Chapter Three

Caroline

He’s waiting outside the diner for me to finish my shift, tossing an apple from hand to hand like a bored, annoying twelve-year-old. Every day this week he’s been standing out there waiting for me. I even tried to switch my shifts around to catch him off guard, but that persistent bastard figured it out. Mama swears she didn’t tell him anything and Shirley uses her big smile whenever I ask her what the ogre is doing peeping in our windows. Something she does both when she’s telling the truth and lying, so I can’t be sure what is going on. The only reason I haven’t given him an answer about using my airport is because I honestly don’t know if it’s the right decision. What if it’s the first step in total domination? The whole saying “give someone an inch and they take a mile” scares me.

If the fervor in which he’s pursuing me means anything, the man wants the airport badly. All of it. Not just rented time for a sum of money that would make an oil tycoon’s eyes widen. For the most part I’ve been cordial and kind. I’m southern, those traits are bred into me, but I can’t help the snark that comes after a long day. He’s a welcome sight, don’t get me wrong, it’s the second he opens his mouth that the mystique goes out the window. Something in the way he speaks—the tone of his voice tells me not to trust him. That’s another southern specialty. Sniffing out lies.

“He didn’t even ask about the airport yesterday, Caroline. Why don’t you just give in and go out with the man? Did you ever think he might just want to get to know you?”

I smile. “You think a man like that wants to get to know me? Come on, Shirl, you’re too smart for that.”

Shirley drags a rag over a table, leaning over, eyes to the window in thought. “What if you believe the best until he proves you wrong?”

It’s easy for a beautiful woman like Shirley to assume the best until the worst rears. She has options. Limitless options in men. For someone like me, a woman who is a slave to her hobbies and passions, I hope one day to find a man who will put up with being second fiddle.

Sighing, I take a bite of the pizza in front of me. Caleb made me a quick lunch before he left for the day and Daniel took over the kitchen. Daniel is far less jovial—with hard lines creasing his face like scars of anger. “I need to make a decision and then he’ll go away.”

“Or be in your business constantly. He’ll be at your house for crying out loud,” Shirley says, accent twanging. “Have a passion filled day…and night with that man and get this over with. I can’t think of a better person to pop your icy cherry than that man.” She nods at the window, at Tyler. He’s shirtless now, balancing the apple on his chin. “That takes skill.” She’s shaking her head, like she’s actually impressed.

Laughing, I finish my pizza, tell Desmond a few things and ditch my apron. “It takes something. Not sure if skill is the word I’d use.”

“Commend the man’s persistence! I’ve never been on the receiving end of something like that!” Shirley coos into my ear, leaning close.

“Because your morals are as loose as your,” I whisper into her ear.

Shaking her head, she leaves me to steel my nerves. Business Caroline needs to bubble to the surface. Savvy. Confident. Willful. Qualities I don’t have. In high school I let a rumor swirl for months because I was too meek to correct anyone. It was easier to be silent, take the path of least resistance. I can find my voice now because something I love is being threatened. My short, white, dress uniform is miraculously still clean as I freshen up in the bathroom.

“He’s just a man,” I tell my reflection. One that wants more than I’m willing to give, the practical side of my brain reminds me.

When I push open the side door the hot, swampy air coats me. A light sheen of condensation takes hold of every exposed skin cell on my body. My white bike is parked in the rack on the side of the restaurant, a pile of empty cardboard boxes stacked next to it. There’s no need to put a lock on my bike here, not anywhere in Bronze Bay, actually. I wheel it to the front of the restaurant, ready for Tyler’s daily joke. He has a new one every day and they’ve progressively gotten worse. My guess is he doesn’t have a humorous bone in his body. He probably googles dad jokes and uses the ones that come up first.

“Shouldn’t you be working or something? For someone who has such an important job, you have a lot of time to waste,” I say, putting a hand on my hip, my gaze focused anywhere but his shirtless chest. We’re in Florida so it’s common place for men and boys to run around without shirts on. It’s a beach town. Somehow he makes shirtless seem triple x. From my peripheral vision I see a red bike with a large basket in the front, the same as my cruiser, but larger, and older. “Got a bicycle, huh?”

