3. CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

S undays were typically the day Bennett tried not to go into the office.

It was the day he reserved with his daughters. He skipped his run and caught up on laundry. Then they all went grocery shopping to get stuff for the week, mainly the girls' school lunches, and the kids helped him clean the house too.

By Saturday, the kitchen and bathrooms were a disaster—who knew living with girls was so disgusting? And the laundry pile resembled Mt. Baker.

"Do you want to come grocery shopping with me?" he asked the girls as they had breakfast over at Clint and Talia's house. Brooke—Clint's new girlfriend, who basically moved in once she and Clint reconciled—was there too. It was another Sunday tradition for Bennett and his girls to go over to Clint and Talia's for pancakes. Clint and Bennett took turns making the pancakes, but all the kids agreed that Bennett's were better. Fluffier.

Aya and Emme wrinkled their noses. "We were going to go down to the beach and play in the sand with Talia and Brooke. Can you go do the shopping by yourself?" Emme asked.

"It'll be a hell of a lot faster. Yeah." Shopping with kids seemed to take forever. Yes, they had little legs and took three strides for every one of his, but they also begged for him to buy shit they didn't need, and touched everything . Particularly, Aya. She couldn't keep her jammy hands to herself to save her life. Which was why that kid had more colds than Bennett and his four brothers had during their entire childhood. "She'll have a great immune system as an adult," Jagger always said.

They finished their pancakes and cleanup, then Bennett kissed his daughters goodbye and jumped into his truck. Why he felt the need to glance down the row of cabins to see if Justine's vehicle was parked there eluded him. But he did it anyway, then berated himself for doing it.

He knew better than to catch feelings for a cabin guest. They were nomads. Here and gone. It was also unprofessional, and he was focusing on raising his daughters. Romance had no place in his life right now. Maybe when the girls were grown up, he could seek companionship. But right now, he didn't have the time or energy.

Every pretty face and intriguing personality was a piece of expensive antique porcelain, and he was a child wandering behind his mother in the thrift shop. He could look, but he could not touch.

Sundays were chaos on the island. The farmers' market in the big vacant field across from the Town Center Grocery Store was bustling with locals, tourists, and day-trippers alike. Which meant parking was a nightmare.

But the McEvoy brothers knew of a few secret parking spots. Just like the rest of the locals. So, he headed down a narrow alleyway and smiled when there was one parking spot left. He recognized the other eight vehicles, all responsibly parked angularly for maximum occupancy. They were all locals parked here. All islanders who knew better than to be inconsiderate and park like an asshole so nobody else could get their vehicle in.

Grabbing a half dozen fabric shopping bags from the back of his truck, he headed off down the road, sticking to the narrow shoulder until he ducked through the gate into the big compound that served as "downtown." There were all kinds of little kiosks, shipping containers converted to taco stands and smoothie bars, and a few little huts peddling knickknacks, kombucha, hemp clothing, and anything else you could think of. There wasn't much you couldn't get on the island. And it was probably healthier and more ethically sourced than the shit you'd buy in the city. It'd also be twice as expensive though.

Nodding at nearly a dozen people he recognized, Bennett made his way up the stairs to the grocery store. The Town Center Grocery Store itself was like Frankenstein's monster, only a building and not a person. Over the years, the owners had built on more and more additions so they could offer more to their patrons. It was two floors and like a labyrinth inside. Clothing, meat, tackle, camping equipment, makeup, medicine, produce, canned goods, sporting goods, plants, and more. If you wanted it, chances are you could find it in the deep recesses of the store.

Fortunately, Bennett didn't need anything besides food. So he stuck to the top floor and pushed his cart through the aisles.

He was off in a dreamworld and staring at his shopping list when someone's cart crashed into his. Or he crashed into theirs. He wasn't sure.

"Oh shit! Sorry," he said, backing up and shaking the fog from his brain. He expected to see another local and they could both laugh it off, but it was no local.

A pretty pink filled Justine's cheeks, highlighting the freckles. She really was stunning. If he were to guess, she was probably of at least half Asian ethnicity and half white, though he could be wrong. He also wasn't sure what area of Asia and knew it wasn't politically correct to ask.

"No, I'm sorry," she blurted out, clearly flustered. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm trying to read the signs overhead to figure out which aisle to go to and I … I'm sorry."

