CHAPTER SEVEN

“O h Silas, that stinks!” Aya said, giggling as they drove back to the house in Bennett’s truck. Justine, Bennett, and Emme sat in the front seat, while Dom, Silas, and Aya sat in the back. “Dad, roll down the windows.”

Bennett snickered and retracted all the windows.

“Didn’t you take your dairy pills?” Aya asked, hanging her head out the window into the dark and gagging.

“I did,” Silas said. “But that pizza is so cheesy.”

“And we may have waited too close to when he ate dinner to take the pills for them to kick in,” Dom said, catching his brother’s amused expression in the rearview window.

“I’m going to die,” Aya said. “Death by farts is not a very fun way to go.” She leaned forward even more to hang more of her head out. “When I die, I want to be like a hundred and fifty years old, and it’s from being eaten by sharks or attacked by tigers.”

“What?” Justine exclaimed. “Why?”

“Why not?” Aya asked. “I’d have lived a good life. And animals need food too.”

“You’re a very strange little person,” Emme murmured.

“Head in the truck, Aya,” Bennett said, always the serious one.

“But I’m dying.” Aya was always overly dramatic.

“I don’t mean to,” Silas said with a pout. “I can’t control how bad my farts are. And I don’t want to miss out on pizza. What am I supposed to do? Hold in my farts and explode?” He glanced at Dom. “I would explode, right?”

“You would just be very uncomfortable. I don’t think you would explode.” Dom leaned down and kissed his son’s head.

“Justine, you’re a doctor. I would explode, right?” Silas asked, clearly not believing his father.

“No,” Justine said. “You would not explode. Your dad is right. You’d just be really uncomfortable and have an upset, painful tummy. Farts are good.”

“But they smell so bad,” Aya whined.

“We’re almost home,” Bennett said, turning off the main road and onto their laneway.

Clint was behind them with Talia and Brooke. Then Wyatt, Vica, and Wyatt’s two boys—Griffon and Jake—were the caboose of their convoy in Wyatt’s new truck.

Bennett pulled up to the security gate, leaned out the window, and punched in the code. It slowly swung open, and they all drove through.

“All right, kiddos. You know the drill. It’s a school day tomorrow. That means quick shower, brush teeth, and off to bed,” Bennett said. “No time for stories or goofing off.”

“That goes double for you,” Dom said to Silas as Bennett parked in front of his house.

They all bailed out and Aya continued to make a big stink about the stink, sucking in big gulps of air.

“Aya, knock it off. Don’t make Silas feel bad. He can’t help it,” Bennett said, giving his daughter a dirty look as he unlocked his house.

Aya’s face turned remorseful. “Sorry, Si. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Silas, the sensitive soul that he was, shrugged and retreated inward a little. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

Aya hugged him and he hugged her back.

“See you in the morning,” Aya said, skipping after her sister into the house.

Dom growled playfully and scooped his kid up under one arm, holding him like a football, with Silas’s bag of candy and prizes in his other hand. “Come on, Spiderman. Let’s turn you back into Peter Parker.”

Silas giggled—and farted—as Dom jogged to his front door. “Dad! It’s me. Silas.”

Dom plunked him down on the porch and blinked at him. “Silas? Is that you?”

Silas giggled some more. “You know it is.”

Dom ruffled his kid’s head and unlocked the front door. “You heard your uncle. Shower, brush teeth, and bedtime.”

Nodding, Silas took off upstairs, only farting twice before he reached the top.

While his kid got ready for bed, Dom got ready to head down to the beach.

No matter the weather, he’d gone down to the beach and made a small altar for Remy every year since she passed five years ago. He thought about making one for her at home and involving Silas. His kid got so easily spooked by things like that though, that he didn’t want Silas to get upset or scared thinking ghosts entered their home.

He’d only been one year old when Remy died. He didn’t remember her, even though Dom did his best to talk to Silas about her and remind their son of his mother.

