Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Ash

Sawyer's boat disappeared from view, and my gut twisted. Of all the people to witness that, it had to be fucking Sawyer. He already thought the worst of me.

He always thought the worst.

No matter what I did or where I went, his scowl pointed right the fuck at me. I couldn't escape it. And soon, I'd have to see it every single day at my new resort gig.

A gig that had the potential to change my whole life.

I sighed. That was not the way I wanted to see Saw again after the quieter months of the off-season. I'd hoped to mend fences, not set more of them on fire. I should have kept my big mouth shut, but my bestie, Mel, would be the first to say that was asking for the impossible.

The drunken bridesmaid who'd kissed me grabbed my arm, trying to regain my attention. I pulled away, my DreamBoat smile slipping.

"Go take a seat. We're heading back to the marina."

She pouted up at me. "Aw, already?"

This was the part where the owner, my stepdad Rick, would tell me to flirt. To make sure she was getting her dream night of fantasy, flirtation, and exhilaration. That it was all part of the experience that kept customers coming back.

But I was sick of this shit. Sick of drunken partiers. Sick of handsy tourists who treated me like part of the package.

And damn sick of Rick dragging me back into the business no matter how many times I tried to leave.

"Tour's over." My skin was tight and itchy, and I was sure if she touched me one more time, I was going to lose my fucking shit. "Go sit. Now."

She huffed and turned around, staggering back toward the center of the boat. Rick was going to shit a brick when that review came in, but I no longer cared.

I was done with DreamBoat Tours whether he liked it or not.

No more part-time work. No more just fill in while we're short-handed . No more empty promises of a future business that could be mine.

I gave Rick six years to shit or get off the pot, then two more because I didn't know how to walk away.

But now I had a new business, something that was mine. Something Rick had never supported. And I was damned if I was going to let him distract me from my goal.

I pulled out my phone as soon as I got into my car at the marina and pulled up Mel in the contacts. As soon as it connected, I started speaking.

"You're not going to believe this shit."

"Does it involve you wearing a tutu?" she asked.

"What? No."

"Too bad. I'd have believed that."

I rolled my eyes. "Still fantasizing about me? I thought we'd moved on from all that."

She cackled. "Oh, trust me, babe. I've found better things to occupy my naughty thoughts."

I frowned. "Now I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted."

"Ah, the fragile egos of men."

I placed my phone in its hands-free holder and started the car. "Why are you always a pain in my ass?"

"Because you always need a kick in the ass."

I grumbled because she wasn't wrong. Mel had told me years ago to stop letting Rick hold me back. At the time, I'd been clinging to the belief that I had a future with his business. I'd treaded carefully, put up with his bullshit rules, listened to his slimy business lectures.

Then he'd flown to Costa Rica with my mom and put Julian in charge. Julian , the frat bro player who took nothing seriously.

That was when I knew it was intentional. That Rick didn't want me to have any control over my life. That he liked controlling it.

"So, for real, what's the trouble, boo?" Mel asked.

I groaned. "I had another run-in with Sawyer."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah, I was doing a booze cruise and?—"

"Excuse me? Why the hell were you on a booze cruise when you quit that cringefest of a job?"

I winced. "Uh, well…"

"Ash. No."

I flicked on my blinker with more force than necessary, annoyed with myself. "I know. You don't have to say it. I've got to end this shit."

"You do."

I turned down the lane that led to my parents' cabin on the lake. Cabin was a bit of a misnomer. It wasn't some charming and rustic home but a modern, custom-built behemoth with a facade of knotty pine.

Which seemed fitting since our entire family was a facade at this point.

I pulled into the garage and cut the engine. Mel was still on a roll, and I decided to let her get it out of her system. She'd earned it. After all, she'd given me this pep talk at least ten times, and I'd disappointed her over and over.

Disappointed myself.

I entered the house through the side door, stepping into my favorite place, the kitchen. Only the range light over the stove illuminated the room, gleaming off stainless steel.

I could carry on, through the kitchen to the back door. The guest house I'd moved into a few weeks ago when my last roommate flaked out was just across the yard.

