Finding You by Daphne Elliot

5

DECLAN

What did I do?Why on earth did I invite a strange woman into my house? I never invited people to my house. My parents and brothers just sort of showed up sometimes, but certainly not because I wanted them there. This was my sanctuary, my place where I could just be me. I never invited people here if I could help it, especially women.

I ran around furiously picking up and trying to make everything look presentable. My time in the navy had turned me into a little bit of a neat freak so I tended to get anxious if things were out of place. I carefully folded the knit afghan my grandmother had made for me over the couch and fluffed the throw pillows. Everything in my home was carefully and deliberately chosen. Unlike most guys, I wanted to live in a real home, not some glorified frat house with a big-screen TV and no couch. My house wasn’t fancy, but I took a lot of pride in it.

It had taken years to build this place. After I bought the land, it took a while to save enough to start building. I did some work myself and just waited until I could get things exactly right. I painted and sanded and built some basic furniture and waited while my dream slowly came together over the years. This house was a labor of love. And it was my special place. Ginger was the only woman in this house. My mom dropped by occasionally, usually with baked goods, and sometimes Cece, my future sister-in-law, stopped by when Liam was working late. She was cool and didn’t force me to talk too much, so I didn’t mind.

Why couldn’t I have offered her some to take home? Why did I invite her to eat dinner with me? What was it about this girl that made me act so strangely? Also, eating ribs was the last thing I wanted to do with a pretty girl. They were messy and required the use of your hands. I was going to feel embarrassed the whole time.

But there was something about her. On the surface she looked like a supermodel and carried herself like a CEO. But once she started talking, she seemed lonely and kind of bored. I was intrigued, which doesn’t happen often.

I could lie to myself and say I was just being neighborly. But, I had lived here for six years and never entertained my other neighbors, the Shulmans. They were a nice retired couple that spent the winters in Florida and hosted big parties in the summer for their grandkids. I liked them well enough, but we certainly didn’t hang out. And let’s face it, I wasn’t exactly the neighborly type.

The good news was that it was just one dinner. And it wasn’t like anyone was going to find out. If my mother got wind of this she would be thrilled. Then, once she took a look at Astrid and confirmed she was a woman under the age of eighty, she would be trying to schedule a wedding. The good thing about living up here on the bluff was that no one knew my business, and I liked it that way.

* * *

“So I brought you something.” Astrid thrust a very fancy bottle of scotch into my hands and immediately bent down to greet Ginger.

I took a step back to hang up her coat and got a whiff of something feminine and spicy and a bit bold.

Desperate for something to do to keep me from sniffing her again, I stared at the bottle. “Wow. Lagavulin 16. This is really good stuff. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She slipped off her boots and walked breezily into the living room. “I debated what to bring you. I have a bunch of nice stuff. Including a small batch rum that was flown in from Haiti on a private jet. But I pegged you for a scotch guy.” She turned around and smiled at me, and I noticed a dimple in her left cheek.

“Yes. It’s great.”

“I have lots of fancy booze. Every time we closed a deal or fixed a regulatory filing for a client, they always sent expensive liquor. I never had any time to drink it.”

She walked around my house looking at the photos of me and my family that hung on the wall across from the fireplace. “And so, when I was packing to come here, I threw a bunch of it in a duffel bag.”

I had no idea what to say to this blunt, random, and beautiful woman who was currently performing an FDA-grade inspection on my living room and apparently traveled with duffel bags full of booze. “Thanks. Would you like some?”

“Sure.” She kept walking around. “So you live here alone?”

I watched her as I grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet. She walked with such purpose, I half expected her to pull a white glove out of her pocket and start swiping all the surfaces. “Yes. Just me and Ginger.”

“Wow. Then I’m impressed.”

I poured the scotch and shrugged. I don’t know what was so impressive to her.

“This is not a bachelor pad. This is a real home. Did you hire an interior designer? It definitely screams manly, but it’s homey too. You have throw pillows! And framed photos.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I spent a long time building this place and getting everything the way I wanted it. I did it all myself. But those frames… my mom bought those. But I did hang them.”

“It’s like a magazine spread in here. I don’t read magazines, so I don’t know which one. But one of the fancy home decor ones, definitely.” She shrugged and continued to stare at the photos.

I walked back toward her with our drinks.

I gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”

She stopped her inspection long enough to sit on the deep leather couch and crossed her long legs. Her white-blonde hair glowed in the firelight. Ginger approached and sat in front of her, gently nudging her hand. Astrid responded by scratching Ginger’s ears and nuzzling her neck.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit betrayed. It had taken months to get Ginger to even tolerate me. And after years together, I was the only person she really liked. Seeing her open up to this complete stranger was jarring. But also cute. I wanted to be annoyed, but they were pretty adorable together.

I handed her a tumbler and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. She held up her glass.

“To neighbors who invite themselves over,” I said teasingly.