“Yesterday I ran behind your bike all the way to the airport, remember? This will be a little easier on my lungs. It’s so humid here. How do you deal with it? I feel like a fish, sucking in water with my oxygen.”

Laughing, I let my guard slip. “I don’t know anything else. It’s what I grew up in.”

“You don’t even sweat,” Tyler exclaims, gesturing to my body. It’s true, I don’t. A dewy glow is all I get. Even after a workout, a thick sheen is my sole sweat reward. I heard it’s good to sweat, so it’s not a quality I’m proud of, but it is convenient.

Shrugging, I throw a leg over my bike as daintily as I can with the kitschy dress. “Is that an opening for today’s joke?” I ask. “You don’t have to follow me home today. My daddy isn’t there so you won’t be able to work him.”

I meet his eyes for the first time, and it’s a mistake. “Who said I was trying to work him?”

Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath. “How long are you going to do this?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tyler replies, not missing a beat. “I was just working out yesterday. It’s a free country. I can run anywhere I please.” He grins. I don’t miss the joke. “Are you going to come out for a drink with me tonight?” he asks. “It’s Friday.”

“Oh, there’s the joke. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your impeccable touch.”

Tyler winces, an exaggerated gesture, while flashing—white, perfect teeth and dimples. “That wasn’t a joke, but I didn’t have one for today so it can be if you want.” A bead of sweat slides down his neck and cuts a path down his rippled, tattooed chest. A slow blink cuts my view and I suck in a deep breath.

“What if I get a drink with you? Will you leave me alone and let me make a decision about the airport in peace?”

“I enjoy your company,” he replies, hopping on his bike, facing me. It looks ridiculous. He’s so enormous. His bathing suit is hung so low on his narrow hips I know he’s wearing nothing underneath. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Let me be useful. I saw the paint cans yesterday. I’m a monster with a paint roller. What do you say?”

Even if he’s only paying attention to me because he wants something, I can’t deny how it makes me feel. I’ve never felt like this before. This sort of mix between lusting for something I know is bad for me, and the vulnerability of knowing I don’t have the first clue how to deal with a man like Tyler. He’s sweating everywhere now: face, arms, legs, and his gleaming torso. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes. “You help me paint the harder to reach areas, I get a drink with you, and then you leave me alone. No more bad jokes, or stalking me at work,” I say, waving my arm to the diner, and then back to him.

“Deal. Can we get going now though? If I don’t get some airflow, I’ll melt.”

I smirk, and start peddling for home. His bike squeaks behind me until we reach the hangar. I didn’t lie about my daddy being gone, but I forgot what that would mean. I’d be here by myself with this man. Parking my bike, I try to ignore the flip-flop sensation in my stomach. Tyler reaches over and grabs his shirt out of the basket on his bike. I hold the door open after I unlock it and enter. “You need to grease your bike. It sounds like something out of a horror movie,” I remark, making my way to the office to see if there’s anything pressing I need to deal with. This building has a faint smell of oil covered in the vanilla scent I use to pretend my house is normal—not an airplane hangar.

Tyler uses his t-shirt to towel off the sweat while standing in the office doorway. “I bought it at a yard sale while I was walking to the diner today,” he admits. “I’ll get it fixed up.”

“You sure are adjusting to small town living rather quickly,” I say, thumbing through the stack of mail, eyeing his muscles as be bends to wipe his legs.

I pull out one of the envelopes I know is a bill, and rip into it. “The whole reason I’m here is for a change of pace. I figured it would serve me best if I took full advantage of everything Bronze Bay has to offer.” The double entendre was covered well, but, of course I heard it.

“What’s it like?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity under wraps.

“What’s what like?” Tyler replies, without looking up.

