“It doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere right now, anyway.” He moves to the window and a bright flash of lightning slices through the sky. “This looks like it’s going to be a doozy. We’ve been having some crazy storms recently.”
The panic must be wiped right across my face, because he quickly adds, “You’re welcome to stay here, of course. My office doubles as a guest room and has a double bed. There’s a lock on the door too—pretty sure a family with a privacy-seeking teenager lived here before I did.”
He’s trying to make me comfortable. Considering how I might feel staying overnight with a complete stranger. The thing is—and maybe it’s the salt water messing with me—there’s something trustworthy about him.
“Thank you,” I say, honestly relieved. A few more hours to breathe before facing my old life feels like a mercy.
He puts on a movie—something about a chess player—and I’m grateful not to have to make small talk while the early evening turns to night.
Shortly after nine o’clock, Ryan hands me two towels and a glass of water for the night. Then he rummages under the bathroom sink and pulls out a new toothbrush stamped withWild Rose Point Dental. “Made it in the no-cavity club again,” he says, grinning as he hands it over.
I can’t help but smile. “Congrats.”
Chapter 3
RYAN
The storm continues through the night, and there’s a chance Poseidon’s fury might get unleashed on my cottage, so I don’t sleep a second. Marshall, who’s generally okay through a storm, is equally unsettled, and alternates between pacing around my bed and whining at the door. I never usually close it at night, but it felt like the right thing to do to give Sloane some extra privacy.
His whine gets louder.
“Okay, okay,” I say, sliding out of the bed. I’ll get him a treat, then hopefully he’ll settle.
Bleary-eyed, I pad to the kitchen and almost have a heart attack when I all but crash into Sloane, who yelps at our near-collision.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I’m suddenly aware that I’m shirtless, which adds another layer to this awkward moment.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Sloane says.
“I don’t blame you,” I say over the faint sound of Sloane’s stomach rumbling, audible even through the din of the storm outside. She looks exhausted.
“Why don’t I make us a snack?” I offer. “Just, uh, let me put a shirt on.”
Marshall seems very happy at this turn of events. He follows me to my room, panting happily, then when we return to thekitchen, he sits right next to Sloane. I guess I’m in charge of snacks.
I open the fridge, now keenly aware that what’s on offer is embarrassingly…bachelor-esque. “Grilled cheese okay?” I ask. I at least had the wherewithal to pick up some fresh bread at the market yesterday, and there’s a hunk of decent aged cheddar.
“Sounds great,” Sloane says. “Can I help?”
I don’t need her help, but I appreciate the offer. “Want to slice that tomato?” I say. “Knives are on the block there.”
We start to prepare the sandwiches. Luckily, the sound of the storm is enough to prevent the silence between us from getting awkward. When I glance over at her, the tomato has been nicely sliced and now Marshall is in heaven with the pets he’s getting.
“You’ve found his favorite spot,” I say.
“He’s a real sweetheart,” she said. “I want a dog one day. Or a cat. Or one of each.”
“You’ve never had a pet?” I asked.
“We bought a condo that doesn’t allow pets,” she said. I wonder who that decision had belonged to.
I tip the grilled cheese onto two plates and carry them to the table.
“Thank you,” she says. “You’ve gone out of your way.”
It’s a small thing, but it strikes me that she’s acknowledging something as simple as a sandwich. With Calista, my ex, gratitude had always felt conditional, something offered when I got things right. Not because I’d made a sandwich.
True, Sloane does owe me some gratitude, I suppose. But the way she holds up her sandwich as though to cheers mine, it feels like this small moment is a celebration.
