She smiled. “Yeah, never better.”
The drive to the ferry was peaceful, precisely what she needed after the flashback at the hardware store, which had felt like an exorcism of sorts. Noah talked about his sister’s culinary accomplishmentsand how she’d been a finalist onElite Chef. And how, as kids, they baked, grilled, and roasted together to mute the noise of a toxic and dysfunctional household. Dahlia wanted to reciprocate and share more about her early years, but she wasn’t ready. Instead, she fixed on the fact that two siblings were part of the reality TV world.
“So, reality TV, huh. You and your sister, that’s interesting.” She planned to wait, but this was a great segue into finding out more.
A wide, toothy grin emerged. “Have you seen the show?’
“Which one?”
“Mine.” He laughed, driving onto the ferry.
“No, I haven’t, but it sounds fun. A home renovation show with young, beautiful singles.”
“Fun for some, I suppose.” He let out a long sigh. “But yes, pretty crazy that we both ended up on reality shows. Honestly, it was a coincidence. Though, looking back, I suppose we were both in search of something.”
Dahlia turned to face him. “How did you even land it?”
“There was a casting call in Denver, and a friend had convinced me to go, since I had a construction background.” He glanced her way, but it lacked the typical warmth. It was obvious it was a touchy subject. “That was five years ago.”
Dahlia was sure it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. She also wondered about the friend and if it was her. And that was that—no mention of his ex, what happened, or if he’d go back. And Dahlia didn’t push. In many ways, he was like her. She had to feel comfortable before she shared the deeper layers of herself. And that came from building trust. So, for now, she’d let it go.
Noah jumped out and watched the approaching coastline from the edge of the ferry boat. Dahlia snapped a few more pictures, feeling one with the quintessential summer day. The brief ride gave her a chance to appreciate his backside, which, no surprise, stilllooked mighty firm. She also noticed a tattoo on his calf, just above the line of his boots, that she hadn’t seen before. It was a paw print, most likely of his dog, Nemo. She felt herself staring, her brows furrowed at this complicated yet kind and rugged man. She wondered how anyone couldn’t appreciate him. He turned around and so did she, pretending to look for something in her purse.
“You ready?” Noah asked, jumping into his truck. “You’re going to love Gretchen.”
“I have no doubt.” She meant it. Anyone who was related to Noah had to be just as kind and genuine.
“Just whatever you do, don’t ask about her love life.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t.” Dahlia pulled back. “I would never. But now you have to spill.”
“Well, in a nutshell. Her ex left her after COVID when she decided she wanted to live out here permanently. Sophie returned to the city with their dog, and my sister stayed. She was crushed. She still is. A little bitter too.”
Dahlia fidgeted with her dress. She knew a thing or two about being bitter. “The woes of unrequited love.”
“Tell me about it. The sad thing is, they still love each other, but Sophie loves the excitement of the city more.” He tsked. “They just weren’t in the same place in life.”
“Timing. It’s everything.” Dahlia paused, watching him command the wheel. She thought about all the unhappily ever afters, hers being one of them. As guarded as Dahlia was, she was hopeful for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The gate to her garden was unlatched, so to speak, and it was anyone’s guess how far it could open.
“Isn’t that the truth?” His glance lingered on hers, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up.
They drove off the ferry up the hill, passing the line of cars waiting for the next ferry. The smell of diesel eased into notes ofsunblock and low tide. The tennis courts and park were both vacant. The ideal beach day had come to a close, and it was the interlude before dinner. Dahlia leaned her whole head out the window and gazed at the beautifully maintained gingerbread-style houses, each one prettier than the last.
Noah turned down a narrow street, barely wide enough for his truck, and stopped in front of the quaintest front porch she’d ever seen. It had hand-carved tulip-like railings and a bright blue ceiling.
“What’s this?” Dahlia asked with eagerness.
“I want you to hear something.” He turned to her. “Close your eyes.”
The way he whispered it made her heart skip. “Okay.”
“And listen.”
Melodic sounds mingled with the sweet evening air. Dahlia didn’t know where the music was coming from, but she would know that song anywhere. Her grin widened as she soaked in the full package of summer flavors. “I know this one; it’s ‘Je Cherche un Homme,’ ” Dahlia said in her very rusty French accent. “My grandparents would dance to this all the time. Especially on Sundays while Gran made her famous roast,” she said with an unfocused gaze. “They were adorable.”
“That’s sweet. What’s the translation?”
Dahlia could feel her cheeks grow ruddier by the nanosecond. She pursed her lips together and said, “I Want a Man.” Hoping to change the subject, she leaned toward him and looked out his window, “Is anyone out there? On the porch, I mean?” She turned to him; his eyes were the color of the Caribbean, and tiny chestnut whiskers sparkled in his mustache. She could feel his breath, and the pulse in her neck beat wildly. Dahlia wondered at that moment what it would feel like to kiss his cowboy mouth.
