Finally Ours (Harborview #2)

1. Angela

1

ANGELA

Now

Carter Steel looks too damn good in a suit. With his shoulder length brown hair pulled back into a bun, his jaw peppered with stubble, and the appropriate inch of white cuff showing under his suit jacket, he looks more refined than usual. Normally, he’s full-on mountain man: hair wild around his face, beard long enough to stroke, and dressed in the type of clothes that look like they could take a beating.

He looks sinfully good tonight, though I’ll never admit that. To anyone.

And I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next three days with him. Damn Jamie and Cat for planning a combined bachelor and bachelorette party. Cat told me that she just had to have Jamie at her bachelorette party, since he’s her best friend. And he said the same thing.

I love Cat because she’s my friend, but I can’t imagine thinking that about anyone, especially not the man I’m currently staring at.

I tip my drink back, swallowing it all in one gulp, and force myself to turn my gaze away from Carter. We’re having drinks before dinner at the luxury lodge we’re staying in, just down the road from Harborview. Cat and Jamie wanted to make sure it was easy for everyone to attend, and since our friends mostly live in Maine or in the Northeast, staying close to home seemed like a good idea. Tomorrow we’re going to visit one of the smaller islands nearby for some hiking. I was thrilled that we were staying local at first—I don’t exactly have the cash to shell out for a trip to Vegas.

But if we were in Vegas, at least Carter might have abstained from coming. He’s got some pretty intense commitments at the moment with his PhD and teaching. At least that’s what Cat told me. Apart from exchanging hellos, I’ve successfully avoided talking to him for the whole trip.

But that’s apparently going to end right about now. Because he’s heading over to the corner where I’m standing, a determined glint in his eye.

If there were twenty of us here, I would be able to hide. But there’s only ten of us: Hunter, Carter, Jamie, Cat, myself, Jamie’s friend Drew from Duke (and his girlfriend he insisted had to come. God, can couples spend one day apart? ), and a few ladies Cat knows from her book club.

“Hi Ange,” Carter says, sidling up next to me, his hands grasping two drinks.

“ Don’t call me that,” I say, my hackles rising almost immediately. He knows damn well I hate that nickname coming from his lips. It’s for friends only.

God Ange, don’t stop. You’re killing me.

I didn’t always hate it though, I guess. I push the memory from my mind and focus on the man before me.

“Sorry, force of habit,” he says smoothly.

If I didn’t know Carter as well as I do, I’d almost think he was trying to be mean. To remind me of our unsavory history. Carter Steel is many things—smart-mouthed, smart-assed, just plain smart—but mean is not one of them.

“Sure,” I say, grabbing a drink out of his hand.

“Who said that was for you?” he says.

“If you want to stand near me, you’ve gotta pay up,” I say, taking a long sip. It’s a Paloma, my favorite. Damn him for knowing that.

“I was hoping I’d get to actually talk to you,” he quips.

“Nope. Standing close to me is as good as you’re getting.” I don’t know why I even say it. I should just down the drink and make a hasty exit.

Except there is nowhere to fucking go. We’re trapped in this lodge, in the middle of the woods, with nothing but trees and campsites surrounding us.

“Come now Angela, don’t be like that. We’ve got three more days to spend together.”

He looks so smug I want to punch him. Instead I just roll my eyes.

“Lucky me.”

“I’m excellent company.”

“Says who?” I feel like I’m ten-years-old, arguing with him like this, but I can’t help myself. It’s also the only way to keep myself safe around him.

“Jamie and Hunter. And my doctoral supervisor. She loves me,” he says.

I’m sure she fucking does. What aging academic wouldn’t want a student who looked like him? He takes a sip of his drink—a Manhattan, because even if Carter Steel is a mountain man, he still knows how to enjoy refined things—and I watch him swallow, his throat bobbing. I want to wrap my hands around it and squeeze until he stops annoying me.

“How’s that going?” I ask, desperate to steer the conversation into safe waters. There’s nothing sexy or alluring about his PhD research.

“Good. I guess. I love it but I also hate it,” he says. “Sometimes I look at my dissertation and want to die. Or throw up.” He blushes. “I’m rambling, sorry.”

It catches me off guard— him being caught off guard. It doesn’t normally happen. Ever.

“No, it’s fine. It’s a lot of work. And you’ve been doing it for so long.”

“Don’t remind me,” he winces. “But I’m nearly there. Just a few more weeks of writing. I do want to get back into the field, though. And see some birds again.”

Right. His degree is in wildlife ecology. I know better than most how important it is to him—how much he’s willing to sacrifice for it. His focus is on the conservation of seabird populations. I’ve never asked him specifics about it, and maybe I should feel guilty about that. But Carter isn’t even my friend anymore, and I’ve done everything I can to keep him from being one for the better part of the last decade.

I guess I’ll feign interest right now to keep him from asking anything personal about me , though.

“That sounds fun. Which, uh, birds are you excited to see?”

Wow. I’m truly a scintillating conversationalist.

“The puffins! Their colonies have been recovering for a few years and?—”

“Oh my god, puffins are so cute,” I say enthusiastically, accidentally sloshing some of my drink over the side of my glass.

“And nasty fuckers too,” Carter says, “with beaks like razors. But yes, they are adorable.”

“Awww,” I say, feeling a smile crack my face.

“Look,” he says, pulling out his phone.

He leans in close to me and starts scrolling through photos he’s clearly taken himself while on field research. I try to pay attention to the photos of awkward fluffy chicks and orange-beaked birds, but all I can think about is how close he is. He’s so close I can smell his piney, woodsy scent. I can feel the heat from his body, especially as his arm brushes mine and he flicks to the next photo. And it’s actually nice—to be near him again. To be able to feel him.

Wait, what? What am I doing? Why am I letting him get past my barriers so easily? Barriers I had to erect solely because of him. I stumble away from him, my drink sloshing again.

“Ange?” He sounds confused and concerned.

And I’m too weak to stay any longer, so I say, “I have to go to the bathroom. But thanks for showing me those photos! So cute.” I put my drink on the table nearby and all but run out of the room and into the hallway.

The lodge is beautiful: broad planked wooden floors and soft rugs, with lots of windows and natural light. We’re all staying in a collection of cabins and yurts in the woods beyond, so it takes me a while to locate the bathroom in the main building.

Thankfully when I do, it’s as nice as the rest of the place. Granite countertops, a separate powder room, and actual towels for drying one’s hands. The calming scent of lavender and mint fills the space. I sit on the small couch in the powder room and take a deep breath in.

I count to four and then release it slowly, counting to eight. I do this a few times. It’s something I started doing when I was in nursing school and knew I needed to develop practices for being calm while in the ER. I need to be able to think clearly, not panic, when someone comes in with a finger cut off or after a bad accident. But even though I’ve trained myself to stay calm in those situations, staying calm while interacting with Carter Steel still evades me.

And I don’t just need to be calm. I need my defenses to be bulletproof. I remind myself of why, exactly, I hate him so much:

He was my crush from middle school to high school.

We had one week together when we were twenty.

He texted me one measly time afterwards, and never responded to the messages I sent back. He completely and utterly cut me off despite years of knowing one another, and then he acted like everything was fine the next time I saw him the summer after it all happened. He’s continued to act like nothing happened ever since. Not one fucking time has he brought it up or apologized or even acknowledged what that week was like.

Maybe it doesn’t sound that bad. We had sex a few times, went to dinner once or twice, and nothing came of it. This shit happens all the time. People ghost and give up on one another and move on to the next person. But I can locate the root of all of my trust issues in Carter Steel. And I’ll never forgive him for that.