Rogue Wave

have ample storage and shipping them back to Southport is a hassle. And he’s a good man. He’s not looking to double charge for the same item.”
He tugged on his chin, and those piercing blue eyes waffled between the boards and the cottage. He exhaled. “Thank you. Much appreciated.”
He picked up one of the long, heavy boxes, and I rushed to get the end to help him. Within ten minutes, we’d emptied the flatbed and stacked the wood in his golf cart house without sharing a word.
“I was thinking I could bring dinner by tonight, if you like. I could share those plans I’ve done. Talk about colors. I could come up with a project outline for you. I can also give you the lowdown on the island contractors.”
“Over dinner?” he asked as his gaze traveled over my top. The fabric was still damp from my morning swim, and the way the thin material stretched over my breast highlighted the outline of my nipple, something I hadn’t realized until that exact moment. My face heated, and I curled my toes in my flip-flops.
“Do you eat meat?” I asked, as much to direct the conversation as anything else.
The summer heat ticked up, and I lifted my damp hair off my back, seeking a breeze.
The corners of his lips shifted upward ever so slightly. “How old do you think I am?”
“Ahem, I don’t know. Early thirties, maybe? Why?”
“I’m thirty-five. And you said you’re twenty-two?”
“Almost twenty-three.”
“You’re too young for me. You get that, right?”
“I wasn’t asking you on a date,” I blurted, my cheeks flaming as mortification rose. But I also didn’t quite understand. “Why does age matter?”
“It’s not a chronological age thing. It’s a life age thing. And trust me, you never want to be as old as I am.” His gaze wandered briefly down my body once more, and he shook his head before responding. “You need to be hanging with the college crowd, Luna. If you want to help me with the renovation, I’d appreciate the help, and I’d be happy to let you put it in a portfolio. I get that you’re building a business. But dinner implies something. And showing up at a man’s door in what you’re wearing, asking about dinner, that’s inadvisable.”
I felt an overwhelming urge to respond with a yes, sir, but I held it inside and swallowed it down. “We’re casual on the island, Tate. If that’s a problem for you, I’ll keep it in mind. When would you like to get together to discuss your project?”
“Any time after you’re dressed works for me. I’ll be here.”
“After…got it. I’ll be by later.” I spun around so he wouldn’t see my grin as the implications of him being uncomfortable in my bikini-clad body set in. He did find me attractive. My interpretation of his gaze had been spot-on. I called out before climbing in the truck, “Hey, do you surf?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“East Beach.” His serious look returned, and I took it to mean he was trying to figure out where I was going with my questions.
“I’ll keep an eye out for you. And I’ll wear a surf top.” I actually always wore a surf top to protect my shoulders from the sun, but I’d taken it off once I reached my golf cart.
“Luna.” He said my name the way my father did when I’d done something wrong. He said it in a way that if he knew my middle or last name, I was sure he would have tacked them onto my name too.
“See ya soon, Tate,” I called, waving through the rolled-down window, the flow of air lending a temporary reprieve from the summer heat.
As I pulled away, my phone rang. One glance told me it was my sister. “Nova, what’s up?”
She sighed heavily into the phone, a sure sign drama would follow.
“I didn’t want you to see this somewhere on social.”
Oh, jeez. “What?”
“Brandon is dating Tory.”
“That sounds like it could be a reality TV show.”
“Are you upset?”
“Jesus, Nova. No. Brandon and I broke up two years ago. He can date whoever he wants.”
“Even your best friend?”
“Tory wasn’t my best friend.”
“She wasn’t?”
“No, she was one of my friends. And I haven’t seen her in ages either.”
“They looked like they could be serious.”
“Good. Good for them. Brandon wanted to get married and have kids. It was only a matter of time before someone scooped him up.” I almost drowned in guilt when I broke up with him. Him being happy would be a good thing. If only my family could accept our break-up. If I didn’t have a strong relationship with them, I’d suspect they loved him more than me.
“I guess it’s good if he’s happy. But I always wanted it to be you,” she whined.
“You like him that much? You marry him. I have no interest in spending the rest of my life in South Florida pumping out kids.”
“He’s a good guy. You know he still comes by and visits Dad each week. I don’t think he’s over you.”
“You just told me he’s dating someone else. We’re young. We get over things quickly. Remember Wally?”
“Wally who?”
“Exactly. Three months ago, you told me you’d met the guy you were going to marry.”
“Well, I was a little off on that one. But you and Brandon dated for ten years.”
“I’m not entirely sure you count elementary school. Anyway, where is this all coming from?”
Right then, a revving engine overpowered her response—a familiar engine sporting a tampered exhaust pipe.
“Oh, my god. Are you with him right now?”
“No. Don’t be silly. When are you coming home to visit?”
“Nova. I love you. Tell Brandon I said hey and tell Mom to call me when she gets a chance.”

Chapter 7
Tate
Tropical Storm Rita neared the Carolina coastline, and a dark horizon signaled heavy rain would soon arrive. The waves had amped up, and a few fearless surfers on East Beach hung tight to their boards, enjoying the accompanying adrenaline rush from the bombs mixed in with the chop. Once upon a