“Can’t fault him for being the man of the house. Hi, Bagel.”
The rabbit didn’t respond. He chin-marked Everett’s shoe, then a low growl escaped his cute mouth. She locked down her grin when Everett tried to move back, face a bit shocked at the primal sound. “Did he just—”
“Growl? Yeah. I didn’t know rabbits did that until I got him. He’s more bark than bite.”
On cue, Bagel turned deliberately and presented a small, fluffy backside. Then walked off.
“Wow,” Everett said. “That felt personal.”
“To him it was.” She grabbed a wineglass for herself and a low-cut tumbler for him. “I got him as a rescue after my dad passed. The moment I read the Facebook post I drove directly to the shelter and took him home.”
Everett cocked his head. “What did it say?”
“It’s over there on the wall. I framed it.”
He headed to the framed print and read it.
Bagel has the eyes of a haunted Victorian child that creepily whispers your name down an empty hallway. He’s cousins with Bigfoot, which you could probably tell based on his whole “I look like I live in the woods and have strong opinions about hikers” vibe. Oh, and he’s looking for a new family to haunt. So don’t turn your back.
The family dog couldn’t handle a roommate who stares at corners like he’s in deep negotiations with spirits trapped in the wallpaper. Bagel is a man of mystery after all, and mystery is intimidating.
If you’re ready to open your home to someone that will devour all your veggies and possibly your soul, Bagel is your guy.
Everett burst into laughter. “Oh, Kelsey has to see this. It’s priceless. I might have scooped him up, too.”
She went to the freezer and took out the special ice cubes, then used the tongs to drop them into the glass. Everett closed the distance, watching her from behind the counter. “You have whiskey cubes?”
“It’s first-class all the way tonight, Suit. My dad loved a good whiskey, so he bought a kit. I can appreciate the finer things in life.”
“You just keep surprising me.” His voice reached out, low and intimate.
Rowan handed him the glass. Their fingers brushed, and heat zapped through her like static electricity.
They sipped their drinks, staring at each other over the rims. “Would you tell me about him? Your dad?”
She could’ve been glib or waved off the question. She didn’t. “He was loud and tender and always hungry. He could fix anything except the things you can’t. He believed waves were teachers and people were worth the trouble. He would’ve liked you and insulted your shirt in the same breath.”
A corner of his mouth kicked. “Good man.”
“The best.” The flash of memory warmed rather than punished. “I’ve been living here like he’s still going to walk in trailing sand.”
“How long ago did he pass?”
“Just over a year.” A year of standing still and never-ending grief. But change hung heavy in the air, and Rowan wondered if she was ready to step out of her comfort zone.
His voice was mild, yet his gaze dove deep. “Do you miss surfing?”
She took a sip of wine and told the truth. “Every day. Every moment. As bad as I miss my dad.”
Everett didn’t rush to fill the space. Just inclined his head, accepting her answer. Somehow, it gave her space to breathe because there was no rush to explain or think too hard.
“The shop is safe. It keeps me near it without going in.”
The cubes in his glass tinkled as he wandered to the wall and looked at the framed heat sheet where her name was printed next to a score that used to mean everything. “Kelsey told me you call it listening to the water,” he said. “That you tell her the ocean doesn’t like being bullied.”
“She repeats things well.” Rowan rested a hip against the counter. “She’s brave.”
“She is,” he said. Then, after a beat: “I told you her mother left when she was four.”