It wasn’t marigold season, but even before she passed, Remy—who took Día de los Muertos very seriously—had a deal with the local nursery, and they always made sure to have marigolds for her this time of year. Dom made sure to keep that deal alive, and picked them up a day or two before he needed them.

He also had Wyatt, or Burke, cook Remy’s favorite dish, which was coincidentally pizza. Just wood-fired pizza with mushrooms, spinach, and roasted garlic. Then he brought down a couple photos of her and some candles, and prayed that the wind wasn’t too bad so he could set up his altar. He had a glass of wine and some pizza with his wife, and told her all about their son and how incredible he was.

Once he had everything—besides the pizza, which he’d pick up from the kitchen on his way down to the beach—stowed away in a duffel bag, he headed upstairs to check on Silas. Bennett was going to come over so Dom could go down to the beach.

The shower was still running. “Time to get out, dude,” Dom said, knocking on the bathroom door.

The tap instantly shut off.

Silas loved to just stand under the hot water.

His kid emerged from the bathroom a few moments later with rosy, damp skin and a towel around his waist. “Did you brush your teeth?”

Silas smiled wide. “Before my shower. See?”

“All right. Into bed.” He followed his kid into his room where Silas got dressed, combed his hair, and climbed into bed. The door downstairs opened and closed to indicate Bennett was there.

“What are you going to talk to Mom about?” Silas asked as Dom tucked the duvet up under his kid’s little chin.

“Mostly about how awesome you are. I’ll tell her about your costume and the Halloween party. About how we discovered you’re lactose intolerant and farting up the place.”

“Daaaaad. Don’t tell Mom that.”

“Why not? She’ll want to know.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But don’t tell her I nearly killed Aya tonight.”

“Fine. I’ll keep that bit quiet.” He brushed Silas’s hair off his forehead and pressed his lips there. “Try to get some sleep, buddy. Uncle Bennett is downstairs if you need anything.”

“Okay.” His lips twisted for a second. “Do you cry when you talk to Mom because you miss her?”

Dammit.

Dom cleared his throat. “Sometimes.”

Silas nodded. “It’s okay for men to cry. I cry sometimes.”

“It is okay. You’re right.”

“Remember to tell her I love her, but don’t tell her about me farting in the truck.”

“I will. And I won’t. I promise.”

“’Night, Dad.” Silas rolled over to face the wall. “Thanks for coming trick or treating with me tonight.”

“Goodnight, buddy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He kissed the side of his head, then stood up from the edge of his bed and gently closed the door almost all the way, leaving it open just a crack. Then he made his way downstairs with an insanely heavy heart.

Bennett was on the couch with his laptop on his lap, his face scrunched up into a scowl.

“What’s that face for?” Dom asked, grabbing the duffel bag off the kitchen table.

“It’s an email from Gabrielle Campbell.”

“What does she want?” Dom headed to front door and grabbed his thick flannel jacket off the coat hook.

“Did you check the mail today? Because I don’t remember if I checked the box.” He brought up his phone and shot off a text to their group which vibrated a moment later in Dom’s pocket.

“I didn’t. But what does her email say?”

“Apparently, the Island Elders Council has narrowed their selection of proposals down to five. The vineyard is one of them.”

Dom’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “And do we know who the other four are?”

Bennett shook his head. “No. I also can’t tell if this email is a brag or just a heads-up.”

Dom pulled up his phone and reviewed the screenshotted email from Gabrielle. His brows furrowed. “Until all that shit with Vica that she helped us with, I would have said this was a brag, but now I think it’s a heads-up.”

Their phones vibrated.

“Clint says he’ll run to the mailbox. Of course, the Island Elders would send the notification via snail mail and not email since they made us submit our proposals in hard copy,” Bennett said. He raked his fingers through his short, dark hair. “Fuck, if they’re shortlisted and we’re not, I’ll lose my shit. Justine and I worked so damn hard on that proposal.”