But I was restless and?—

My stomach growled.

Hungry.

Decision made, I flipped on the lights and opened the refrigerator to pull out swiss, gruyere, mushrooms, and onions for the first sandwich, prosciutto and smoky gouda for the second, and brie and?—

"Where the fuck are my blackberries?"

"What?" Mel stopped mid-rant, confused. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am. You're right. I need a change."

"Well, of course I'm right."

"Someone fucking ate my blackberries and those were for testing the grilled cheese trio! Ugh!"

"Seriously? You're cooking now ?"

"So?"

"It's almost midnight, you freak."

"It's been a long night, and after that fiasco with Sawyer, I need comfort."

"Are you talking about the cooking or the eating?"

"Both."

She chuckled. "I do miss having a guy who wanted to feed me."

"If you took me back, I could cook for you every day ," I said, only half-jokingly.

Mel and I didn't work as romantic partners. Never had. But I needed to get out of my parents' place.

"Tempting, but no. You use more beauty products than me."

"Rude!"

Mel laughed. "But true."

I flicked on the stove burner and set a skillet over it to heat, then drizzled some avocado oil into the pan. Once it was hot, I added the onion and mushrooms and set about slicing the baguette into miniature rounds.

"So, what did happen with Sawyer?" Mel asked when I was nearly done caramelizing the onion and mushrooms. "You never said."

"Nothing. I don't know. He was mad that my party was rowdy, as if I could control that."

"Uh-huh. That's all?"

"Well…" I removed the onions and mushrooms from the burner and slathered the bread with butter.

"There's more you're not telling me," she guessed.

I didn't know how she always did that. I never could get shit past Mel. Probably just one of a hundred things that had doomed us as a couple. The first one being that I'd started dating her for all the wrong reasons.

"A drunk woman kissed me," I muttered. "Right there while he was watching."

"Oh, geez, Ash."

"He acted like I liked it, and well, I guess I acted like that too, because what else could I do?"

"Tell the bitch to keep her mouth to herself?"

I grimaced. "That's not the DreamBoat way."

"Stop parroting your creep of a stepdad. Kissing strangers is not your way. That's all that matters."

"I guess."

"You could tell Sawyer the truth, you know?"

"About what?" I focused on layering a piece of gruyere over the swiss, both pieces of cheese draped over the mushroom and onion filling, all of it ready to melt into a delicious gooey mess.

If only my mess with Sawyer could be so appetizing.

"About why it all happened. How it happened."

I scoffed. "As if he would listen now. It's way too late."

His scowl from earlier tonight flickered through my mind. The chestnut hair that had escaped his hat and curled over his forehead. Those dark, glaring eyes.

How I'd love to wipe that expression off his face. To just make him see me.

Not the guy he'd written off as a backstabber, but the one who'd learned to ride bikes, drive boats, and surf wake with him.

The one who'd spent so much time at his house that his mom had called me one of her boys.

But he didn't see that. Not anymore.

"It's never going to get better until you two have an actual grown-up conversation," Mel said.

"Don't count on it."

She huffed an exasperated laugh. "Men are idiots."

"We really are."

I turned off the burner to remove my dripping grilled cheese in favor of starting the next. This one wouldn't require as much prep work, and since my fucking blackberries were gone, I wouldn't be making the third.

I slid the finished sandwich onto a plate and got the next piece of bread grilling, mouth watering at how damn good it smelled.

"I wish you could both just let it go," she said.

"I know, but it's not that simple."

"It's not that complicated either," she muttered.

She didn't get it. Not really. She hadn't torpedoed a lifelong friendship and lost the most important person in her life. Why should Sawyer forgive me when I couldn't forgive myself?

I hung up with Mel, and slid the spatula under the grilled cheese, ready to flip it.

"What the hell are you doing?" my stepdad called from the living room.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, fumbling the flip and fucking up the alignment of the bread and cheese.

Damn it.

I was supposed to be refining these recipes, not flubbing them. In the food boat I'd be running, there were bound to be distractions, and I couldn't afford to make mistakes.

"Hey, Rick."

