Thirty minutes later, after dumping Dylan’s bags at the foot of the guest bed in the room directly across from Stella’s, I take one last glance in the mirror before descending the stairs to the sound of giggles that I’ve been listening to while getting ready.
Not wanting Dylan to feel uncomfortable, which probably isn’t possible anyway, I settle on a pair of dark-wash jeans, a white, cotton shirt paired with a lightweight, brown-leather jacket, a pale blue scarf, and low-heeled brown boots.
I know from experience that Monroe is going to look like she’s stepped off a J. Crew catalog shoot, and Nora from some chic hippie store. I’ve had to step up my wardrobe game since coming to Broward. T-shirts, sweatshirts, and blue jeans aren’t cutting it.
The doorbell rings just as I’m heading out of my room, letting me know that Owen has arrived. I had texted him as well, letting him know that Dylan made a surprise visit. Just as everyone else I notified, he took the news of her unexpected arrival in stride. Maureen, in true the-more-the-merrier fashion, was thrilled at the prospect of setting another plate for dinner. I offered, not for the first time, to show up early to help her prepare and she, not for the first time, said that under no circumstances was I helping her. This year. Next year, I had been assured, was an entirely different ballgame.
Seeing as we had planned this girl’s night out on Thanksgiving Eve, both Nora and Monroe received a pass on helping this year as well. I have no doubt that they had planned it that way on purpose.
“Is My Owen!” Stella squeals, causing me to pick up my pace getting downstairs. “Look! Is my Dylan!”
I hit the bottom step just as Owen closes the door behind him. He’s obviously taken the time to go home and shower before coming over since his hair’s still wet, curling along his ears and the back of his neck.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Dylan.” Owen stretches out a hand and I mentally cringe when Dylan simply stares at it for several heartbeats.
“Yeah,” she finally says, taking his hand in hers. “It’s nice to finally meet you, as well. I’ve heard all about you.” She smirks. “And I do mean all.”
“Dylan!” I exclaim, but Owen just laughs.
“I’ve got a sister—I know how it works. Stella, are you ready to hang with me tonight?” He swings her up into his arms, settling her on his hip like he’s been doing it all his life. She tucks her head in the crook of his neck, smiling slyly at both Dylan and I. “Yes. And My Huck.”
“I’m second rate.” Owen leans over, laying his lips softly over mine briefly before leaning back and meeting my gaze. “Hi there,” he murmurs softly.
“Hey.” I know I sound breathless. My decision is to take it slow, I remind myself. I have to live with the consequences. Which includes having very chaste kisses such as this one setting my blood on fire. Because my body knows what it’s missing, and it is not completly on board with my head in the slow-down department. Owen offers me a smile, likely knowing exactly what I’m thinking, before he moves to carry Stella down the hall to the living room.
As soon as they’re out of the entryway, Dylan looks at me with wide eyes. “Damn, Tristan. You weren’t kidding. He’s like otherworldly hot.”
“Otherworldly hot? Is that a thing?”
“He makes it a thing. Do the other three look like that?”
“It’s ridiculously hard to be in the same room with all of them. Monroe included. And Nora. Liam even still has it, and Maureen isn’t anything to sneeze at. It’s very intimidating.”
“Right…” Dylan snorts. “Because you’re so hideous. You dressed up. Am I going to embarrass you?”
“Of course not. You’re fine. We’re going into Savannah to go to dinner at some pink house, and then there are a couple of bars that we’re going to hit up before heading back here. Roe is going to DD for us. I think they’re trying to get me drunk to help me relax.”
“You aren’t relaxed?”
I roll a shoulder. “I’m still a little jumpy. I think that’s normal.”
“Does Sherriff Hottie have any leads?” Dylan starts heading down the hallway.
“First, don’t call him that,” I say with a soft laugh. “He’s chief, not sherriff, but either way it will go to his head. And no, he has no leads. Don’t bring it up. It’s driving him crazy.”
“Okay. I’m just going to run and freshen up a little before we head out, okay?”
“Of course. I put your stuff in the guest room. Third door on the left. We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”
“Right. Go give Owen the Stella spiel. I’ll be ready when you’re done.”
It isn’t the first time they’ve been alone together, but it will definitely be the longest amount of time they have spent alone together. So I can’t stop myself from running the gamut: we discuss her allergy (which he already knows about); where all the medicines are located; her pediatrician’s name and number—though Owen reminds me it’s the same pediatrician’s office he went to; her bedtime routine; and what she is and is not allowed to talk him into.
“I can start the popcorn for you before I go.” I tuck a random curl behind one of Stella’s ears. She hasn’t let go of him yet, and has settled on his lap on the couch. Paw Patrol is playing softly in the background, but Stella is too busy playing with the string on Owen’s hoodie to pay it any attention.
“I can handle popcorn,” Owen says with a laugh. “You need to go. Stella and I have a very exciting evening planned. We’re going to run with scissors, juggle a couple of lit candles, and maybe some cliff diving if we have enough time.”
Stella giggles. “That’s silly.”
“Yeah,” I say drily. “You’re a regular laugh riot.” I shake my head. “Don’t burn the house down or end up in the emergency room. Call me if you need me, and I’ll be home as quick as I can.” I drop a kiss on Stella’s head, and then, laughing, drop one on Owen’s when he starts to pretend to cry. “Keep him out of trouble, Stella.”
***
“My martini has Rice Krispies on the rim instead of salt.”
Dylan spins the martini glass around, eyeing the little pieces of cereal lining the rim as if they’re going to jump off and attack her at any moment.
“Take a drink,” Monroe encourages. “I promise it tastes good. Like a Rice Krispy treat.” She lifts up her own martini glass, full of Diet Coke instead of alcohol, and takes a long drink. As expected, she looks like she’s stepped straight off a photo shoot. Her pants, caught somewhere between the edges of pink and the start of red, are wide-legged over the black heels that she walks in as naturally as I do flip-flops. Tucked into the waist band of the pants is a fitted, off-white shirt with pretty little pearl buttons along the V of the collar. Her hair is tied up in an elegant chignon, though the walk we took along the river has caused a few strands to loosen.
“I typically take my martini dry, with a couple of olives or maybe even with lemon.” Dylan lifts the drink, sniffing at it delicately.
“Should have gone for a chocolate one.” Nora leans back in her chair. She flips her hair over one shoulder, the auburn strands standing out in stark contrast to the deep blue shirt she’s wearing. “You can never go wrong with chocolate. Especially when pairing it with alcohol.”