“Well, it says that the five shortlisted groups will be asked to come in front of the Elders and further argue their case, which won’t happen for weeks. Possibly not until next year. We have time.” Dom glanced at his watch. “I need to get going, though.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Go do what you need to do.” Bennett waved him off. “Say hi to Remy for me.”

Dom’s smile was fake and grim. “I will.” Then he was gone out the door, heading on foot toward the restaurant.

It wasn’t busy in the restaurant, and Renée and Jagger had everything under control. So he didn’t stick around. Burke already had his pizza ready and boxed up. So after a quick thank you, he was back out the door and making his way to the beach.

Thankfully, it was a mild night and the wind wasn’t too bad. The tide was on its way out, which meant he didn’t have to worry about his altar getting swept out to become kraken food.

He always went to roughly the same spot. It was a sandy portion about a quarter of a mile away from their property. Several big driftwood logs rested on the rocks and made a perfect sitting area. Once he reached the spot, he set down his duffel bag and went to work creating his altar. The wind made the candle flames dance, but it didn’t blow them out. He spread the marigolds around, as well as the petals, and propped up the photo frames. Then he laid out a Mexican blanket and sat down with the pizza box, two wine glasses, and a bottle of wine from the Westhaven Winery on the island. They might have a mild Cold War going on at the moment with the women of the winery, but there was no denying, they knew their grapes.

Even though he was partial to red wine if he drank it, Remy preferred dry whites. So that’s what he had.

With a deep sigh, he stared at her photo behind the flames, watching the shadows dance across her beautiful features.

“We’ve got a pretty fantastic kid,” he started. “Kind, and gentle, and sweet. And so goofy. He still loves Spiderman. He’s lactose intolerant now. So we take dairy pills, and have switched to oat milk and soy cheese at home.” He reached for a slice of pizza. “He says that he misses you and loves you.” His throat grew tight. “But that he’s having a hard time remembering you.”

Tears stung the back of his eyes as the slice of pizza hung there in midair, and his breath rattled out between thinly parted lips.

“I’ll do better, Remy. I’m sorry I haven’t done more to keep your memory alive. I’ve just …” He growled. “There’s no excuse. I’ll just do better.”

He set the pizza back down without taking a bite and took a sip of his wine instead, just staring out into the darkness at the water. A few faraway lights blinked and flickered in the distance. Mostly floating buoys or boats. The gentle lap of the water and waves pulled him into an almost hypnotic state as he just sat there in his grief and guilt.

No, Remy’s death hadn’t been his fault. But he knew that he could be there for their son more than he was. He was both Mom and Dad now, and at the moment, he was barely there enough for one parent, let alone two.

He just couldn’t let the reason their business failed be because he’d gone and hired shit staff and they drove away customers. He couldn’t risk hiring someone like Nadine again, and letting them destroy what he and his brothers had worked so hard to build.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally blinked and emerged from his hypnosis. The shore was a lot further out though, and the candle wax was running low. The pizza was also cold.

He ate one slice and finished his wine, and was considering packing up when the flicker of light to his right a bit down the beach pulled his attention.

Someone else was on the beach lighting candles.

Should he go see? Or leave them be?

He would want someone to leave him alone if they stumbled across him at Remy’s altar visiting her, but he’d also always been an overly curious person.

Was it another person celebrating a lost loved one on Día de los Muertos? He packed up the altar and blew out all but one of the candles. Then he put the box of pizza and wine bottle into the duffel bag with everything else. After he shook out the Mexican blanket, he rolled that up too, then carefully made his way down the beach, using a candle to guide him.

This person was further up on the beach, away from the water, and when a cool gust of air drifted past him, it brought the faint scent of incense with it. He couldn’t quite place it though. But it was sweet with a hint of cinnamon.

The closer he got, the more came into view from the helpful light of the nearly-full moon. Whoever it was had several candles spread around on the rocks in a circle, as well as what appeared to be offerings in the center in front of a grouping of photographs.