Despite his insistence, I would never call him Dad. He'd adopted me and changed my name to match his, but my real father had been twice the man Rick ever would ever be.

Dad died of a sudden heart attack when I was ten. He'd only been forty-four but years of hard work on a commercial fishing boat had taken their toll.

Rick came six years later with his smarmy smile and his cash, winning my mother over with promises of comfort and security. But I'd always seen through the act to the guy he was underneath.

Egotistical. Manipulative. Controlling.

He thought money bought him everything, even family. But even though I lived in his house, we weren't really father and son. We never would be.

"Are you really cooking in the goddamn middle of the night? What's wrong with you?"

I shrugged, lifting the sandwich and taking a bite, letting the savory mushroom and onion blend with the cheese on my tongue. Damn. It was delicious, but it could use a touch more seasoning to really make the flavors pop. I made a mental note to add a pinch more garlic.

Rick stalked over, snatching the sandwich from my hand.

"Hey!"

"Your mother is sleeping," he said. "So was I before you did all your banging around."

"When did you two get back?"

"Late, so we're tired."

"Sorry. I was just finalizing some recipes for my food boat. I'm launching this weekend."

I don't know why I poked the bear. Maybe I was spoiling for a fight. If I couldn't have one with Sawyer, my stepdad would do.

I could have predicted his sneer down to the yellow stain at the top of his incisor. "Still wasting your time playing Top Chef ?"

"Nah, it's Master Chef ," I joked, knowing my attitude would only wind him up more. " Master Chef , because my boat is called Master Bites , which come to think of it, sort of sounds like masturbates, don't you think?"

"You're an idiot."

"That's what I hear."

He lifted my sandwich and took a bite. My. fucking. sandwich. Which reminded me, I had another on the stove. I whirled to turn it over in the skillet just before it burned.

Rick was quiet while I finished up the prosciutto and gouda. And no wonder, he was stuffing his face with my food that was such a waste of time.

I took a bite of my second sandwich before he could steal it too. Mm. This one was perfection. The salty bite of prosciutto whet my appetite for more, and Rick and I both wolfed our sandwiches in stony silence, exchanging glares.

"Did you at least take care of that booze run like I asked?"

"Of course I did," I said. "But it's the last one."

He blinked. "Sure."

I knew that expression. "I mean it, Rick. I won't have time once the food boat starts up."

"We'll see how long that lasts."

"It'll last a long time because I'm going to make it a success. You'll be sorry you missed out."

He laughed. Fucking straight-up belly laughed at me.

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say." He wiped his greasy fingers on his T-shirt, which I noticed was stained with blackberries. "Have fun while it lasts. Just don't come crying to me when it turns out just how I said it would."

"Fuck you," I spit.

He took a threatening step toward me. "Watch your mouth. This is my fucking house you're freeloading in."

I laughed bitterly. "Freeloading? I pay rent. "

"Not the market rate you don't."

Jesus fuck, this asshole. Market rate was sky-high thanks to it being lakefront property.

"I could rent it to vacationers," he carried on. "Then you'd really be out on your ass."

I was over this night. Over this fight. All my poking and prodding had gotten me exactly what I wanted, and now I was done.

"Do what you need to do," I said. "I'll find another place."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it. Living in Swallow Cove would be a lot more convenient anyway." I shot him a look. "And I meant what I said, I'm not filling in at DreamBoats anymore. I'm done with it."

And you.

He snorted. "Clean up this mess before you go to bed."

"You're welcome for the sandwich," I called after him. The fucker didn't even turn around.

I slumped onto the barstool and texted Mel.

I've got to get my own place again. Are you sure you won't marry me and pay half my bills?

Not a chance, but I'll help you shop for apartments. It'll be fun to see the horror on your face when you see how the rest of us have to live.

I've lived rough. I lived with you, didn't I?

You're hilarious, Ash. I don't know why things never worked out for us.

It's a mystery , I typed out.

That was a joke, of course. We both knew what went wrong. I just preferred not to think about it too hard. I had enough on my plate without dwelling on my tangled feelings about my ex and my ex-best friend.