"What was it like? Being in the Marines. Force Recon, specifically."
Wyatt's brows lift. "It was intense. Eight years of constant adrenaline, deployments I can't talk about, life-or-death situations on a regular basis." He rotates his water glass, watching the ice shift. "You train for years to be the best, to handle impossible situations, to never break. And then one dayyou're out of the Corps, and all that training doesn't apply to civilian life. It’s hard for a lot of guys to make that transition."
The lost look on his face makes my chest tighten. "Is that why you came back to Pelican Point?"
"Partly. My grandmother left me her house when she passed, and I needed somewhere to regroup. To figure out what came next." He meets my gaze. "Starting Recon Roasters gave me roots and some stability. The precision required in roasting is similar to what I did in the military, but now I create something people enjoy."
His raw and honest tone melts whatever resistance I had. "That makes sense. Creating versus destroying."
"Exactly." He takes a sip of water. "What about you?"
"You’ve already heard my story. Colorado was great to learn about beer, but Pelican Point is home. It's where I wanted to put my brewery, and the perfect opportunity opened right when I needed it."
"The Sassy Siren is impressive, Merri. You should be proud of what you’ve built."
"Thanks." I pick at my napkin, uncomfortable with his praise. "It's been hard. Starting a business from scratch and competing with established breweries in the area. But I love it."
"I get that. Creating something from nothing is terrifying and exhilarating."
"Exactly." I smile. It’s nice to be understood.
The pizza arrives, and we dig in, our conversation flowing easily between bites. We talk about everything—our businesses, the competition, Danny.
"Oh, wow," I say, after glancing at the clock on the wall. "We've been here for three hours."
Wyatt checks his watch, surprised. "Huh. So we have."
"And with no insult in sight," I tease.
"Not one," he agrees, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Are we broken?"
"Possibly. Or maybe…" I stop, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Maybe we're just getting to know each other. As actual people instead of practiced enemies."
"What a terrifying thought."
"Terrifying," he agrees. "But maybe not entirely bad."
Our eyes lock, and the air between us turns charged and impossibly complicated.
"We should probably go," I murmur. "Before the waitstaff starts charging us rent."
"Probably."
But neither of us moves.
Rosa appears with the check, saving us from whatever moment we were about to have. Wyatt pays, and we head out into the warm Florida night. The drive back to my house is quiet, but it's not uncomfortable. When he pulls up to my curb, he puts the truck in park but doesn't turn off the engine.
"Thanks for dinner," I comment. "It was nice."
"Yeah. It was." He turns to me, his expression serious. "Merri, I?—"
My heart stumbles. I'm not ready. Whatever words are forming behind those blue eyes, I can feel their weight from here, and I'm not ready to carry them yet.
"Don't." I put my hand on his arm, stopping him. "Whatever you're about to say, just not yet. Okay?"
His eyes shoot to my hand on his arm, then back to my face. "Okay."