Was that a soccer ball?

“I think you’d really like it here,” came a familiar voice on the breeze. She wasn’t speaking loudly, and there was sadness in her tone. “The beaches are beautiful. When the tide is out, the sand goes on forever. And the smell of the seaweed baking on the rocks in the sun is …” she laughed, “you’d probably say it stinks, but I think it’s wonderful.”

Chloe?

Who was she talking to?

He didn’t see any marigolds on the ground, but that didn’t mean anything considering it wasn’t marigold season. But was she celebrating Día de los Muertos too? And if so, who was she honoring?

He needed to go.

She deserved privacy.

He never should have approached her.

Hoping that he’d stuck to the shadows enough, and she hadn’t seen him yet, he spun around to go, only to bump into a giant tree uprooted long ago. The base of it was taller than he was and facing the ocean, but he hit it hard enough that it knocked the duffel bag off his shoulder and made him swear out in pain.

“Hello?” she asked into the darkness. “Is someone there?”

Well, fuck. Now he couldn’t just book it and pretend he’d never been there.

Rubbing his shoulder, he picked up the duffel bag, sighed, and turned around, stepping out of the shadows of the low-hanging madrona trees. “It’s Dom. I’m sorry.”

“Dom?” She stood up from where she’d been on a blanket in the middle of the candles. “What are you doing here?”

“I …” How the hell was he going to explain this one? “I was down the beach and I saw your candle flames so I came to make sure whoever was here was okay.” Well, that was a lie. He was just fucking curious. “But when I realized it was you and you were … doing this, I tried to leave quietly only to walk straight into that giant-ass tree and drop my bag.”

Her brows narrowed. “What are you doing down here on the beach so late?”

He swallowed. “I was, uh … it’s the eve of Día de los Muertos and I was honoring my, uh … my late wife.” He cleared his throat. “It’s supposed to rain the next two nights, so I came tonight.”

Her eyes flew open wide. “Oh!”

“Wh-who are you here for … Or … I-I mean … who are you honoring?” Was it wrong of him to assume she was honoring someone who had passed? Maybe she was a witch, or practiced wiccan and was doing some warding off evil spirits or something. Or putting a curse on someone who wronged her.

Was she putting a curse on him? After all, he hadn’t exactly been very nice to her.

Why would she need a soccer ball though?

Her lips twisted and she glanced forward toward the photos that he couldn’t see from the angle he stood at. “My son.”

Oh, fuck.

“He, uh … he passed away four years ago. He was eight.”

Dom’s gut plummeted to his feet. “I’m so sorry.”

She tilted her head to the side to indicate he should join her and they should sit on the log behind her. He hesitated for just a moment, then stepped forward but didn’t take a seat. He could tell she’d been crying. And much like he had done for Remy’s altar, Chloe had food—chicken nuggets, french fries, a hamburger, cookies, and a milkshake—spread out in front of the photos along with the soccer ball and a few other smaller objects.

Her breath rattled a little when she exhaled through pursed lips. “He, um … it was a snow day in February where we were living in North Dakota, and Elliott went over to a friend’s house. The friend had a pond in their backyard on their farm and it had frozen over. The boys were told to wear life jackets when they went onto the ice and to steer clear of the furthest section as the ice wasn’t as thick.”

Dom could already tell where this was going, and he was getting sicker by the moment as he put himself in her shoes and thought about how he would feel if it were Silas.

“Anyway, as you can guess, they took off their life jackets, and they went to the far side. Elliott fell through the ice and …” She swept the tears away from beneath her eyes.

“Where were the friend’s parents?”

“Inside the house. They thought the boys would listen and follow the rules. They didn’t see a problem letting them go out alone. By the time their son ran to get them, Elliott had drowned.”