"No harm, no foul," he replied with a smile. "So, you're out exploring then?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I, uh … I forgot a few things. Like seasonings for cooking, earplugs, sunscreen, that kind of thing." Her smile was brittle and forced, and her eyes darted around as if looking for any kind of distraction to pull her from interacting with him any longer.

"Well, seasonings are in aisle five. Sunscreen and earplugs will be downstairs with the health and beauty stuff. You'll have to take the elevator if you want to bring down your cart. Otherwise, you can leave it in the cart park at the top of the stairs." He pointed to where several patrons had "parked" their carts so they could run downstairs to pick up a few things.

"Oh! Um, thanks." The color in her cheeks disappeared a little, and she seemed less inclined to flee. Her gaze slid down to the shopping list in her hand. "And if I were a beach towel? Where would I be?"

That made him smile. "You'd also be downstairs with the sporting goods."

"Right. That makes sense. Thank you."

She backed up a bit more to reverse out of the aisle, but the need to keep talking to her—for reasons Bennett refused to acknowledge—made him ask, "Did you eat dinner at the pub last night?"

She halted again. "I … I did, yeah. It was good. I got the Mediterranean Burger."

"I hope you requested no tomatoes?"

Now, her smile was genuine. "I did, yeah. And I had the Beer-Soaked Garlic Fries and the Raspberry Ganache Torte. It was all wonderful."

"Wyatt's not an idiot in the kitchen. I'll give him that."

Silence fell between them, and her lips dipped into a small frown.

Was he flirting? He hadn't flirted in so long he wasn't even sure if he was anymore, or if he was doing it right. Or if he wanted to. All he knew was that he didn't want her to leave yet. He wanted to keep talking to her. To find out what prompted her spur-of-the-moment reservation for seven weeks. He also wanted to know what she did for work that would allow her to take so much time. He wanted to know everything about her. But most of all, why she seemed so hell-bent on not smiling? Because when she did smile it brightened up the whole fucking world.

"Hopefully, the pub noise and music weren't too loud last night?"

She shook her head. "I was fine. But I am going to get earplugs just to … you know, tune it all out. I typically go to bed early. So …"

"Thursday, Friday, and Saturday it's loud, but tonight won't be as wild. Next weekend, our live music starts again on Friday and Saturday nights, with different touring bands. So earplugs and maybe even a white noise machine might not be a bad idea. I have white noise machines in my office for cabin guests to borrow. Come find me back at the property later today and I'll grab one for you."

"Oh … um. Thank you. I'm not sure if I'll need one, but thank you."

Dear god, he was the worst flirter in the world. This wasn't even flirting, this was torture by painful conversation. He was slowly killing this poor woman to death with his mundane colloquy. Clearing his throat and hating the heat in his cheeks and fluttering in his belly, he flashed her a smile. "Well, I won't keep you from your shopping. Enjoy the rest of your day."

That fake, grim smile came back for just a half-second. Then she nodded and awkwardly reversed to the front of the aisle and disappeared while Bennett mentally flagellated himself for ten minutes until he finished his shopping and got in line for the checkout.

Jordana, a pretty redheaded woman probably in her mid-thirties, was at the checkout like she usually was. But the line was getting pretty long.

One of the downsides to living on an island founded by draft dodgers and hippies was that those of them still alive moved on the slower side, and getting behind one of them at the checkout could take forever.

"I'm open over here," came a friendly, familiar voice.

Bennett smiled at one of the store owner's sons, Wallace Franks, who now ran the place for his aging parents. He wheeled his cart over to Wallace's checkout, but was T-boned by another cart.

The same cart he collided with earlier.

"Shit," Bennett breathed, taking in Justine's pinking cheeks.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I wasn't even looking."

"You go first," Bennett insisted. "You have way less in your cart."

"No, no. You go. You were here first."

"Well, one of you needs to go because the rest of us are waiting to get in line. I'd prefer to get home before dark, if you don't mind," said old Mrs. Mullins, a crotchety local with a voice like rocks in a coffee grinder and a personality to match.

Bennett bowed his head, as did Justine, and they allowed Mrs. Mullins to go ahead of them. She didn't thank either of them and just harrumphed, and glared at them as she loaded the conveyor belt with her items.

This, of course, forced Bennett and Justine to stand in line together and wait.

Which meant more of that wonderfully awkward silence and his ridiculous attempt at flirting.

God, he just needed to stop. He was obviously terrible at it.

"Find everything on your list?" he asked, unsure if he should peer into her cart or not. Was that rude? What if she had like condoms or lube or something in there?