She glared at me, and I thought I felt my balls shrivel slightly. “To neighbors with extra meat.” I choked back a laugh, but she kept a straight face. We clinked and took a sip. Damn, this was good. We sat silently for a few minutes, watching the fire and enjoying our drinks. It felt nice. I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat quietly and contentedly with a woman. Most women I dated felt the need to chatter and fill every silence. Astrid was confident and seemed to value the quiet just as much as I did.

I studied her profile as she gazed into the fireplace. She had a cute upturned nose and long, dark eyelashes. Her hair hung like a shiny curtain to her collarbones, highlighting a long, graceful neck. She was wearing a sweatshirt, but one of those fancy, expensive sweatshirts that hung off one shoulder exposing a tantalizing triangle of flesh and what looked to be a pink bra strap.

I tried to keep myself from staring, focusing instead on Ginger, who got bored of all the human attention and walked back over to her dog bed. Thanks, Ginger.

As much as I loved the silence, I needed to know more about her. I wanted to know everything about her. That thought scared me so I started to babble. “So you are Connie Jensen’s niece?”

She nodded.

“What brings you to Havenport?”

She shifted away from me and suddenly looked uncomfortable. I instantly felt guilty for asking.

“It’s hard to explain.” She twisted her hair around her fingers, and I saw her poker face begin to crack. “I am taking a little break from work and didn’t want to stay in my apartment in the city, so Connie, my aunt, offered me this rental property for a while.” I got the sense that was not the whole story, but I was not one to push.

I took a sip of whiskey and chose my words carefully. “Welcome. It’s much nicer in the summer, but January is a quiet month here.”

“That’s what I’m looking for,” she said eagerly, “some peace and quiet.” She stared at the fire as if she wished she were a thousand miles away from here.

“I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

“Oh my God, this is so good.” She groaned, licking the barbecue sauce from her fingertips.

I smiled and tried to stay focused on my food and not the sex moans coming out of her mouth. I thought the moans were bad, but watching her lick her fingers had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat, grateful I had worn jeans and not sweatpants.

“I can’t believe you made this.”

“It’s not that hard,” I replied.

“Um, don’t sell yourself short, dude. This is incredible. This is easily the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in years.”

She was not making this easy.

“And this jalapeño cornbread? You baked this?”

“Yup. My mom’s recipe. It’s super easy.”

“A man who cooks. Goddamn, you are a catch.” Her smile was so big and genuine, so different than the cold, formal woman who had shown up an hour earlier. Perhaps it was the second glass of scotch or the barbecue, but she was warming up and I liked it.

I could feel my face heat. Thankfully my beard concealed my blush. As the night went on, I found myself getting more and more comfortable with Astrid. She was serious and intense but had a silly streak. And watching her eat was amazing. I had been on dates with so many women who refused to eat or acted like they were afraid of food. Why did women think men were into that? I hadn’t realized how much I liked a girl with an appetite until I saw Astrid destroy a rack of ribs and then lick her fingers.

“Where did you learn to cook? Did you take classes? Where? I can’t even microwave popcorn.” She grabbed her smartphone and started scrolling. “Is there a cooking school nearby?”

I stared at her, completely intrigued and yet confused by this woman. “Not that I know of. I learned mainly from my mom and then by watching YouTube videos.”

“Huh.” She seemed impressed.

“I was in the navy for eight years. A lot of those years were spent at sea where the food options were terrible. When I got out, I vowed to learn to cook really well so I would never have to eat rubbery chicken or boxed macaroni and cheese again.”

“You were in the navy?” She tapped her chin, as if assessing me. I sat up a little straighter. “I can see that. You have excellent posture, and your house is really neat. Did you enjoy serving?”

“I did. When I enlisted I was an eighteen-year-old dumbass, and when I got out I was a twenty-six-year-old man. It wasn’t easy, but I am grateful for that time and the opportunity to serve my country.”

She grasped my hand across the table. “Thank you for your service. I admire the commitment you made.”

She was so earnest it made me smile. My skin burned where her graceful hand covered my large, callused one. “Thanks. Both my dad and grandfather served in the navy, so it’s kind of a family tradition.”

She took a sip of scotch and leaned forward on her elbows, causing that fancy sweatshirt to slide even farther off her shoulder. “So you are a military man, an excellent cook, and what else? Tell me more about you, Declan.”

“There is not much to tell. You know Ginger. I have lived in Havenport most of my life. After the navy, I joined my family’s fishing business. I am a fourth generation fisherman. Our company, Quinn Fisheries, is headquartered here in Havenport.”

“That’s so interesting. So you work with your family?”

“Not really. Both of my brothers are in different lines of work. I worked with my dad for years, but he technically retired two years ago. He is still the CEO and works there, just not as much as he used to. I am currently COO, but I run the day-to-day operations.”

“So you are not a fisherman?”

“I am, but I’m not. I am frustrated by my role because I like being out on the water, and I like my crews. I hate paperwork and useless meetings and holding clients’ hands.” What I didn’t say was that I hated dealing with people. The ocean, while dangerous, unpredictable, and sometimes downright hostile, was much easier for me to manage.