“Chloe … I am so, so sorry.” Then it hit him. He’d gone and said she didn’t need Halloween off because she had no kids. Fuck, he was a prick. He tore the hair elastic out of his hair and ran his fingers through the strands. “And I’m really fucking sorry for what I said the day of your interview. That you didn’t need Halloween off because you didn’t have any kids.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.” She kept her gaze focused forward. “Wyatt asked if I had kids and I said no.”

He peeked up at her, though he kept his head bowed. “Doesn’t fucking matter. It wasn’t okay. It was wrong. I was an absolute asshole to you and you didn’t deserve it.”

“No. I didn’t.”

He glanced at her altar. “So this is …”

“It’s part of Samhain, which is the celebration of harvest and death. It dates back to the pagans, and is of Celtic and Gaelic origins.”

He nodded, hoping she would continue.

She indicated that he could sit. So together, they perched on one of the large fallen pieces of driftwood, turned white from the sun and smooth from the years of being beaten and tossed against the shore.

“After Elliott had been gone a year, and my divorce was finalized I was in a deep pit of depression. I met a woman who had also lost her son, although he’d been an adult when he passed, and she introduced me to the celebration of Samhain. My mother’s parents were both Irish immigrants and my father’s parents still have a lot of family back in Scotland. So the idea of Samhain, although nothing I’d ever experienced growing up, appealed to me. It helped with the grief. I also couldn’t stay in North Dakota. Too many memories. So I bought a van and have been traveling for over two years. But as I said before, the van got totaled so now I have the Volvo.”

He didn’t blame her for staring straight ahead at the candles.

It was some heavy shit that she was saying, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make eye contact with anybody either.

“My ex-husband blamed me for Elliott’s death. He said that I was the one who let him go over to the Lawson’s that day. Even though he did sue them for negligence—and won.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I never touched a cent of the money though. I didn’t want it. I just wanted my baby back.”

Dom bunched his fists on his thighs to keep from touching her. He wanted so desperately to hold her, rub her back, or even take her hand. Just offer her some kind of comfort in this moment of agony. Because it had to be absolute torture to relive such a horrific moment. How she was still standing, still getting up each day after the death of her child, was a testament to her incredible strength. He wasn’t sure he’d have that kind of strength if something happened to Silas.

“H-how did your wife pass?” she asked still staring straight ahead.

He hated talking about it, but if she could open up about her son, he could open up too. “Car accident. Clint’s wife Jacqueline, Bennett’s wife Carla, Wyatt’s wife Sheila, and my wife Remy were on their way to the airport for a girls’ weekend to celebrate my wife’s thirtieth birthday.” A lump the size of a walnut formed in the back of his throat. “They were sideswiped on the freeway. Jacqueline and Remy were pronounced dead at the scene, and Sheila and Carla died on their way to the hospital.”

Chloe gasped, sat up and her hand covered her mouth. She turned to face him with wide, pained eyes. “Oh my god.”

“Six kids became motherless that day. Silas—my son—was only one year old.”

Her hand found his and she squeezed. “Dom, I am so sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “Remy’s mother was Mexican, and she grew up celebrating Día de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead. Remy would always create an altar at home for deceased loved ones. So after she passed, I knew it was something that I needed to do.”

“You don’t want to bring your son?”

Glancing down at the rocks, he shrugged. “Maybe eventually. But Silas is only six, and he’s a sensitive little guy. He gets easily spooked by things and I know if I had an altar in the house, he’d get freaked out about ghosts and spirits. I invited him to come down tonight, but he said no. One day, I think he will though. At least I hope he’ll want to.” He stared down at their clasped hands, grateful for the connection.

“Tell me about her,” she said softly. “What was she like?”

That made him smile. “She was on the shier side, like Silas. Hell,” he laughed, “like me. I’m the shiest of the five of us. But she also had a great sense of humor. Get a single glass of wine in that woman and she had the absolute best, most genuine giggle. It was the kind of laugh that made everyone else around her just start laughing too.”

