Chapter Fifteen

Perry

Apparently, Lola called in sick. Buzz waltzed onto my dock after I finished my morning run and told me they were taking the day off due to her not feeling well. In any other situation, I'd take what he said at face value and not worry another second about why she called in. But last night's events are still fresh in my mind.

Too fresh, if I'm being honest.

I can't shake the image of Lola and her bare legs peeking out from under her thin nightshirt from my thick skull. The way the barest hint of moonlight reflected off her pale skin, the shadowed dip of her collarbone where the shirt hung off one shoulder, her wild hair like she had just rolled out of bed…every last detail is etched into my brain.

Not to mention the way she looked at me. Like she'd never seen a shirtless man before.

I know she finds me attractive, or at least, she did when she first met me, based on what Bree said. But actually seeing the spark of attraction in her eyes did something inside me. I want her to look at me like that again. And again. I want her to forget about how rude and off-putting I can be.

Although, that would require me to open up to her. It might even require more than I'm capable of giving. I'm not looking for a relationship, not even ready to entertain something casual. Yet I can't stop myself from picking up homemade soup from the diner and knocking on the back bungalow door. I want to see her and make sure she's all right. Want her to see me and look at me like I'm more than some lost cause.

I know I'm nothing special, but I can at least be kind. I was too harsh with her after she came clean about the letter. She didn't deserve my anger, not when she was genuinely trying to apologize.

After three hard knocks, the drapes flutter like she was peeking through.

"Lola, it's me. I just came to drop something off." No way will I admit that I wanted to see her and make sure she was all right. That's too much too soon.

"I'm fine," she trills through the door. "No need to drop anything off. I just…um…need a day for…self-care. You know how it is." A mutter of something unmistakably self-deprecating sounds just before there's a thump against the door.

"Yeah, I get it," I say, even though I don't. "But I still want you to have this in case you get hungry. It's soup. I picked it up from the diner. Fran says hi."

The door creaks open, and Lola's face fills the open space. "You brought me soup?"

I nod. "Soup always makes me feel better."

Instead of the smile I expect to see, her mouth turns down at the corners. "I don't deserve for you to bring me soup."

Any residual anger and frustration from yesterday leaks out of me at the sight of her regret. I've never seen Lola unhappy, and it's a pitiful sight.

"Sure, you do," I say, shifting the bag holding the container of soup to my other hand so I can lean against the doorjamb. "I seem to remember a pantsless pink-haired pixie running to my rescue last night." Finally, she meets my eyes. "Unless of course I dreamt it up."

At that, she smiles just a little bit. "You definitely dreamt it."

My gaze narrows. "You sure? Because I could've sworn it really happened."

"Hm." She crosses her arms. "I think you're mistaken." But as if she recalls the details, she tugs her bottom lip into her teeth and zones out on my chest.

Oh, yeah. She remembers.

"Well, saving me aside," I continue and hold up the bag with the container full of soup. "I still think you should have this. You've been working hard and…" I quiet, suddenly feeling woefully unprepared to compliment this whirlwind of a woman. She has to know she's a hard worker. That she's extremely intelligent and tenacious. Lively and caring.

Beautiful.

But I can't be the one to tell her all those things. So I settle for, "I'm not upset about the letter." At least she'll know this—that I don't hold it against her.

"You're not?"

I shake my head. "You thought you were doing a good thing."

Her light green eyes hold mine. "You could've told me you were the one who wrote it."

I swallow down the lingering feelings of inadequacy. Yeah, I could've. But then I would've had to admit to her face that I got my heart broken by a woman I was never good enough for in the first place.

"I couldn't," I say. "It's not easy to tell that story."

And I never wanted her to know. Heck, I wish people around here didn't remember. That letter was never supposed to see the light of day. But I guess some things in life are impossible to keep hidden and even harder to live down.

"I understand," she says in a small voice. "And thanks for the soup." Reaching out, she grips the bag, her soft fingers brushing mine. Electric charges spread through my hand at her touch.

"If there's anything else you need…" I run my fingers through my hair and tip my head toward my apartment. "I'll be home most of the day." I try for a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. Why am I so awkward in situations like this?

"Yeah, okay. I'll let you know if I need anything." She's back to biting her lip, and I have to force my eyes away. I slowly retreat, and just as I'm about to turn toward my apartment, she asks, "Are you hungry?"

I stop and face her. "I could eat."

She holds up the bag like it's an offering. "Well, I've got soup. And I think there's some crackers in the cupboard. Maybe even stuff to make sandwiches." She shrugs one slender shoulder, and it's that simple gesture that makes me realize I don't want to leave her. For the first time since Brandi left, I crave another person's presence. It's a strangely foreign feeling, one I'm not quite sure what to do with.

