it.”

She blows out an exhausted breath and smiles up at me, accentuating the grooves around her lips, evidence of the long and happy life she’s lived. “It’s the bathroom, honey. Thank you.”

I head to her bathroom and turn the water on, then drop to the pipes below to see a slow drip coming from the slip nut. I pull a monkey wrench from my tool belt and tighten the nut. I flick the water back on and watch for a leak.

Nothing.

After wiping up the puddle beneath her sink, I wash my hands, check the pipe one more time and, satisfied it’s fixed, head back out to see her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“You’re all set.”

She sniffles and jerks around to grab something off her side table. “Thank you, Aden.” She pulls a few dollars out of her wallet with knobby fingers.

“No.” I hold up my hand.

“But—”

“I’m just doing my job, Mrs. Jones.”

She blinks in confusion and then focuses back on me. “I have to wonder if today is my birthday.” She laughs softly. “Everyone is being so nice to me.”

“Is it your birthday?”

Her cheeks flush and she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But the sweet girl from next door helped me with my trash and then you rush over to—”

“What girl?”

Her gaze swings to the window and she dips her chin toward Celia’s place. “Her. I can’t make it to the dumpster as easily as I used to.”

Celia did that? I feel my lips pull into a wide grin and follow her gaze out the window just as a flash of strawberry-blond hair catches my eye. My pulse kicks behind my ribs. “That’s nice . . . listen, I better get going.” I’m already moving to the door. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” I slip out the front door to see Celia walking to the cliff’s edge.

She’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug every curve of her round ass, giving away everything she was hiding under her skirt yesterday. A black silky top with only strings to hold it up brings attention to her sun-kissed freckled shoulders and light hair.

My muscles tense when she gets to the railing and braces her weight on it as if she’s just run a mile and is trying to catch her breath. I come up behind her but not wanting to scare her I stop a good distance away.

“You okay, freckles?”

She whirls around and it’s then I notice she’s wearing makeup, not a lot but enough to cover the sprinkling of color on her nose and cheeks and accentuate her eyes. She either just got home or is headed out. The thought makes me agitated and curious. I rub the back of my neck as I tilt my head and continue to take her in.

Her eyes widen on me and she puts on a fake smile. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I study her from top to bottom and make sure to take my time so she can feel me doing it. It’s only when she shoves her hands into her pockets self-consciously that I finally ask the question I’m dying to know the answer to. “Where you headed, Celia?” The menace in my voice makes my own skin prickle and the way her breath quakes before her eyes grow wide tells me my question has an effect on her.

“I—I don’t know.”

I run my teeth along my bottom lip and lift my brows at her high-heeled shoes. “All dressed up and you don’t know where you’re going?” Dammit to fuck, it’s a date. She’s going on a motherfucking date.

“No. I mean . . .” She holds back strands of hair the breeze tosses into her face. “Maybe.”

“You going on a date, Cece?”

“Please.” Her face scrunches up. “Don’t call me that.”

I step closer. “Why not? I had my tongue in your mouth just yesterday and now you’re offended by a nickname?” I move even closer until our toes are practically touching. “Who’s taking you out tonight?”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “I’m not going out with anyone, I just don’t know where I’m going.”

“Explain that.”

She rakes the silky strands of her hair off her forehead. “This girl, Zöe, asked me to stop by a bar and I . . .” It’s hard to focus on what she’s saying with her lips covered in a pink gloss that makes them look like the sweetest candy. “It’s a long story.”

I cross my arms at my chest. She doesn’t owe me shit, but I’m a selfish bastard and I want to know why going to a bar is making her so edgy. “I got time.”

“Zöe asked me to meet her at a bar, but I don’t know which bar she’s talking about and I could ask Brice, but I’m afraid he’ll think he can come with me and to be honest with you I’d rather not go with Brice, or I’d rather not go at all, but I told her I would and if I don’t then . . . then . . .”

“Shh . . . You’re gonna hyperventilate.” I’m half teasing, but the way her hands are bunched at her sides makes me think it might not be far from the truth.

She blows out a long breath and shakes out her arms. “I know.”

“Are you always this high strung?”

“Do you always feel it’s important to point out my flaws?”

“Why do you care if I point out your flaws?”

“Why do you care about where I’m going?”

“I think we could go on for hours like this.”