Chloe’s small chuckle was breathy. “Elliott had a great laugh too.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. And when he snorted …” she closed her eyes, smiling, and shook her head, “it was adorable.” She opened her eyes and one side of her mouth tipped up higher than the other. “What did Remy do for work?”

“She worked as a translator. She spoke French, Spanish, and Portuguese fluently. She mostly did translations for publishing houses as well as various manuals, but it allowed her the ability to make her own hours and work from home.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I had a second language.”

“Me too. She spoke Spanish to Silas when he was a baby, but I couldn’t keep up with it because I don’t speak it. Wyatt speaks Italian, and Vica does too, obviously. Justine speaks French and Mandarin. But I’m just stuck with English.” He glanced at her. “What was your son like?”

“Oh,” she leaned back and studied the stars, “he was the best. Had tons of energy and the biggest smile. He loved to get filthy any chance he could. Whether it was baking or playing in the mud in the yard, or monkey wrenching with my dad in the garage. The kid always had something under his fingernails and some kind of smudge on his face.” She glanced at him, still grinning. “Hardly ever got sick though. He had a great immune system.”

Dom smiled.

“He loved soccer. Even if we had three feet of snow outside, he’d shovel a patch for himself to bounce it around on his feet and knees. He was really good too.” Her throat moved on a hard swallowed. “His favorite cookies were snickerdoodles, hence the incense. It’s snickerdoodle scented, and I baked some yesterday at the hostel for him.”

Guilt for his earlier behavior was like an anvil on his chest. He’d been so cruel to her. Only thinking of himself. There were other people out there who had suffered loss as well. He needed to remember that they didn’t all carry it around like a grumpy troll on their shoulder the way he did. “I need to say again how sorry I am for my earlier comment. That was uncalled for. And really not fair, or kind. I’m sure it just dredged up a lot of painful things for you.” He met her gaze through the candlelight.

Her smile was small. “Did your son have a nice Halloween?”

“I think so. He went as Spiderman for the third year in a row.”

They both chuckled softly. He really liked her laugh, and the way her cheeks dimpled as she scrunched up her nose, still smiling at him.

“And he collected his weight in candy. Then played every game twice at the school Halloween party. I’m sure he’s crashed out in bed now.”

“I remember those days. The sugar coma. And for whatever reason, Elliott never turned into hell on wheels on Halloween, even if he ate too much candy. He just … he had energy, but never destructive like some kids.”

“Si is the same. He was shooting pretend Spiderman webs all over the house and doing parkour on the furniture when we got home, but nothing too wild or dangerous.”

The crinkle at the corner of her eyes stirred all kinds of scary, wonderful things inside of him. That’s when he realized they were still holding hands. He wasn’t ready to let go.

It was crazy how well she understood him. It made him want to keep talking. It made him want to turn himself inside out and admit that he was scared. Scared of forgetting Remy. Of not keeping her memory alive enough for Silas. Scared of not being there enough for Silas. Of not being enough for Silas. He’d never liked things he couldn’t control, and that included his feelings. He’d gotten used to doing things on his own, of it just being him and his kid—with his brothers and their kids—but if he was being totally honest with himself, he was lonely. His heart had developed such a constant, empty ache inside of it that it now felt normal to have it. But his brothers had all moved on, and there was once again that spark of joy in their eyes. The kind of joy that comes from having a partner in life whom you can share all the ups, downs, and inside outs with.

She glanced at her smart watch, then at the sky again. “I suppose we should probably get going. It’s getting late and the wind has picked up.” A quick gander at the candles proved that she was right. Only two of the seven she had lit were still flickering. The breeze had wafted the other five out.

Nodding, they released hands and he stood up, helping her gather all her offerings and put them in the flexible wicker basket she had. Dom held a framed photo of her son in his soccer uniform, his foot on a soccer ball. He had a big smile on her face and was missing a few teeth. He was a nice-looking kid and looked a lot like Chloe.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” she said, accepting the frame from him. “For all of your wives. That is just … wow. Very sad.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry about your son … and your marriage.”