"That sounds good." This time, a genuine smile crosses my face. "I've got some sweet tea in my fridge. Want me to bring that over too?"

"Yeah, sure." She opens the door wider, then backs inside. "Just come over when you're ready."

Unsettled, but weirdly excited at the prospect of spending more time with her, I head to my kitchen and grab the pitcher of sweet tea. Hopefully she likes it. It's more of a Southern thing, but I know some northerners are fond of it.

When I reach her door a second time, I knock and say, "Can I come in?"

She calls me inside, and my heart lifts when I see that she's wearing the signature smile I've come to expect from her. "I've got the soup ladled up, but I didn't know what you like on your sandwiches. I've got ham or turkey, mayonnaise, mustard—"

"Ham and mustard is perfect."

"All right." She dips her chin a bit shyly, then begins to assemble my sandwich.

"I can do that," I offer. "You don't have to make me one."

"You brought the soup and sweet tea. The least I can do is make you a sandwich." She tosses another smile over her shoulder. "Why don't you set the table? I know you already know where the plates and silverware are."

"Yeah. Sure." I grab two bowls and two plates from the cupboard, as well as glasses and silverware.

"Where's Bertie?" she asks.

"Having a relaxing day at the new pet spa." I set the plates down on the table with the bowls on top, then set the silverware beside them. "Don't tell her we had lunch together or she'll never forgive me."

Lola sputters a laugh. "She won't hear it from me, though she might smell the ham on you later."

"Maybe I'll make an extra sandwich to give her later."

Lola's laugh grows, and it's so carefree, I instantly wish I could bottle it up. I didn't even say anything remotely funny. I was serious—I will be taking a sandwich to Bertie later. But now I'm wondering how I can make her laugh like that again.

Once the sandwiches are finished, she plates them up alongside the bowls of soup and sinks into the chair across from me. Our eyes meet and hold for a long moment. For whatever reason, I inwardly bristle at the domesticity of this quaint little scene and have to force out an even breath. This feels too much like Sunday dinner. Proper and stifling. Uncomfortable. I rub my hands along my thighs, wishing Bertie was here.

"This is nice," she says with a smile. "You know…taking the day off."

I offer her a single nod and pick up half of my sandwich. Then I second-guess myself. Should I wait until she eats before taking my first bite? It's been so long since I've been on a date, or even had dinner with a woman who wasn't related to me, that I'm not sure what the proper decorum is here. Thankfully, Lola has mercy on me and sips a spoonful of soup first.

I take a bite of my sandwich, careful not to chew too loud or with an open mouth that might leave mustard dribbling down my chin. Why did I think hanging out with her was a good idea?

"So," she starts, her voice cutting through the silence. "I know you have a brother. And I know you all are half-siblings?" She says it like a question, like she's prodding me to open up.

I get it. My entire persona is like one giant Keep Out sign. I never readily offer up details about my life because honestly, a lot of it is sad. And I don't want sympathy. Besides, stories like mine aren't unique. Doesn't everyone have some sob story from their past?

Well. Maybe not her .

Lola was probably birthed on a cloud at the end of a rainbow with a halo made of stars swirling above her little blonde head.

"Perry?"

I meet her eyes, realizing I've waited an unnaturally long time to respond to her question. "Uh, yeah. The three of us all have the same dad." Unfortunately.

"Oh, cool."

An involuntary scoff escapes me. "I guess."

Lola's light eyebrows pull together. "It's not cool that you guys are related?"

I shake my head. "That's not what I mean. It's just…our dad is…" I lean back and struggle to find the right words. When nothing even remotely flattering comes to mind, I decide to tell the truth. "Well, he's kind of a jerk."

She winces. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something painful."

I take a quick sip of my sweet tea, and the ice cubes clink together when I set it back down. "You're fine. But it's the truth. He cheated on my mom with Jerica's mom. Then left my mom after Jerica's mom basically dropped her on our doorstep…then he got remarried to a younger woman and had my brother…" I shake my head at my dad's ridiculousness. "That doesn't even count all the other affairs he's had in between. And I have the bad feeling he's not quite done with his philandering ways. It's just…not an ideal family situation."

She scrunches up her face like she regrets bringing up the topic. Maybe I shouldn't have been so honest with her. "That's awful, Perry. I'm sorry."

I shrug and spin my glass of tea. "It is what it is. My mom is at least better off without him."

She nods like she gets it. "Did she ever get remarried?"

"Yeah. And he's a good guy. Not a cheater."

She smiles at that. "Oh, that's nice. At least she got her happy ever after."

My brow furrows as I take another bite of my sandwich, mulling over her statement. I never really saw my mom as getting a happy ending. More like she settled for what she could after my dad practically wrecked her life. But I guess she is happy with my stepdad, Kirk. They travel and do fun things together when he's got time off. I mean, she definitely doesn't seem un happy with him.

