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.”