I clear my throat, and hot shame rises for asking something so personal. “The war? Living in a big city? Life outside of here?” It’s personal on my side, too. It rips the small-town girl wide open, showing all my stereotypical cards.

Tyler stands, sighs, and walks away from the doorway, toward the paint cans at the base of the spiral staircase that leads to my home. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he says, picking up the four cans, two in each huge hand and starts up the stairs. “I have to know what a house inside a hangar looks like,” he states, like he’s actually, truly curious.

I follow behind him, grabbing the brushes, rollers, and the bills I need to sort later tonight. “It’s homier than you would think. It’s taken a couple years for me to get it to this point, but I’m living here full time now. Finally out of my parent’s house. They live just over the hill to the east.”

Tyler laughs, and presses himself against the railing so I can get by to unlock the huge, black, iron door. “What’s funny?”

“I guess that everything is so perfect here. It’s like this place is unaffected by everything. It’s hard not to get caught up in the mirage of safety, that’s all. Your town, Bronze Bay is the exception, not the rule. You talk about your parent’s house over the hill, and everyone rides bikes and no one gets shot at and I’m wondering what planet I’m living on.” He shakes his head. “I guess that must be the whole point. Why I’m here instead of back there.” He didn’t say, instead of home, and I wonder what that means.

He inadvertently answered my questions about the war and city life. “Are you trying to be offensive, because like I said, I don’t need your help.” I push open the door and motion for him to enter in first. He does, leaning over to drop the cans by the front door. He keeps his head up as he takes in the huge room before him.

Shaking his head, he says, “Didn’t mean to sound offensive, it’s a big change, that’s all. For me.” His gaze widens as he takes in my pride and joy. People looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was building this apartment, in an airplane hangar, at the airport. They don’t understand me. Not one bit.

The floors are salvaged hardwood from an enormous shed and stable that was destroyed by a hurricane a few years ago. I hauled most of it in here by myself after taking months to sort through it. The walls have been painstakingly lined with brick to make it more secure and the exposed pipework curves around the ceiling like a maze. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says, walking in further to look out of one of the huge back windows. It’s one of my favorite features. It has a view of the runway and I can see planes take-off and land in the distance. There’s green as far as the eye can see, and a sliver of beach off the coast side. The view holds everything I love in a snapshot. Leave it to an outsider to get it.

“I love it,” I admit. “I plan to stay here forever so I wanted it to be perfect.”

His eyebrows raise and lower in surprise. “I can’t say I blame you and that’s pretty shocking.”

I look at him sideways. He’s wearing his sweat soaked shirt. “How is it shocking?”

He shakes his head, as if he’s day dreaming. “No, I didn’t mean it’s shocking you’d want to live here forever. It’s shocking I can understand why. I’ve been everywhere, you know? All over the world and there’s never been a place I’ve wanted to be for longer than a little while. This place is really beautiful,” Tyler says. “I can’t wait to skydive over it.”

Reality crash. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

He shrugs. “We’ll build an airport somewhere else in Bronze Bay then. Figured you’d want the income, though.” He nods to the stack of bills I haven’t put down. I should have known he’d know the debt our business carries. The government knows everything these days.

My face heats under his gaze, and I’m too mad to say anything at all and that fact infuriates me even further.

“Call me Tahoe, by the way. All my friends, do.” Right now I want to call him a string of ugly swear words. He slides a pocket knife out of his shorts pocket and stoops to open a can of white paint, the view and my parent’s house all but forgotten. I have a drop cloth and everything ready to go. “You’re painting all of the brick, white?”

“I’m not your friend so I will call you Tyler, and yes. Start at the top, close to the pipes.”

He pays me no mind and just starts painting. I watch him for a solid fifteen minutes to make sure he’s doing a sufficient job and then retreat to my bathroom to change into a pair of board shorts and a tank top. I throw my hair in a messy bun and try to calm my rage. Why am I so angry?

Because Tyler is right. We do need the money, and my thought process has led me to realize I need to be nice to this man even if his presence makes me madder than a poked rattler.