"I did, yeah. Thanks for the tip about parking my cart and walking down the stairs. It was a lot easier."

His gaze drifted down to the inside of her cart. Nothing weird or sexual stood out. Unless she had questionable plans for that cucumber?

"What about you?" she asked. "Find everything?"

"I, uh, I just have to stop at Barrington's Bees for some honey. Then I'll be set."

Her interest piqued. "Oh? There's a local apiary on the island?"

"There is. And in my opinion, it's the best honey in the state. Small batches, ethically and sustainably sourced. Their bees are very happy. They're also part of a local cooperative, providing their wax to local artisans for various crafts like lip balm, candles, lotions and stuff."

"Is it far from here? I'd love to check it out."

"Just down the road. Right at the crossroads out front. Due north. Then about a quarter mile straight down the road, hang a left into their driveway, then another quarter mile to their house and honey store. I'm happy to grab you something if you'd like. I'm going there anyway."

Mrs. Mullins finished paying Wallace for her groceries. Then it was Justine's turn. She loaded up her few items from her cart and Wallace scanned them.

"Oh, I think I'll go on my own. Thanks. I'd like to see what other things they have." She smiled that fake smile again, aiming it at Wallace as well, as she fished out her credit card from her wallet.

"Do you have a reusable bag, or would you like to purchase a paper bag for fifty cents?" Wallace asked.

"Oh … uh … I guess I'll buy a paper bag. I don't have my reusable bags—"

"I've got more than enough," Bennett said, grabbing two from his cart and handing them over.

"I can afford fifty cents," Justine protested.

"Yeah, but those paper bags don't have any handles. They're awkward as hell to carry. Here."

Color filled her cheeks again and his cock twitched in his shorts.

Goddamn it, she was beautiful.

She accepted the bags. "Thank you. I'll return these to you back at the … at the cabins."

"Oh, are you a guest?" Wallace asked, as he helped Justine bag her items.

She tapped her card to pay. "I am, yes."

Wallace handed her the receipt and a sick feeling filled Bennett's belly. He didn't want her to go. As mundane as this conversation was, he wanted it to continue. He just enjoyed being around this woman. She intrigued him to no end, and he wanted to keep talking to her. She wasn't brushing him off. He knew that. He could sense her returned interest. But something about her demeanor, and the way she dropped any wayward smile as if it were a violation of some terms and conditions, beguiled him. Why was she so determined not to find any kind of joy? To allow herself to find joy?

"Well, maybe I'll see you at the honey farm then," she said, batting long, thick lashes at him.

He loaded his items onto the conveyor belt. "Maybe you will."

She waved ‘goodbye' to him, and he had to bunch his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching for her.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

"She's pretty," Wallace said, as he finished ringing up Bennett. "Sad eyes though. Any idea why?"

Bennett grunted. If he agreed with Wallace, the gossip train on the island would have Bennett and Justine engaged by lunchtime tomorrow. That was one of the few downsides to living in such a small town on a close-knit island.

He paid Wallace and grabbed his bags. "Thanks, Wallace. Catch ya later." Then he hightailed it out of there like he was being chased, because like a teenage boy with a new crush, he wanted to catch up to Justine.

A stupid kind of giddiness came over him as he parked his truck next to Justine's SUV in the gravel parking lot of Barrington's. Typical for a sunny Sunday in June, the place was busy. Every touristy place on the island was harried this time of year.

He stifled his annoyance at the non-locals flooding the island for an amuse-bouche of a more relaxed way of living. It was these people that kept his lights on and his kids fed. It was these people that kept his brothers and his businesses successful.

They were still irritating though.

Sometimes, he just wanted to buy his local artisan honey and not wait in line for twenty minutes behind posh citiots driving Teslas.

As he stalked across the parking lot, he snorted at that last thought.

Local artisan honey .

Now who was the poshy douche?

All he needed was a Tesla and a popped collar, and he'd fit right in.

Her understated ponytail, dark skinny jeans, and gray tank top should have caused her to blend right in with the crowd, but he noticed her immediately. As if she wore a high vis vest and had a neon sign above her head.

His pace quickened when a space next to her at the sample bar opened up, but then he slowed his roll. Maybe she wanted to be alone? Would she think he was stalking her?

No. He told her he was coming here. He planned to come to Barrington's first.

Clearing his throat, he sidled up beside her. "Aya and Emme like the lavender honey the best."