A tiny smirk hits her lips. “You’re probably right.”

“The bar she’s talking about is probably Lenny’s. She works there.”

“Oh . . .” She chews her bottom lip and a jealous urge to rip that lip from her teeth and pull it between mine tugs at me. “Do you know where it is?”

I do, but if I tell her she’ll go, and looking like that I’d rather she stay home, preferably with me.

“I mean, do you, would you want to, if you’re not busy, can you come with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Lenny, the owner, never officially told me I wasn’t welcome in his bar again, but the look he gave me that night I was arrested outside of his place about ten seconds after he fired me made it pretty clear he never wanted to see my face again. Not that I blame him.

“Why isn’t it a good idea?”

I shrug and try to act casual. “When I first moved here Zöe got me a job bouncing there on weekends.”

Her eyes narrow. “You and Zöe, did you guys . . .?”

“No.” Okay, almost once but I was too drunk to make that night fun for either of us. Not that Celia needs to know about that.

“So what happened? Why don’t you work there now?”

“Nothing to tell, just didn’t work out.” Lie, lie, lie.

“Oh, well, I don’t see why you can’t come with me, then.”

“Freckles—”

“Pleeeeaaase. . . .?” She puffs out that fat bottom lip and my blood howls in my veins to drag her back to my boat caveman-style.

I step close to her so that we’re almost touching. “Kiss me and I’ll go.” Yep, I said it, and I meant it. I’d face Lenny and all his bullshit if it means I get at those lips.

Her jaw drops open, and not at all in a bad way. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.” I run my hands through her hair at her nape and my thumb along her jaw. “Thought about you all day.”

“You did?” she whispers, and her breath ghosts across my lips in a brutal tease.

“Mmm.” I pull her close until she reaches for me by pushing up on her toes. “You come the rest of the way, I’ll go to Lenny’s.” I’m a lying dick, I’d go anyway just for a chance to spend some time with this woman who keeps managing to totally fuck with my head.

She licks her lips and I’m amped with the anticipation of tasting her tongue again. In what feels like slow motion she presses the softest close-mouthed kiss to my lips. I clasp her hip and pull her body flush with mine, her breasts mold to my chest, and being on her toes she stumbles into me, giving me her weight.

Fucking perfect.

My arms hold her tight as I tilt my head and coax open her mouth. She hums low in her throat while letting me in, the sweet flavor of her lips and gentle friction from her gloss have me growling in response. When was the last time I’ve been this turned on by something so benign? Maybe it’s because I’m sober. Booze dulls everything and if this is what hooking up sober feels like, fuck, I’ve been missing out.

She relaxes into my grasp and the simple act makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Strong. Powerful. As if there’s nothing I can’t conquer, and I haven’t had that since the day I led my battalion on the last mission of our deployment. The one last op before we all got to come home.

But only half of us made it.

A flash of gunfire lights behind my closed lids and I jolt back, breaking our connection.

She’s breathless, her eyes still closed, not affected by my brief freak-out. She slowly blinks up at me. “Do you kiss all women like that?”

My lips twitch. “Only know one way to kiss.” But somehow kissing her feels different. Better in a way I can’t put my finger on.

“So you’ll go with me?”

“Yeah. I’ll even take you to dinner first.”

“A date?” Her smile is so big it stretches across her perfect face.

“A date.”

“I’ll just grab my purse.” She steps back and stumbles over a patch of ice plant.

I put my arm around her waist hoping our kiss is the cause of her lack of balance. “I’ll go with you.” Judging by her blush I think it might be.

I guide her to her place and once inside my stomach hardens. The main living space is littered with boxes and stacks of her things, a reminder that she’ll be moving soon.

“It’s in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.” She’s steadier on her feet as she goes to get her purse. I set down my tool belt and move around the room.

Stacks of books, tons of little junky figurines I’m guessing to be from all reaches of the world, are piled around along with packing paper. It doesn’t seem like she’s been working on any of this for very long, as all the boxes are still empty.

“I’m ready.” She smiles with a fresh coat of lip gloss that I can’t wait to wear all over my neck.

Down, boy! There will be plenty of time for making out later.

“I’m driving.”

As we’re walking to my Blazer I fight the urge to pull her hand into mine, because seriously, what the fuck is that all about? I’m not the hand-holding type, but with Celia I can’t seem to get her close enough when we’re together.