“It just wasn’t something we were able to move past. Now, Jeff is remarried, and he and his new wife just had twins.” Her chin and bottom lip trembled. “I’m glad he was able to move on. But a part of me wonders if I’ll ever get there. You know?”

Oh boy, did Dom relate to that. “Where are you parked? Did you walk down from the pub?”

She shook her head. “Just up here on the road. Then I walked down through the trail.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

She didn’t argue with him and he followed her lead, through the trees, the tall grass, and out onto the dead-end road where she’d parked on the shoulder.

“Do you want a ride back to the pub?” she asked, stowing her basket on the backseat. “I have to drive past it anyway on my way to the hostel.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s okay. I’m fine taking the beach back.”

“Are you sure?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. He still felt like an absolute ass for making that comment about her not having kids, and even though she seemed to have let it go, he wasn’t quite there yet.

“Well … if you don’t mind?” he finally said.

She smiled. “Not at all.”

He stowed his duffel bag on the back seat of her sedan and climbed into the passenger seat. They were rumbling down the old pothole-riddled road in no time, but it wasn’t until they passed the driveway turnoff for Bonn Remmen’s land that he remembered the email from Gabrielle Campbell.

He usually turned his phone on “do-not-disturb” while he was with Remy at her altar, confident that his brothers could handle things for even just an hour. He brought his phone out of his pocket, lighting up the dark interior of the car, and there were the messages from his brothers.

Clint had gone and got the mail, and lo and behold, there was the golden ticket from Willy Wonka himself—or in this case, the notification from the Island Elders that Dom and his brothers were part of the five selected parties who submitted proposals for the land.

Hope filled his chest and he smiled.

“Good news?” Chloe asked, glancing at him.

“Yeah, actually. Some land that we really want and had to submit a proposal for is just one step closer to being ours. They’ve narrowed it down to five interested parties.”

“Congrats. That’s great.”

“Thanks. Yeah. I mean, it was all Bennett and Justine, really. They wrote the proposal, but we all gave our input.” He stowed his phone in his jacket pocket again. “But now we have to pitch it in person for the next round.”

“And who do you have to submit it to?”

“A few members of the Sewing Circle actually. As well as other long-time locals. They make up the sort of local governing body. The Island Elders.”

“How very—”

“Commune like? Yeah. It is. But things work differently on the island. We’re in our own little world here.”

“I’m coming to realize that.” She pulled down the laneway, the porch lights of the pub coming into view. “Do you want me to drop you off here?” she asked, stopping at the base of the hill that took him up to the houses.

“This is perfect. Thank you.” He opened his door, but then turned around to face her again. “I really am sorry. For … what I said. And for your son.”

“Thank you.” Her lips twisted. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He still wasn’t ready to say goodbye. But this was the end of the road. The end of the night. The end of their time together. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Drive safe.”

“You too.” Then she smacked her palm to her forehead. “I mean …”

A real smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I know what you mean.” He stepped out, closed that door, and opened the back one to retrieve his duffel bag. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

“Goodnight, Dom.”

Their eyes locked in the darkness for a moment and something he could only describe as electric passed between them. Like that time when they both reached for the order ticket and were shocked. Only this time, they weren’t even touching.

She was the first to break their eye contact, and he cleared his throat for probably the millionth time that night, nodded, and closed the door. Then he stood there, like a confused idiot and watched her back up and drive off.

It wasn’t until her taillights completely disappeared that he finally uprooted his feet from the ground and climbed the hill.

Tomorrow was a new day, and he was determined to be nicer to Chloe. He’d been a dick until now and she didn’t deserve it. She’d given him no reason not to trust her, and had proven herself on more than one occasion that she was a good hire.

Besides, he had bigger problems to deal with now anyway. Like how was he going to walk that thin line between being kind to her and falling for her?

Because he could already feel himself experiencing the latter and she said so herself, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to a point where she could move on.

And he wasn’t sure he ever would either.