Rogue Wave Isabel Jolie (books for 20 year olds .TXT) 📖

onto the phone, cleaning remnants of sand from the surface, and handed it back to me. Then he picked up the tray and exited onto the deck.

“Luna? Luna? Are you there?” Nova’s voice echoed.

I put the phone to my ear while looking into Tate’s probing aqua eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I dropped the phone. Can I call you back?”

“Everything okay?” Tate asked after I ended the call with my sister. His eyebrows angled in on each other, forming a deep crease.

“My dad had an accident, but he’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and picked up his coffee cup from the tray.

“You want to join me?” I asked. He’d set the tray down on one of the small tables out on the deck. It seemed he planned on picking his breakfast up and sitting somewhere else.

I couldn’t tell from his sober expression if he was concerned or if he might be debating how to escape eating breakfast with me.

“Sit down.” I pushed the seat at the table out for him with my leg. I won’t bite.

He pulled the chair out farther and sat down. One other couple sat at a table about ten feet away on the deck, but otherwise, we were alone.

“Where’s Gabe?” I asked.

“Just dropped him off at the ferry. He’s on his way back to New York.”

“He seemed like a nice guy.”

“He liked your friend.”

“Yeah, they seemed to hit it off.” I unraveled the paper wrapped around my plastic fork and knife.

“Yes.” He nodded a few times. His steaming cup of grits, cheese, tomatoes, and chives looked good, better than the avocado toast I’d ordered. He dipped his fork in and stirred it around, his gaze flicking between his breakfast and me. A low pulse of energy surged between us.

“I overheard some of your conversation.” He sounded guilty. I’d kind of forgotten where I was standing when talking to Nova, but it didn’t matter to me if anyone overheard.

“So, you heard my dad fell off a roof?”

“Everything okay?”

“It will be. I wish I could be there to help, that’s all.”

“Where’s there?”

“Florida. It’s not easy to be far away. But, then again, I guess you of all people know that.”

He paused for a moment, mid-chew, then swallowed.

“I have some ideas sketched out for you, and some paint colors that we’ve used in other cottages. If you want me to bring them over later, I can.”

“I’d appreciate it. The floors are done. I’m thinking I might do what you suggested, put some shiplap on one wall downstairs, then it’ll be ready for painting. Unless I tackle the kitchen.”

“Did you do the floors by yourself?”

“No. This guy Tony helped. Do you know him?”

“He works for Mr. Baird’s construction company.”

“Yeah. He had a couple of days off. I think there was a delay in some materials being delivered or something, so the job was on hold. He stopped by and asked if I needed help installing.”

“Are you happy with the floors?”

“Oh, yeah. They look great. Pretty easy to install, too, snap ’em in place.” He sipped his coffee while I chewed on my avocado toast. A seagull landed on the deck railing, eyeing our food. Tate raised his arm, waving it, and the seagull flew away.

“How close are you and Poppy?” he asked as he crossed his leg, resting one ankle on his knee. With his t-shirt and board shorts and hair pulled back, he bore the laidback look of a surfer. But his somber vibe aged him.

“Pretty close. She’s my best friend on the island, by far.” I waited, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning. If he aimed to judge, I’d defend.

“Do you guys…do you work together?” he asked.

I laughed out loud. “Oh, my god. Is that what’s bugging you? You’re wondering if I’m an OnlyFans girl, too?” He shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, prompting me to say more. “That really bothers you, huh? That she sells photos?”

“She does more than sell photos.” I raised my eyebrows at both his tone and his words. “But no,” he added, sulking. “Well, yes and no. I wish we lived in a world that no one had to sell their body for money. But if she chooses to do so, and she wants to do it, then I guess I don’t have an issue with it.”

“That’s right,” I added forcefully. “To each his own. No judgment.” I studied him, thinking about him tearing off in the rain, refusing a ride home.

His teeth scraped slowly over his bottom lip. “So, you didn’t answer. Do you do that, too?”

“Would it bother you if I did?” I kind of liked the idea that he might care.

Those blue eyes lifted to mine, and I thought he was going to open up, but he balled up his napkin, scooped up his trash, and tossed it in the nearby trash can on the corner of the deck.

“Tate?” I asked.

“Like you said. To each his own. Come by anytime. We haven’t discussed your rates yet. Prepare a proposal. And an hourly or project rate. Okay?”

“I’ll come by this morning.” My pulse quickened as he stood before me, close enough that if I raised my arm, I could touch his worn t-shirt, or graze my fingers over the rough, unshaven auburn growth along his jaw. I breathed in the faint familiar scent of lemongrass. It reminded me of the Citronella Campsuds body soap my father insisted on using at home. He always said it served a double-duty by being good for the sea and keeping the insects away.

Tate gazed down, introspective, oblivious I’d been breathing him in. He swallowed, and I watched the movement in his throat. I had the craziest urge to lean forward and trace kisses from the underside of his jaw and down his neck. He turned his back on me as he called out, “Later.”

Chapter 11

Tate

After leaving Luna, I didn’t return to the cottage. I couldn’t handle being caged in by walls. The long stretch of beach welcomed me, the mammoth ocean