She must be a ghost. No woman that gorgeous spends one minute in a bikini without a man tied to her hip, guarding her like a rabid watchdog. If she were mine, I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. No fucking way would I tolerate random perverts in coffee shops getting hard while they watched my girl innocently retouch her lip gloss.
There’s no use dwelling on it for now. For the second night in a row, I’ve come out to sit on the sand and watch the sunset alone. It isn’t so bad. I’m a lucky man blessed with a fortunate life. Maybe I was wrong about this girl. She looked young. Perhaps only a few years older than my daughter. Is that what I want? Can I handle being attached to someone almost half my age?
Fuck, yes.
If it’s her, yes. I’ll deal with it. I can’t get her out of my mind. There was something so familiar about her. Those wide hazel eyes pierced my soul. Her warm smile danced on my heart. Every inch of her haunts me like a dream I can’t forget. I feel like I’ve known her for years and yet, I’ve never felt anything like this before. I need to find her. I need to make this happen or she’ll become my biggest regret. And I have enough of those.
Next time I see her, I’m not holding back. I’m not dawdling like a frightened schoolboy too paralyzed to chase the girl of his dreams.
She’s the one. I know it as sure as I know my own name.
And I’m not blowing my second chance.
Six
Tessa
Early in our friendship, Olivia and I discovered both our families had homes by the shore. We were thrilled. And after weeks of begging, we convinced our parents to bring us at the same time. I had the easier task. My parents were secretly planning their divorce and willing to give me whatever I wanted. Poor Olivia had to resort to faking a nervous breakdown. It was subtle enough not to send her to the looney bin and it forced her parents to finally agree on something.
She needed a real summer vacation away from the city.
Despite her deceitful shenanigans, we had the time of our lives. For ten days we frolicked by the shore, worked on our tans, listened to our dads argue about the best way to barbecue, and laughed about our mother’s simmering hostilities.
We agreed her mom was at fault.
My mother might be overprotective and overbearing, but she’s as sweet as pie. Olivia’s is a holy terror. When she wasn’t tearing into her husband for some perceived slight, she was nagging her daughter to death about showing off too much skin in her one-piece bathing suit and calling me a slut under her breath for wearing a bikini. Dr. Young played referee. He defended his daughter, sweetly complimented my suit but never stuck up for himself.
Even though it’s been six years since I’ve seen their house, I’ll never forget where it sits on the beach. I still see it perfectly in my mind. My heart swells every time I remember him standing in his trunks or running into the water for a swim. He was magnificent. That was the summer my lovesick heart fluttered away for good.
Olivia’s pregnancy brain has been my friend. She acts like her Dad’s vacation came out of left field, but she spoke about it weeks ago. She mentioned the shore, but never said which one. I’m the idiot who didn’t ask for details. The east coast is full of beaches. Why revisit the ugly memories he made here, when he could start fresh at Martha’s Vineyard or Cape May? But I have a hunch he’s here.
There are no guarantees. Even if he’s here, there’s a slim chance he’ll be outside at dusk. It’s just a feeling attached to an old memory I keep close to my heart. On those warm summer nights six years ago, I watched Olivia’s father from their guest bedroom window, sitting out on the beach lost in thought. Every evening he’d gaze at the sun setting over the water and every night I’d fall asleep dreaming of the day I could join him.
As I tread closer to the beach near their house, my stomach tightens with unease. Six years of anxious unrequited love shatter my heart. If he’s not there, if the house looks deserted, I’ll have no recourse. I could spend months or years waiting for another chance that might never come.
Fearing I’ll lose my mind, I pick up the pace, stumble through loose sand and jump for joy when I spot a house light. Excitement courses through my veins. I want to run proclaiming my undying love, but I temper my expectations. I need to be sensible.
After all, nothing’s for certain.
Lights aren’t a sure thing. It could just as easily be Olivia’s mom or grandparents. And if that’s who I spot through the kitchen window, my world will come crashing down around my feet. There’s no need to rush my destruction. But this is a good sign. I have hope and that’s better than nothing.
As I approach the house with painfully slow steps, a tall shadow catches my eye. My skin prickles with premonition as I spot a lone figure on the sand. It’s a man. He’s lying on a towel, shirtless and wet, staring up at the sky.
Oh, my God, it’s him. I think it’s him. Dear God, it’s really him.
I skid to a halt. My tummy twists as my pulse quickens to a reckless pace. He hasn’t seen me in years. Not since I moved away. Not since I was fifteen years old and hardly woman enough to fill out the Sailor Moon style bikini I was certain would blow his mind. I just hope he thinks this one is sexy enough to see past my age. Just because I’m twenty doesn’t mean he’ll be able to see past who I am. Before I take another step, he looks my way and sits up.
He saw me. Oh my God, he saw me.
When he stands, my love-struck eyes fill with tears. Dear Lord, I’ve ruined weeks of plans in a matter of seconds. He can’t see me this way. I’m supposed to be a mature, sexy, irresistible woman. I can’t look like a big baby in a white string bikini.
Who wants that?
In a poorly considered panic, I head for the water. I need time to dry my eyes and let the breeze cool the flush off my cheeks. All I need is five minutes. I’ll walk over and say hello in five minutes. Too hysterical to consider the time of day, I run straight into the chilly water and scream when the first wave douses my entire body.
“Sweet Jesus!” Water splashes my face and ruins the perfectly styled beach waves I spent an hour getting just right. Saltwater stings my eyes and momentarily blinds me. I flail about, desperate to get back to dry land but terrified I’ll fall on my ass in front of him. When I swing around, a hand reaches out for me.
“Are you okay?” His warm voice is unmistakable. It’s Dr. Young. My hero.
I fight to open one eye, grateful I talked myself out of wearing mascara. “I’m fine. It’s colder than I expected.”
He chuckles under his breath and leads me out onto the sand. “I can’t believe you’re here. You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”
My heart soars. He remembers me. He remembers me and somehow, he’s loved me all along.
This is a miracle.
I play it cool and fight to steady my breath. “You are?”
He nods and takes my face in his hands. “Are your eyes all right? Should we wash them out?”
Words fail me. I shake my head and feel my cheeks heat under his gaze. While he waits for my reply, my hungry eyes drink in every corded muscle of his finely tuned forty-year-old body. He’s a god. Other men should be embarrassed in his presence.