“I don’t need your help with any of this. I just want to make that clear. You’ve been driving me nuts and I figure this might relieve some of the…annoyance,” I say, when I return mostly so he knows I’m back in his vicinity.

He grunts. “Everyone could use a hand. Even the people who refuse it time and time again.”

“Are you talking about yourself or me?” I say, picking up a clean brush and dipping it into the bright white. “I’ll work on trim.”

Tyler nods. “I’m talking about anyone who the statement can apply to. I’m really not big into talking,” he says, flicking his gaze down to meet mine. A shiver rakes my whole body.

I laugh nervously. “Okay. Are you some kind of robot? How do you live without speaking to other humans?”

He sighs. “All the humans I’m surrounded with don’t ask me questions…like that,” he explains. “It’s easy that way. Less complicated. You seem like an uncomplicated person and you also seem like you could use a hand.”

Carefully, and slowly, on my knees, I brush the baseboards until the standard cream color turns white. I’m not sure if being uncomplicated is a compliment or an insult, and I think it was a purposeful tactic used to confuse me even further. “Maybe if you talked more you wouldn’t be here,” I say, trying to engage in a different direction. It’s rude to dodge questions, but he didn’t ask any questions. Not flat out, anyways.

“It might be a good thing I’m here,” he replies almost before the statement left my mouth.

“I talk all the time and my life is easy,” I argue.

He grins, it’s sharp and full of an emotion I can’t put my finger on. “I think you just proved my point, darling. That said, it seems your life isn’t well rounded either. You don’t have a boyfriend or he’d be here rolling paint, and you have a hard time making decisions.”

My brush drops into the paint tray. “Excuse me? I make thoughtful decisions. You’re just a brute and a bully.” I have to remind myself how this man got inside my house to begin with.

“Ah, so no boyfriend. Gotcha’. What happened? Was it him or was he just not that into you?” he grins.

“I didn’t invite you in to let you insult me,” I snarl. “You annoyed your way in here. The least you can do is act like a civil gentleman!”

He drops his roller so the end hits the floor and faces me. “I didn’t come here to be interviewed,” Tyler replies, and his eyes narrow as he lets his gaze slide from the top of my head down to my feet, leaving a trail of fire on my skin. “And I’m not civilized.” Tyler licks his lips, then shakes his head. “Not anything even close to a gentleman, either.” He leans his head to one side and then the other, like he’s stretching after a workout. I’m left breathless, in a state so unfamiliar, my body feels like a traitorous enemy.

“Why did you come here?” I raise on brow, challenging him to do something he doesn’t want to do. Talk. And because I’m breathless, wondering how in the world this man can affect me so swiftly when no other man in the past has, and surely they’ve tried, right?

He pauses, stares me down once again, and then turns away and starts painting again. I clear my throat and sigh to the roof. “Boyfriends take time. Time is precious to me. I’d rather be doing other things. Like flying planes or working on engines, or helping my parents. It’s my choice to be single, and quite honestly I enjoy doing house projects on my own,” I say, slinging one hand on my hip. “Key words: on my own.”

He nods, his face thoughtful and dips the roller again. A drop of white paint lands on his burly, tattooed forearm. I watch it slide a few centimeters as he works the roller up and down.

“I came here because it’s fun to…annoy you, and believe it or not, I don’t have very many friends here,” he replies, smiling. That brings my gaze to his face.

Pressing my lips together I remark, “You don’t say? Most people respond better to kindness than intimidation. Just for your information.” I offer him something to drink and he declines, I offer him to sit down on the sofa and take a breather and he declines. I give up on trying to talk to him or trying to get anything more from him than an arm with a paint roller in it.

