Waves crash as we let the silence stay taut between us. I concentrate on a drop of water dripping from a tendril of his salty hair. My breathing stops being a subconscious function.
“Come to my house,” Declan says, breaking us out of our reverie.
“What?” I blurt.
“I’ll show you how I renovated it. And you can ask me anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.” His voice is gravelly and sure.
Butterflies start a war in my stomach, and I try to call a ceasefire.
“Meet you there?” I ask.
“Meet you there.” He nods, and I catch a grin blooming on his face as he stands.
Chapter 20
Watching Declan thread his wet suit through a rung on the roof of his car makes me feel like a voyeur, spectating the routine he’s clearly gone through hundreds of times. His hair is mussed from half-dry salt water and his face looks refreshed. When he’s done, he motions for me to follow him to his front door, and I stare at his relaxed posture as he ambles up the driveway.
He fits the lock in the door and swings it open. “And here it is!” he says in a dry, theatrical voice with the flourish of his hand.
I gasp. If Declan was a house, this is exactly what he wouldlook like. Smooth, cherry wood. Low, angular ceiling. Exposed beams. A living room filled with chairs made to lounge in. Not sit. Lounge. I can picture him sprawled out in the leather recliner with his head balanced in his hand, pencil behind his ear as he stared at a blueprint. “This is—” I shake my head. “Gorgeous.”
“Oh, thank you,” he chuckles warmly. “Please, come on in. Make yourself at home.”
Taking my shoes off at the door, my eyes scan the small dining room that leads to the living room to the left. There’s a deep, wine-colored couch and leather recliner bracketing a cobblestone fireplace. A woodsy scent envelops my senses. It smells like him. Everywhere.
“So.” Declan strides to the mantel above the fireplace and takes down a framed photo. “This is what the inside looked like originally if you want to give that a look.”
I follow him into the living room and take the photo from his hands.
“As you can see, I didn’t change too much. The house had these great mid-century modern bones with this spunky-looking roof. They call it a butterfly roof.” He leans in to tell me that fun fact like he’s letting me in on a secret, and I feel heat creep into my face. “So, I just added the wood paneling to the living room and kitchen walls, stained the floors darker, added some new cobblestones to this fireplace. I did some touch-ups in the bathrooms, but other than that, it’s the same.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “And you did that all by yourself?”
“Yeah, pretty much. It was a fun way to stay occupied,” he replies, voice low and resonate. “Maybe this will give you some inspiration for what you could do to your house. It’s a different style, obviously, but it could use about the same amount ofwork. Or not. You could move in and fix it up as you go. And I would help you out. Either way.”
Your house.
He sounds eager for me to move in. The amount of hope that gives me causes a swift dose of panic to follow. Why did I feel so affected by him wanting me to stay in Seabrook? But maybe the answer was simple. He was my best friend, then. He could be my best friend now. And I was craving that sense of being known so often lately. Perhaps I was just feeling the comfort of having someone who knew me so intimately back in my life.
“And you said you moved in two years ago, right?”
“Yup. Just about.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, smiling at me to encourage my eager question-asking. He did say I could ask anything.
“And how…” I trail off, ping-ponging my eyes through the space again. Without being so forthright, I want to ask him how he afforded it. It was easy to forget my lack of access to him now.
“And how did I swing it?” he guesses, reading me like a book.
I press my lips together, looking caught, and nod.
He exhales while grabbing hold of the doorway, and the way he leans with his arms stretched above him causes a patch of skin between his shirt and jeans to flash. I grit my teeth, looking away.
He smiles. “Are you hungry, by chance? After surfing, I’m gonna require a meal before rehashing that whole story.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, I could eat.”
