“Oh no. I’ll clean it up.” She pushed to her feet.
Brant reached for her hand, pulling her closer. “Leave it, babe. It’s just puppy pee. It’s not a big deal.” He studied her face for a moment, and she knew he saw her past peeking its ugly head out.
“Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction. Old habits die hard.” Am I ever going to get over this?
“It’s okay. It’s going to take time. Come outside with us. I’ll clean it after we put him out.” He led her outside and put Scrappy down in the grass. “Out, Scrap. This is where you pee, little man.” He drew her into his arms, looking unfairly handsome. “How late do you work tonight?”
Squinting against the bright sun, she said, “Six.”
“Can I see you after you’re off?”
“To swim?” The idea of learning to swim might not be that appealing, but seeing Brant in a bathing suit sure was.
“If you’re up for it. If not, we can grab dinner or go out for drinks, take a walk, or go on a boat ride. Whatever you want. But I vote for swimming, because I don’t like you being vulnerable.”
She liked the way he cared about her safety and happiness. “How can I say no to that?”
“No argument?”
“Maybe I need to reconsider my answer.” She twisted playfully out of his grip, and he hauled her back into his arms.
“Should I pick you up at the Bistro, or at your place?”
She didn’t know what was going on with this new sense of freedom, but she had a feeling if he picked her up at her place, she wouldn’t want him to leave. “The Bistro. I’ll ride into work with Abby and bring my suit. I can change there.”
Scrappy trotted over, and she scooped him up, nuzzling against his fur. “What will we do with Scrappy while I flail in the water and you rescue me?”
He laughed. “Good question.” They went inside, and he cleaned up Scrappy’s accident. “We can leash him to a stake on the beach. It’s not like we’re going far, and nobody’s ever there.”
Brant started the coffee maker and fed Scrappy. She was glad to see the pooch eating.
“I should get a move on. I have a boat coming into the marina this morning.” He pulled off his shirt as he stalked toward her, sending her body into overdrive again as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her neck. “Want to join me in the shower this time, beautiful?”
God yes . . .
No, no, no. “What happened to going slow?”
“Didn’t you say slow kind of sucked?” He cocked a grin. “I have no trouble going slow, and I’ll never pressure you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to let you know I want you.”
She looked up at his dimples and dazzling blue eyes and wondered how many other women he’d invited into his shower. “Do you do this often?”
“Ask you to join me in the shower? That’s twice this week, so I guess I do.”
“Not me. Other women. I just realized that I don’t know anything about your dating history.”
“I’m not one of those guys who sleeps with every woman I meet, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s a small island, and I’m not going anywhere, which is why I’ve always been careful with my reputation.”
“Have you been with anyone long term? You’re an affectionate guy, and you know you’re hot.”
“Who, me?” He chuckled. “I dated a girl named Teri when I was twenty-one for almost a year, but she was in school in Boston, and I was here. It wasn’t serious, just comfortable, fun. I’ve dated tourists here and there, and a few women on the Cape, like Brandy, but there’s never been anyone particularly special. Until you.” He pressed his lips to hers in a slow, sweet kiss. “I don’t make a habit of asking women to shower with me, and I don’t know why you bring that out in me, but you do.”
There it was again, the honesty that was so hard to resist.
“I really do need to get going. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. If you’re running late, I can ride my bike home.”
“The hell you will.” He kissed her and patted her ass. “There are mugs in the cabinet above the dishwasher. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
She watched him saunter toward the bedroom in his low-slung sweatpants and bare feet, remembering something Tank had once told her. They’d been talking about men who hurt women and how many women rationalized abusive behavior and stayed in bad relationships, and he’d said, When a man shows you who he is, believe him.
For the first time since, she wondered if he’d say the same thing about good men, because the more Brant showed of himself, the more she believed that he’d never pose a threat—except maybe to her heart.
A short while later, they threw her bike in the back of the truck and headed for her apartment. Scrappy sat on her lap, and Brant held her hand as he drove, like he’d been doing it for years. It made their evolving relationship feel even more real, stirring those butterflies again. It felt good to welcome the fluttery sensations instead of running from them.
He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and said, “I thought we’d stop at the Sweet Barista to grab breakfast to go.”
“Sure. That sounds great.”
He parked out front, and when she reached for the door handle, he said, “Do me a favor and don’t open that door.” He hopped out of the truck and came around to help her out. He picked up Scrappy and took Cait’s hand as she stepped onto the sidewalk. “That’s how a gentleman treats a lady.”
“Brant, you don’t have to try to impress me. You’ve already done it in all the ways that matter.”
He stepped closer with his dimples playing on his cheeks and Scrappy tucked under his arm like a football. “It’s not about impressing you. The minute a guy stops treating his girl like she’s special, everything goes to shit. I haven’t even had a chance to start treating you special yet. I know you’re capable of opening your own doors, and you’re used to being autonomous, but can you just give me this? I promise to go at your pace with everything else.”
She didn’t want to fight it, even if it was a bit scary. “Okay, you can open my doors, but is that what I am to you now, Mr. I’m Not Possessive? Your girl? Should I be worried that this is the start of an overbearing relationship?” She was only half teasing. But she was a quick learner, and taking a page out of Brant’s open-communication book seemed to be a better approach than worrying herself into knots about it.
“Not at all. I’ll never tell you what to do or who to hang out with. But I finally got you to give us a chance, and I’d like to do it right. So yes, I’d like you to be my girl. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d tell everyone on the whole damn island we’re together. Not because I want to own you, but because I’m proud to be with you. If that’s too possessive, just tell me, and I won’t hold your hand, kiss you, or claim you in any other way in public.”
Her nerves came alive at the thought of letting him call her his girl, but she was determined to try to be a normal woman going out with a guy she liked, without feeling like she needed to shield herself with walls of steel, and this was a good first step. “I like holding your hand and kissing you.”