After I finish painting the baseboard against the longest wall, I start making dinner. “Are you hungry?” I call across the room. It’s an open floor plan. One huge room with everything except my bed and bathroom which is behind a half wall in the far corner. My damn southern hospitality kicks in as I envision my mother telling me to be a good host.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Tyler replies, appearing from the side. “Please, that is. If you’re cooking. I would love to eat.” His smile widens, then he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Before he sees me blush, I look away. “So you’re nice when I leave you alone for a while? Noted. I was going to make a grilled chicken salad,” I explain, opening the fridge, and then the freezer just to see what supplies I have. “Is that okay?” I pull the ingredients out before he has time to respond.

“Not so much leaving me alone, more about talking about things I’m agreeable to.”

“Food is okay to talk about, but anything personal is off limits?” I ask. “Where I come from it’s rude to be in male company without a buffer. I don’t even know you, other than you want to take my airport from me. I feel like you should offer me something of substance.” I light the pilot on my oven and pull out two plates from above the sink. Tyler’s gaze pierces through me. “Or you can stand there and stare at me like a creep,” I add on, opening the drawer for the silverware I’ll need.

I feel him then, his body heat against my back. Tyler smells like dried sweat and a faint hint of sweetness mixed with paint. I swallow hard. “I told you I’m not a gentleman, Caroline. I don’t play by the rules. For me, there are no rules, just what I want and what you’re willing to give me.”

I spin to face him and I lose my breath. He looms large, his massive chest at eye level, his crystal blue eyes challenging me—taunting me. “You can’t have my airport,” I say.

Tyler throws his head back and laughs, his muscular neck widening and rippling as I watch in awe. “What do you want to know?” he asks, when he finally stops laughing.

Folding my arms across my chest, I ask, “Are you making fun of me?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” Backing away from me, he releases me from his masculine spell. How confusing, how embarrassing.

“Tell me the basics. Where are you from, your family, you know? Typical things friends discuss.”

“You said you weren’t my friend.” Tyler tilts his head to the side, hitting me with a smarmy grin.

My stomach flips, and my heart rattles against my chest. He saves me from responding by humming briefly. “I am the product of the Navy. My dad served and we moved all over the world while I was growing up. The longest time I’ve ever been somewhere was when I lived in San Diego, after I became a SEAL. The Teams gave me my first true home. The brotherhood provided me with the only siblings I’ll ever have. My Dad is retired now and him and my Mom live in Northern California.” Tyler pauses. “I visit them every once in a while, but they know my life. They respect my decision, so they’re less needy than other families.” He leans against the counter with one large hand, his fingers tracing the edge of the white marble.

I swallow, surprised by his honesty. “You weren’t lying about traveling everywhere, were you?”

He laughs, shakes his head, and then leans his back against the spot where his hand just was.

“No girlfriend then? You’d be rolling paint at her house if you had one.”

Biting his lip, he blinks slowly. “Well played,” he replies. “I saw how the military broke families. I’ve avoided as many relationships as I possibly could because of that first-hand knowledge.” His face changes, then. Almost like the guard he keeps in place wilted a touch by telling me something personal. I can tell he wasn’t lying before, he doesn’t talk about this kind of stuff. “I like to keep things simple now.” He drums his fingers on the stone behind him.

After an awkward pause he tells me a story about how as a young child he rode a subway alone to school when he was in Japan. I marvel at his tale. With my interest, he continues to tell me tales of his amazing life. His bravery transcends that which most would label brave. His stories are surreal given my limited experience with traveling. He can tell I’m eating up every word because he keeps talking, keeps my mind spinning. Sometimes he uses his arms when he talks and he reminds me of Thor, or some WWE wrestler because he looks so big in here—like maybe a horse or a bear found its way into a house on accident.

I serve the salads on large plates and set them on the table. He watches me move, and I’m a little less self-conscious as time passes. I still hate him and what he stands for, but I guess he’s not the most horrible of company. Especially when he’s telling me cool stories.

“Grab a couple napkins from the holder behind you, Tahoe, and give me a month to decide” I ask almost on an impulse, trying my best to keep a grin off my face.

He nods, turns and grabs the napkins, and smiles, his face aimed at the floor, all the way to the table.