"I'm still looking for my own happy ending." She lets out a small laugh. "In love, I mean. I've already got my dream job."

I swallow the last of my sandwich and choose my words carefully. "Not everyone gets a happy ending in love." God knows I didn't. Loving Brandi bit me in the butt so hard I nearly bled to death when she left. Okay, so that was a gruesome metaphor, but still.

Lola hums and her eyes narrow on me. "Maybe they could if they'd open themselves up to it. But shutting any and all romantic relationships down before they even begin won't get a person anywhere."

I bite the inside of my cheek and tell myself not to respond. She's clearly trying to get a rise out of me, as usual. But she doesn't stop. She keeps poking the bear.

"To receive love, one has to be open to giving love. Even when their past experience has burned them. Even when they haven't had great examples of what love should look like."

My fingers begin to tap a nervous rhythm on the table. I wasn't expecting to be dissected during this lunch. "Maybe people who have endured those things aren't meant for love. Maybe it's better that they resign themselves to a solitary existence. That way, they won't get hurt or hurt anyone else in the process."

Instead of taking offense, Lola's smile lights up. "But what a small life that would be." She leans forward, folding her arms on the tabletop. "I don't know about you, but I want to live big. Bold. And never settle for the losses life hands me. I want to look for love in everything."

Her eyes go a bit twinkly, a bit glassy, and it's impossible not to see how deeply she believes her proclamation. Lola doesn't do anything halfway; that much is clear. She is living big and bold, chasing after what she wants. She's optimistic and seems to see the good in everything. And for once, I wonder whether a life like that would ever be possible for me.

To chase after what I want. To look for love in everything. To open myself up to the possibility of more. I suppress a deep sigh. Isn't that part of why I want to open my own business? To share my passion for creating with the world?

"Anyway," she says, breaking me from my thoughts. "I just don't want to let the ugliness of my past dictate the beauty of my future, you know?"

Ugliness of her past? "You mean you weren't born on a cloud at the end of a rainbow?"

She sputters a laugh and covers her mouth as the words leave my lips. "Unfortunately, no. But that sounds fun!"

"You just seem so…"

"Head-in-the-clouds?" She raises a teasing eyebrow.

I try and fail to fight back a smile. "Don't hate me for saying so, but…maybe. A little."

She sighs dramatically and sits back in her chair. "Well, sorry to disappoint, but my past isn't all sunshine and rainbows, either." Her expression darkens as she focuses on the table. "In fact, I endured a pretty nasty breakup last year. And now…he's my boss."

My stomach sinks as I consider how difficult that must make her job. "I'm sorry. That can't be easy."

She shrugs like it's no big deal. "It's not the most ideal working situation, but we make it work. Well, I make it work. He mostly just lives his smug little life and ignores me."

I shake my head, genuinely confused about how anyone could ignore the whirlwind that is Lola Brighton. She's only been here for a couple of weeks and she's already my daily dose of sunshine. And that's saying a lot, considering I live on the beach.

"Well, it's his loss."

She visibly brightens at my statement. "Thanks. That's what I tell myself every time Horrible Hal passes over my brilliant ideas in favor of someone else's."

My smile widens. "Horrible Hal?"

A pink blush fills her cheeks as she ducks her head. "I know. Not the most mature way to handle a breakup but calling him that does make me feel a bit better about how things ended."

"And how did things end?"

Another long sigh drains out of her. "With him taking me to the most expensive, exclusive restaurant in Newport just to tell me that if he were to settle down this early in his life, it would derail his entire life's plans." She scoffs a derisive laugh. "Apparently, he doesn't want to get married until he's forty-five. And he never wants to have kids. Which is totally fine, but usually that's something that would come up in a relationship you've been in for over a year, and with a woman who has said multiple times that she does want to have kids. He never told me he didn't until that very night."

She fiddles with the spoon, swirling it back and forth through the broth. Her explanation of what happened between her and Horrible Hal guts me. No one, especially someone as special as Lola, should have to sit through a fancy dinner while being told they're not what the other wants after being strung along for a year.

"You deserve better, Lo."

She meets my eyes, and I'm happy to see that their twinkle has returned. "Yeah. I know."

I go back to my soup, trying to ward off the awkward feeling that settles over me at speaking so plainly. It's not easy to tell it like it is to someone I'm coming to care for.

"And Perry?"

"Hm?" I look up, and the sappy expression on her face makes my chest constrict.

"You deserve better than Brandi, too. I hope you know that."

Her words reach deep inside me and wrap around my heart, somehow easing the residual pain that comes each and every time I hear Brandi's name. "Yeah," I say on a swallow. "I know."