Tidal Reservations (Brides & Beaches Romance Book 1), Page 2

  Charlotte gave him one long, last look, and then she left him standing in a puddle of water in the kitchen. He exhaled and turned back to the sink, bracing himself with both hands against it. “Thanks for spitting water everywhere at exactly the wrong moment,” he muttered, a chuckle coming from his mouth.

  If there was something his twenty years in the Air Force had taught him, it was perseverance. So he’d wait. And listen to her. And then he’d figure out a way to stay here.

  He went outside to the deck that spanned three sides of the house and climbed into the hammock he’d brought from his condo. Besides his clothes and an armchair that went everywhere with him, Dawson didn’t own much. As a pilot in the Air Force, he’d learned to keep things simple. That way, when transfers came, it took him a couple of hours to do laundry and pack the back of a truck.

  This house had spoken to his soul at some point in the past. Maybe when Sinclair had first mentioned it, almost a year ago. Dawson used to live next door to the Fontaine’s, a couple from France that had two homes here on the island. They came during the winter months and stayed in whichever house they wanted, sometimes both.

  During one of their last dinners together, Sinclair had told Dawson about a third house—this one up on the bluffs above the beach, with brilliant views of the bay and the ocean beyond, with an easy set of stairs that led to private, beachfront property.

  Dawson hadn’t asked for specifics, but it hadn’t taken him long to find this road between the two bays and realize the majesty and beauty this home had once held. He’d visited the place many times over the past few months, and he’d seen the for sale sign along the road.

  “I guess I just never thought he’d sell it,” Dawson muttered to the wind. He thought he should get a dog. At least then he wouldn’t be talking to himself all the time. But animals were hard to pack quickly, required someone to be home to take care of them regularly, and while he’d been thinking about finding a companion for a while now, he hadn’t taken the pet plunge.

  Charlotte stepped to the corner of the deck on his left, having come out of either the living room or the bedroom on that side of the house. She leaned into the railing and took a deep breath, obviously unaware of him.

  He didn’t mean to watch her, but he also couldn’t look away. She really was beautiful, and the breeze played with the ends of her wavy hair as the sun bathed her in its golden, Hawaii glow. There really wasn’t a more beautiful place on Earth, and Dawson felt like now would be a good time to become a praying man, just to let God know he wanted to stay here, if possible.

  His phone rang, which drew her immediate attention. She looked at him with accusations in her eyes, and he lifted his device. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He cursed the name on the screen—JJ—as he hurried to answer it.

  “Hey, what’s up?” His best friend and co-worker better have a dang good reason for calling.

  “Boss is wondering if you’re up for an evening flight. There’s a family that just came in, and we’re all booked.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, like, as soon as you can get here. He’s charged them double, and they’ve agreed to pay it. He says half will go to you.”

  “I’m on my way.” Dawson wasn’t particularly hurting for money, especially as he hadn’t paid rent in a few weeks. But no one turned down money, did they?

  He turned to find Charlotte, but she’d disappeared from the deck. The kitchen was still wet, and he poked his head into the two rooms off the foyer and didn’t see her. He certainly wasn’t going to go traipsing all over the house to find her. He’d only gone upstairs once, and he was pretty sure the floorboards had given their all to hold his weight.

  “Hey, I have to go into work tonight.”

  Nothing. The house didn’t even creak.

  “So I’ll leave my number here on the front table.” He raised his voice as he glanced around for a piece of paper. “Maybe you could text me so I’ll know if I’m okay to come back here to sleep?”

  Like he kept paper in the house. He hurried back into the kitchen and tore off a paper towel and yanked open a drawer, hoping with everything in him that there would be something to write with. A fat, purple marker caught his eye among the myriad of junk in the drawer, and he grabbed it.

  He scrawled his number on the paper towel, and it looked like a four-year-old had done it. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. Surely Charlotte could hear him. She just didn’t want to talk right now, because she was clearly new to the island and probably needed space. Plus, he was a stranger, begging to stay in her house.

  “I’m leaving it on the front table.” He put the paper towel where he said he would and stepped out the front door. Once behind the wheel of his SUV, his pulse settled. She’d let him stay at least one night. Wouldn’t she?

  “Well, if she doesn’t,” he said as he pulled onto the paved highway and set himself west toward Getaway Bay. “There’s always the beach.”

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte waited another sixty seconds after the front door closed before she left the safety of the bathroom on the first floor. And it wasn’t all that safe, as Dawson had clearly been using it. The scent of his cologne and aftershave hung in the air, and she’d been surprised at how neat he was. One bath towel, hanging on a hook. One washcloth, folded over the rack by the sink. Toothbrush, razor, deodorant, and shaving cream lined up inside the drawer. Lined up.

  His actions spoke of someone in the military, and she wondered if his helicopter piloting was a second career. With the gray in his sideburns and beard, he had to be in his forties. Didn’t he?

  “Honestly, why do you care?” Charlotte left the bathroom door open and went down the hall to the kitchen and dining room. The space was a little segmented, but the home was older, so she’d expected that.

