Neera:What are you callingit?
Cole:I'm not. I'm just going about my life without agonizing over titles and hierarchy. There are more importantthings.
Neera:Suchas?
Cole:Now that I think about it, there is something you cando.
Neera:I see you haven't lost your skill fordeflection.
Cole:I'm going to send you a list of NGOs in need of some signal boosting. Some oceanic conservation nonprofits. Make it big but not connected tome.
Neera:I'll get right onit.
* * *
Owen raiseda hand toward the setting sun, waving at a passing lobster boat. The captain returned thegesture.
"That's the O'Keefe boat," he said, tipping his chin toward the green and white vessel. "They live north oftown."
He ran his hand over my shoulder and I leaned into his touch. It was different now that we weren't working our asses off to avoid each other as a poor form of lust concealment. I enjoyed the easy affection he offered, and the freedom to reach for him whenever I wanted. It was a weightlessness I'd never before experienced, and it forced me to realize the ways in which I'd narrowed my life back inCalifornia.
I didn't date, I didn't flirt, I didn't have sex. There was no romance, no intimacy. I'd convinced myself I needed it that way. My existence was far too complex to add any human variables, and I was hardened by the fear of betrayal. Books featuring the sordid details of my company's inner workings—and my colorful leadership style—routinely landed on bestseller lists. Click-baity blogs went crazy every time I dined at a restaurant, splashing photos of me and my party. They'd make ridiculous comments about the people I was with and analyze the hell out of my meal. If they were lucky, they'd get a quote from a server about how much of an asshole I was thatnight.
There was no room in my world—the world I left in Silicon Valley—for a simple relationship. I couldn't determine whether I could change that world, make room. Whether Owen would be able to carry the weight of that world on his broadshoulders.
If I indulged in fanciful thoughts, I'd allow myself to believe I was meant to find Owen, and Talbott's Cove. I was meant to lose my title, leave California under the cover of PR bullshit, and nearly crash my boat on Maine's rockycoast.
If any of that was true and not merely the thing of fairy tales and dreams, I was also meant to tell Owen the truth about me and trust that his feelings wouldn't ebb. All this time in this cozy seaside town, all that had changed between us, and I still hadn't put my cards on the table with Owen. Not the ones that mattered, the ones revealing my trueidentity.
But it wasn't for lack oftrying.
There was always something. An important ball game. A town council meeting. A breakthrough on one of my projects. A debate about nothing. A devious grin that turned into blowjobs behind the boat's bridge. Of course I could've put a stop to everything and forced him to listen but I didn't. With each passing day, it became more difficult to speak the truth when I'd let it linger in the shadows all thistime.
When I was in college, one of my professors liked to say, "The longer you put off a task, the harder it is to get started." I couldn't remember the class but that adage stuck with me. I couldn't stop thinking about it, and watching the interest compound on this long overdueconversation.
"It's Thursday," I murmured. "Annette's staying open late foryou."
Owen squeezed my shoulder, and I rubbed my cheek against his knuckles. "Don't remindme."
"Come on," I said, laughing. "You're a tough guy. You can handle a sweet little book mistress who hides her fangs incrediblywell."
"Not sure about that," he said under his breath. "The fangs, that is. She's a nice lady. She meanswell."
"Another one with the good intentions." I ran my hand down his back and slipped beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. "I'm sure there's a nice guy—one who likes vag—who will make her veryhappy."
Owen snickered. "Add that to your list of projects. Get on the dating websites and find Annette's perfect match. I'm sure you can make a spreadsheet or something. All scientific." He shifted to face me, a thoughtful wrinkle across his brow. "What are you working on? You never talk about yourprojects."
I cut my gaze toward the ocean as I answered, "Nothing you'd find interesting. Interfaces and apps, that kind ofthing."
That was the truth. Mostly. It wasn't inaccurate. It only omitted a fewdetails.
He nodded and turned his attention to the boat's controls as we headed in the direction of the fish market. I kept my hand on his back, right up against the strong dip where his torso disappeared under his shorts. I loved dragging my fingers through the dark patch of hairthere.
"I am interested," he said quietly. "Just because I don't do the internet thing doesn't mean I don't care about yourwork."
"Oh," I managed, the sound sticking in my throat like a fish bone. "Oh, I know. I didn't mean tosuggest—"
"You didn't," he interrupted, his words tempered with charity and patience. Two things Owen rarely offered. Two things I didn't deserve. "I know I've been something of an ogre about my low-tech lifestyle, and I'm sure it made you feel as though I didn't value your work." He stared at the docks in the distance as he chose his words. "I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome in any way. I'msorry."