She pulled the small, flat, wooden sample stick out of her mouth and glanced up at him, her brown eyes wide, but not in surprise.

One of the bee farm employees stood behind a counter with a bunch of squeeze bottles. There were flat spoon-like sticks for sampling. He would squeeze a dollop of the honeys onto the stick for people to try. It was a very popular activity for tourists. Sometimes, even the locals brought their kids to the farm for a tour of the honey harvesting process and samples.

"I'll try the lavender one, please," Justine said, nodding at Elwyn behind the counter.

Elwyn smiled and squeezed a dollop onto her stick.

It should not have turned Bennett on the way it did, watching her put the stick in her mouth and suck off the sweet, golden liquid.

He also just as easily could have bought honey from the honor system farm stand the Barrington's had at the front of their long driveway, for those who didn't want to bother with the main store and throngs of visitors.

But he didn't. Because he wanted to see her. Because he wanted to spend more time with her.

Fuck, he was getting in deep and all signs pointed to a disaster. But a big, stupid part of him didn't care.

"That was delicious," she said softly.

"Our fireweed honey is also very popular," Elwyn explained, squeezing dollops from that bottle onto other peoples' thrusted out sticks. Justine mimicked them, waiting for her fireweed honey.

"It's good," Bennett agreed. "But I'm partial to the clover honey. To me it has the best flavor. Hints of hay and freshly-cut grass. With plummy and cinnamon notes. I like the way the flavor lingers on the tongue."

Someone behind him snorted. "Are we at a honey tasting or a wine tasting? Plummy? Freshly-cut grass?"

Bennett glanced over his shoulder to see the popped collar tourist wearing his Oakley sunglasses indoors, smiling with his too-big veneers like he'd just cracked the best joke of the year.

Bennett let his gaze slide slowly up, then down the man. They were the same height, but Bennett had more breadth. And more brains. That was clear.

"I think we're at a honey tasting," Bennett said calmly before turning around. Justine watched him as he grinned at Elwyn. "Can I have a sample of the clover honey, please?"

Elwyn was all grins and nodded, grabbing a fresh sample stick for Bennett and squeezing a dollop onto the end of it. He did so for Justine as well.

At the exact same time, Bennett and Justine put the sticks in their mouths, their eyes locked as they sucked off the delicious, fragrant elixir of the gods.

"Mmm," she hummed, smiling around the stick.

Bennett's dick jumped in his shorts.

A rush of color to her cheeks and the widening of her eyes had her pivoting to face Elwyn again.

"Well, hell. Give me some of that then," the douche in the yellow polo with the popped collar said, elbowing his way beside Bennett and holding out his stick.

It was obvious to anyone with an ounce of awareness that Elwyn was painfully fighting an eye roll. But he was the utmost professional, nodding and squeezing a dewdrop-sized dollop of honey onto Mr. Popped Collar's stick.

"Doesn't taste any different than the other ones," Popped Collar said with a scoff. "Dude, you're making this shit up." He scoffed again, shook his head at Bennett, and went off to find his citiot friends.

Elwyn, Justine, and Bennett all snickered and smiled at each other.

"Ah, such unrefined palates," Elwyn sung. "I bet he's the type of guy who buys expensive wine because of the price tag, not the taste. But in truth, can't tell the difference between a bottle of Petit Syrah from Golden Sunrise, or a box of red for six fifty from the Lucky Buck liquor store."

Justine snorted. "To be fair, I'm not sure I could tell the difference either. My palate isn't that refined."

Still smiling, Elwyn grabbed another stick, then put a dollop of the lavender honey on it while motioning for Justine to hold out hers. He put a dollop of the clover honey on that one. "Try them back-to-back."

She did as she was told, and her eyes lit up in surprise. "I do taste a difference. The clover one is a lot …" She looked up at Bennett, "earthier?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Do you taste the grass?"

"A little bit, yeah. But I don't taste the plums."

Elwyn snorted again. "An adolescent palate, but at least you're not as immature as Mr. Yellow Polo over there."

They all snickered again, then Justine and Bennett moved over so new people could sample Elwyn's wares.

"I don't usually cook or bake with honey. And I drink my coffee black," she murmured, more to herself than to Bennett, given the way she seemed to almost be ignoring him as she picked up the various labeled jars and turned them around to read the backs. "And I have muesli for breakfast. Unsweetened, since that's better for your heart."