  The house was a great big box, with a few bay windows that jutted out. But there were two bedrooms on this level, tucked away into the front and back corners, with the bathroom near them both. Across the hall from that was the living room, boasting those huge windows that overlooked the bay, with a wraparound deck that had access from all the bedrooms, the living room, and the kitchen.

  Charlotte thought she’d spend more time on that deck than anywhere else, and the living room had high ceilings with exposed beams that made the place airy and comfortable. The dining room was functional, and if she were back in South Carolina, where she entertained frequently, she’d want the wall between the living room and dining room to come down.

  Then she could have one big open area that flowed from kitchen to deck to living room so she could enjoy the party and her guests while she finished a tray of canapés.

  Oh, how different her life was now, as evidenced by the sloppy sound of her shoes as she stepped into the water still on the kitchen floor.

  Pure exhaustion pulled through her, but she couldn’t just leave water on the floor. Could she? Her proper Southern breeding wouldn’t allow it, though her mind screamed at her that Dawson obviously had left the water for her to deal with.

  She opened one door and then another one before she found a broom and a mop, and she started soaking up the water.

  With that done, she returned to the front foyer, where a paper towel with purple numbers on it sat on the table there. She’d heard him say he had to go to work, and she’d let him go.

  “You can’t really be considering letting him stay here,” she said to her reflection in the crusty mirror beside the front door. The room to her left was a small office, with empty, built-in bookshelves and a desk with nothing on it. To her right was a formal living room, with a piano that looked gray from all the dust on it and a small loveseat that had seen about a billion better days.

  The steps leading to the second floor went straight up from the front door, and she tested her weight on the first one. The wood creaked, but held, and she went up, up, up to see what awaited her in this dilapidated house she’d bought.

  Three more bedrooms up here, two on t
he front of the house and one on the back, with two bathrooms and a massive multi-purpose room, which, at the moment, only held a pool table. Huge windows. Great views.

  In Charlotte’s mind, she could see this place as it should be, with fresh plants in each room, happy laughter, and a yard with trees, grass, benches, and bushes.

  As she looked down from the windows on the second floor, she could see where the yard had once been defined. But the wild grasses and years of neglect had taken over, leaving behind what resembled a jungle more than anything.

  It mirrored how she felt inside, actually. Years of neglect. Years of thinking certain things were important only to find out they weren’t. Years invested into a man and a marriage, wasted.

  Yes, she felt very wild and jungle-y on the inside, and she hoped it would be as easy to straighten up her life as it would be to rip out overgrown bushes, cut back unwanted trees, and pull out the weeds in the yard.

  That was all Hunter was. A weed she’d removed from her life.

  Well, technically, he’d removed himself, but Charlotte didn’t need to get technical. She opened the window on the second floor and took in another breath of the salty air.

  Oh, yes. She could put her life back together, one piece at a time, while she did the same thing for this house. They could both get a second chance.

  What about Dawson?

  The thought annoyed her, but she couldn’t brush it away.

  “He doesn’t own this house. He has no right to stay here.” But there had been something desperate in his expression when he’d asked. And if there was anyone who understood what it was like to be desperate, it was Charlotte.

  Her stomach growled, and she decided she’d make her decision about Dawson once she saw what he stocked his fridge with.

  An hour later, she pulled a ham and cheese quiche from the oven, proud of herself for putting a meal together.

  After her life had literally fell apart, she either didn’t eat or grabbed something and ate it in the car. She couldn’t remember the last time she cooked, or sat at a table to eat. But she was going to do both tonight.

  The sunlight glinting off the water as it set caught her eye, and a new plan formed in her mind. She sliced herself a piece of the steaming quiche and put it on a paper plate she found in the cupboard.

  Dawson clearly didn’t own dishes, which was probably a good thing since the sink didn’t seem to be in great shape.

  Her to-do list for tomorrow grew as she mentally added buy dishes to it, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. That was tomorrow, and yes, she had a lot to do. But tonight, she could enjoy the sunset and a homecooked meal.

  As she took her first bite of the quiche, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long, long time—even before her marriage dissolved and her husband left.

  Yes, everything here in Getaway Bay was going to be different. She was going to be different.

  The next day, Charlotte woke to absolute silence. It was odd but welcome at the same time. Since she’d lived in a very busy tourist area on South Carolina’s premier island vacation spot, it was never quiet.

  She drew in a deep breath and kept her eyes closed. Today, she’d get into town and get her own groceries, dishes, and home goods she needed.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she pushed the covers back to get out of bed. She’d meant to unpack her interview clothes last night, but after she’d stuffed herself full of quiche, watched the sun set, and rocked herself into a doze in Dawson’s hammock, she’d forgotten.

  She’d stumbled to bed after dark but before he’d returned—if he’d even come back. She never did text him to let him know one way or the other. A pinch of guilt hit her in the chest, but it wasn’t enough to derail her focus.