“And I love working with my dad, but we have different ideas about the future of the business.” I didn’t want to get into it with this gorgeous stranger, but I was growing more and more frustrated at work. Every year things got harder, and we needed to do more to adapt and evolve as a business. My father, of course, thought this was crazy and we should just stay the course he had set twenty years ago.

She nodded and remarked, “So you’re really an executive?”

She had hit the nail on the head. “Yes. It’s what I do. But it’s not who I am. I am a fisherman. Being out on the water, celebrating the beauty of nature—that’s what I truly love.” I paused, I hated talking about myself. “You haven’t told me anything about yourself.”

She leaned back, her body language changing. “There isn’t much to tell. I was…I am a lawyer.”

“Wow.” I could tell she was educated and refined, but I hadn’t guessed lawyer, especially for someone so young.

“I’m an associate at Burns & Glenn. It’s a massive global law firm.” She paused. “I was, I guess.” She looked down at her plate. “I do mergers and acquisitions mainly, and some general corporate work, debt and securities, that type of thing.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was certainly impressed.

“I live in Boston. I was raised in the area and that’s about it.” She dropped her hands into her lap. Clearly she didn’t like to talk about herself either.

“I don’t believe you. What do you do for fun?” I asked, trying to tease a smile out of her.

She laughed out loud. Not a dainty cute laugh but a big honking laugh. I had no idea what was so funny. “Not much. Unfortunately my career doesn’t allow much time for fun.” She said this matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. “I like to plan vacations.”

“That’s cool.”

“I don’t actually take them. I just plan them. Every time I try to go on vacation I end up having to cancel because of work. But I really enjoy the planning—reading reviews, looking at photos online, scoping out activities and restaurants. That kind of thing.”

I nodded, not really sure what to say to that. “What is your dream destination?”

She sighed and played with her fork. “Iceland. A few years ago, a group of associates I was friendly with were planning this big trip to Iceland after a case we worked on wrapped up. We all booked our tickets, and I read every possible book and website about Iceland. I was fascinated. I wanted to hike a glacier, see the Northern Lights, and swim in the geothermal springs. I planned the shit out of that trip.”

“What happened?”

Her face fell. “I ended up getting staffed on an emergency bankruptcy filing and had to cancel. The others went and had a blast.”

“You will get there someday.”

“I hope so. Because I already know everything I want to do there.”

She must really love her work. I wondered what had happened, why she was here and not kicking ass in a boardroom somewhere. She seemed sad, and not just about the cancelled trip to Iceland. I tried to lighten the mood. “So you are a corporate lawyer who lives in Boston and can’t cook.”

“Yup. And trust me, I really can’t cook. That’s why I am so grateful for your hospitality.”

I smiled at her, and then a crashing sound distracted me. Ginger had flipped over her food bowl. There was kibble all over the floor.

“Ginger,” I shouted. But my darling dog sat, with her perfect poodle posture, and stared at me.

“What’s wrong?” Astrid asked, curiously staring at Ginger.

“Ignore her,” I said. “She’s just mad because I didn’t give her any barbecue.”

Astrid snorted. It was cute. “So she knocked over her own food. Nice job, girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t encourage her. She’s already super spoiled. She would totally eat at the table with a knife and fork if I let her.”

But Astrid was ignoring me, already picking some meat off her plate to offer to Ginger, who slowly strolled over and gently took it from her hand.

When she finished, she sat at attention, staring at me for more. Ginger never begged—we both knew it was beneath her. Instead she would sit and stare at me until I gave her what she wanted.

“In her defense,” Astrid said, laughing wildly, “it is really good barbecue.”

“Fine.” I sighed. I started cutting some meat off the ribs to give to Ginger.

Astrid beamed at me, delighted that I was kowtowing to Ginger’s demands. “You are a really good dog dad.”

I looked up and found myself staring into her gorgeous green eyes. “What can I say? I love strong women.”

* * *

Astrid insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes while I vacuumed up the spilled dog food. “I can’t cook for shit, but I am a halfway decent cleaner,” she told me, while scrubbing the cornbread pan.

I believed her. She approached every task carefully and thoughtfully. She considered where each dish should go in the dishwasher to maximize space and easily fit everything in. Was it weird that I was attracted to her superior spatial awareness?

“Can I walk you home?” I asked hopefully.

She pinned me with one of her serious looks. “Across the street? That hardly seems necessary.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “It’s late and it’s cold. And my mother raised me right.”

She carefully folded the dish towel and placed it on the countertop, taking her time and avoiding my question. “Fine. You can walk me home. But only if Ginger comes too.”

Ginger perked right up and trotted over to the door, excited for a late night walk.

It took all of two minutes to reach her front door. She carefully unlocked the door to the small cottage and turned around. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the company wasn’t half bad either.” She smirked.

Kiss her. Kiss her. Grab her and kiss her. My brain was spinning as we stood on the tiny porch. I needed a game plan, and I had nothing. Was this a date? Was she interested? Before I could get my head out of my ass, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and walked through the open door.

Ginger gave me a look. “I know, girl,” I said, walking back toward my house. “I like her too.”