“Never. When I come to Cannon Beach, I usually stick to the cottage. I do the outdoorsy stuff and keep to myself.”
A server poured them water, then took their drink orders. Soda for him, Prosecco for her.
“Like cold dips?” she asked when they were alone again. She shuddered, and he smiled.
“Yes. But also surfing, hiking, and mountain biking.” He shrugged. “I like that I get to do that when I’m here.”
Vanessa studied him over the rim of her glass as she sipped. “Do you like being alone?”
He was distracted from answering when the waiter returned with their drinks. Then, he was able to avoid her question again as they perused the menus.
It wasn’t until after they’d placed their orders that she regarded him again. “What is it about being alone that you like so much?”
The candlelight flickered across her face, and she looked so beautiful he wanted to freeze-frame the picture in front of him, so he never forgot it. Not that he ever could. This memory of her would be one he carried to his dying day.
“It’s quieter.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose in silent encouragement for him to elaborate.
He sighed heavily. “I was always surrounded by noise. The walls in the apartment we lived in after dad died were so thin you could hear babies crying, people shouting, and cars driving by day and night. After that gang life was a deafening chorus of cursing and fighting and gunshots.” He shifted in the swanky chair. “Prison was—” He hated talking about prison with her. It was too vile, too dark, too unholy to touch her. “It’s the worst noise I’ve ever experienced. Evenwhen I was alone, it was never quiet.” His stomach clenched as memories invaded.
As if she could sense his inner turmoil, Vanessa entwined her fingers in his. Her thumb stroked lightly across his scarred knuckles.
He cleared his throat. “I got used to being alone in my cell. I actually came to like it, as fucked up as that sounds. The time they made us spend communally was the worst. I hated socializing and talking to the other inmates.” Her fingers were so slim against his, the hand of royalty clasped in the paw of a monster. “I did my work assignments, went to all my therapy sessions, and finished my GED. I got out early for good behavior, but I wasn’t especially good. I wanted to do my time and get the fuck out of there.”
“I can’t imagine,” she whispered.
He lifted his gaze from their joined hands, catching hers over the candlelight. “You should never have to.”
For a long moment, their gazes locked. Compassion shimmered in her eyes, and he drank in every drop of her goodness.
“It was the prison chaplain who made me believe I could live a different life when I got out. I met him at the library once a week. He and Dex were the only ones who kept me sane until I was released.”
“And what kept you sane after?” Her voice was soft, curious.
“It was touch and go for a while,” he admitted. In the weeks and months after being released, his mental health had hung on a prayer. “I went to see that pastor regularly at his church after I got out. He was a connection to the familiar routine I’d left. I hated prison. Fucking hated it, but it was all I knew, day in and day out for years. Then suddenly, I was out in the world again. No connection to mypast. My mom was dead. My brother was gone. I had disassociated myself from the gang. I was alone. So much didn’t make sense anymore.” It was the darkest time of his life. “I went to my parole meetings, got menial jobs, saved whatever money I could. Until the day Ivy called me out of the blue and invited me to come to Portland to see my brother. That call changed my whole life.”
“I’m glad she contacted you.” Vanessa’s eyes shone brightly and earnestly.
He lifted her palm to his lips and held her gaze with everything he had. “Me too.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
This was by far the best Valentine’s Day she’d ever had. Occasionally, she caught a wave of scent from the rose on her corsage, and she couldn’t help but smile, imagining Jordan in a flower shop picking something out for her. Since they hadn’t had much time apart in the last three days, she figured he must have snuck out while she was sleeping. The thought of him stealthily planning Valentine’s surprises for her made her heart flutter in a way it never had before.
She was used to people admiring her, putting her on pedestals, and spending money on her. But she was less used to someone going out of his way to make her feel truly special.
When their food arrived, the waiter handed her the Tuscan salad she ordered, and Jordan eyed it without a word. His steak and lobster looked decadent, but she still had the biggest fashion show of her life coming up in a few days. It was time to buckle down.
While they ate, the conversation was light and easy.Jordan peppered her with questions, everything from what her favorite movie was to her travels. He’d never left the United States, and she realized what a privilege it was to do so.
She’d grown up with hardworking immigrant parents, but they’d always put money aside for the odd trips back to Italy to visit relatives. When her modeling career had taken off, she’d traveled to France, Italy, and Japan several times a year.
His earlier stories about his upbringing and prison were eye-opening, heartbreaking, and humbling. That he trusted her with a piece of himself, one he didn’t share with many, was something she did not take for granted.
But this easy flow of banter was also comforting. Normal. Desirable. She imagined cozy nights with him in the cottage, cooking comfort food and talking. Watching movies with her feet on his lap and making love late into the night on the king-sized bed.
When she thought of those things, she never wanted to leave. But then she remembered everything. Her career, what Kurt had taken from her, what her stalker was trying to take, and she knew she couldn’t walk away from it all to live in a beach house with her gentle giant. Reality was calling, and it was getting louder.