  The black pencil skirt definitely had some wrinkles in it, but she didn’t think this house would have an iron in it. She snapped it straight and hung it up, intending to take it into the bathroom with her when she showered so the steam could aid in getting it in even better shape.

  The blouse was a simple white and yellow checkered garment, and she’d chosen it for the interview because it felt like something one would wear in sunny Hawaii. It was cotton, and normally traveled well, but this huge trip hadn’t been kind to it.

  She hung it up too and took both hangers with her into the bathroom. Since Dawson had taken the bedroom and bathroom downstairs, Charlotte had chosen the one in the back corner above the kitchen. It was easily the biggest bedroom, with an attached bathroom. Dawson, if he’d come back last night, was in the opposite corner of the house.

  Her reflection showed her that the jet lag had caught up to her. “Good thing you made room for all your makeup.” Because she was going to need it to make herself look human.

  She closed the door and hung her skirt and blouse on the back and turned on the shower. Forty minutes later, she looked and felt less like a zombie, and she shouldered her purse and went downstairs.

  The quiche had been cleaned up, but she hadn’t done it. She stilled in the kitchen and took in the scene. Someone had definitely been there.

  “Morning.”

  She spun at the sound of Dawson’s deep voice. “You didn’t text last night, and all my stuff’s here.” He loitered in the doorway, wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt that showed off his impressive muscles. Did he flap his arms to power the helicopter? Because, wow.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Jet lag is a real thing.”

  Dawson chuckled and nodded. “I see you found the food.”

  “Yeah, well, I figured that was the least you could provide in this situation.”

  “Definitely, yeah.” His voice sounded a bit fake, but he didn’t show anything on his face. “Is this going to be a situation?”

  Charlotte didn’t know if she had room in her life to deal with any situations at all. “Why don’t you have a place to live again?”

  He reached up and rubbed his hand up the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”

  Boy, if anyone understood complicated, Charlotte did. She tried not to let her heart bleed for this guy. She didn’t know him, and he wasn’t her responsibility.

  “How long will it be complicated?”

  “It’s hard to say. I’d need a few more weeks, probably.” A definitely edge of desperation crept into his expression, the same as she’d seen last night.

  “I suppose I can put your muscles to use for a few weeks. You said you don’t work every day, right?”

  “I’m off all day today.”

  “I have a lot to do in town,” she said. “And a job interview later this afternoon.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you’ve got the business attire on.” His eyes slid down her body and back to her eyes, and Charlotte wished the gaze didn’t feel like it was made of lasers. But her whole body lit up, and she shifted her feet to keep her emotions contained.

  She was not interested in finding another man. No boyfriends, and definitely not husbands. Dawson didn’t seem like the marrying type anyway, but he was quite handsome.

  “Yes,” she said. “So maybe you could—”

  “Where are you interviewing?”

  She cocked her head, not appreciating the interruption. But she let it go. She didn’t need to be friends with Dawson. “Your Tidal Forever?”

  “The bridal place?”

  “It’s a full-service wedding planning company,” she said, her voice with quite a bit of bite. Why she felt defensive, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t own the company or even work there.

  “You come from that business?” he asked.

  “I come from indoor and outdoor design, yes,” she said. “I’ve worked with wedding planners, hotels, and gardens.” She watched him for any sign of respect or appreciation. He grinned at her and nodded.

  “No wonder you bought a house that’s one stiff wind away from falling down.”

  Charlotte couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her mouth. “Well, you’re the one who’s been staying here. What would you have
done had the roof come caving in from the wind?”

  He laughed too and shook his head.

  “I’m going to fix this place up,” she said. “The inside and the outside. If you’re not working today, you can start outside.”

  “And do what, exactly?”

  “Is there a lawn mower here? Maybe you could mow what’s supposed to be the yard, and then I’ll have a better idea of the blueprint.”

  “Yeah, sure I can do that.”

  “And if you want me to get you anything at the store, you can text me.” She picked up the paper towel with the purple writing on it and quickly sent him a text. “That’s my number.” When she looked at him again, he was leaning in the doorway with his arms folded, watching her with a glint in his eye she didn’t understand.

  “Okay, I’m going to go,” she said, edging toward the front door. “My ride should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Are you going to buy a car?”

  “Depends on if I get a job in town or not.”

  “Did you call a cab?”

  “No, I contracted with a car service for a few days.”

  “Which one?”

  “Um, Your Ride?”

  “Best on the island,” he said, as if she’d change companies if he didn’t approve. She flashed him a tight smile and left the house.

  Sure enough, a shiny black car waited behind his huge SUV, and Charlotte slipped into the backseat. “Thank you,” she said, swiping her hair off her face.

  “Of course. Where are we going today?” The woman in the front seat wore a nice smile and her long, black hair in several braids.

  “I need a grocery store,” she said. “Where I can get things like dishes and towels too.”

  “So Sunshine Market,” the woman said.

  “Sure, sounds great.” Honestly anything with Sunshine in the title appealed to Charlotte.