"You could get the honey as a gift. For your parents?" he offered, slightly behind her and off to the side. She was tall, and it was impossible for him not to smell her hair, given that her ponytail was right in front of his nose. It smelled incredible. Like some tropical flower and sunshine. The paradox wasn't lost on him in the least. Her hair smelled like joy and hope while the person projected nothing but sadness and despair.

He pulled in one more big inhale, then took a step forward and to the side. "Unless your parents also don't cook, or bake, or consume honey? Are you vegan? Are you from a family of vegans?"

Her smile only curled up one side of her mouth, and it lasted for maybe two seconds. "No. We're not vegans. We are all fairly health-conscious though."

" All ?"

"My parents, my two sisters, and I."

"Ah."

That half-smile returned. "Buuut, I'm on vacation, and mixing up my breakfast routine might not be a terrible idea. I did buy a loaf of bread from the bakery stand on the way here that smells incredible."

"From Let It Rise?" he asked. "The girls are addicted to their herb and olive sourdough."

"That's the one I bought. And the oat and sunflower one. I couldn't decide." She was trying hard to not smile, and thankfully, seemed to be doing a shit job of succeeding. She was beautiful with and without a smile, but when she did smile, it lit up the whole building.

With the clover honey jar in her hand, she made her way to the cash register. Bennett grabbed an identical jar, but was barreled into by Justine when she abruptly spun around and crashed into him. His fault for being so close behind her.

"Shit. Sorry," he murmured, only half-truly apologetic.

"I'm going to get the lavender one too," she said, picking up a second jar with the light purple label. "For my dad."

She cradled the jars against her chest as they moved forward with the long line.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" he asked.

A strange unease crept into her expression. Did she think he was asking her on a date?

"I … I don't know. Maybe a hike? The beach? I don't know."

"Heaven's Leap Park is always lovely, and it doesn't seem too windy. So the walk along the cliff would be more enjoyable."

They had such a lovely time discussing honey that he felt like he was making progress, but now she seemed determined to keep her back to him and not engage with him at all.

What the fuck was this woman's deal?

"What do you do for work?"

Her phone chimed in her pocket. She pulled it out and distractedly looked at it for half a second, made the same stoney frown as the day before, then put it back in her pocket. "I … I, um … I'm between jobs right now," she said, not really turning around, just pivoting her body enough that she wasn't completely facing away from him.

"Oh."

"Just taking some time to figure out what I want to do next."

"Well, the island is really good for helping people find clarity. The sea breeze, slower pace, and relaxing vibe help a lot of people with epiphanies and problems."

"I need more than an epiphany," she murmured.

He was about to dive into that and ask what she meant, but Hershel behind the counter summoned her to the till. So she left Bennett in his place and went to pay for her honey.

He shouldn't have expected her to wait for him to pay so they could walk out together. So when she didn't, but rather offered him a half-hearted wave as she took her honey and receipt out the door, he chastised himself for being disappointed.

He was trying to blur the lines between patron and proprietor. Into what? He wasn't sure. He was attracted to her and liked being around her, but whether or not he was ready for a relationship was another story.

Maybe she was into him like he first thought? Maybe she was just being nice and he was completely interpreting it wrong, manifesting something that wasn't there because he wanted it to be? She was brushing him off and he needed to take the hint and back away.

"Your girls sure love this clover honey, huh?" Hershel asked as he rung up Bennett's order.

Bennett snorted. "Yeah, the girls … right." Meanwhile, it was he who indulged more than anyone on bread and honey. It was his guilty pleasure once the kids were in bed. He sat in front of the television watching wildlife documentaries and eating honey on bread. If he didn't run every damned morning, he'd probably be three hundred pounds.

Hershel chuckled and crumpled the receipt when Bennett waved it off.

Mr. Popped Collar was still in the building guffawing with his popped collar friends off in a corner. Bennett just rolled his eyes as he walked past them, their heavy cologne following him out the door. He took a deep breath of fresh air and exhaled in disappointment at the vacant spot next to his truck where Justine's SUV had been.

It was all in his head. It had to be.

He was into her—the first woman he'd been into since Carla—and unlike Clint who found his happily ever after, it just wasn't in the cards for Bennett. Not yet anyway. Justine wasn't interested. She had some shit going on and she came to the island to figure it out, not be pursued by a workaholic single dad. He needed to leave her be.

With equal parts resolution and despair in his soul, he climbed into the truck and backed out of the busy lot, eager to get home to his girls, his business, and his life, and forget all about the pretty woman in cabin five.