The Coast is Clear (Breakaway Shores #1)

Izzy

Romance

When I came downstairs from putting the boys to bed, Luke was no longer in the living room. Zander lounged on the couch, holding a book open in his hands. My book. Not the ones I’d authored but the one I was currently reading. His eyes were wide, and I could guess which part he was reading. I cleared my throat, and he jumped, which made me laugh. “Enjoying that?”

I plopped down on the chair next to the fire, and he shut the book. “I picked it up wondering why there was a cowboy on the front, but I think I figured it out.” He looked like he was blushing, and I made a mental note not to let him read my actual books.

“I’m loving all the cowboy romances lately.”

“Seems like a little more than romance,” he said, turning the book over. “Is this what you write?”

I pulled my knees up to my chest. “Something like that, but with fewer cowboys. Although, I don’t know anymore. I can’t finish the book I’m drafting right now.”

Zander set the book down on the coffee table in between us. “So, you write scenes like that?” His demeanor changed, and the way he asked was playful.

“It’s what the readers want.” I smiled, breaking eye contact because it made my insides flip. The way looking at him usually did. “But it seems it’s harder to write a lusty romance when you’re just a washed-up widow with food stains on your clothes from being a mom every second of the day.” I still felt his eyes on me and decided a change of topic was needed immediately. “Where did Luke go?”

“He forgot he had a date,” Zander said, biting down a laugh.

“Wow, what a lucky girl.”

Zander put his hands on his knees like he might stand up, “I just didn’t want you to think we both ditched you. But I’ll go now, too.”

I wanted him to stay, but I wasn’t sure why. Okay, that was a lie. I knew why I wanted him to stay because he’d been driving me bonkers in that Henley shirt all day. But I didn’t want to want him to stay, especially when he wouldn’t be here for much longer. “Okay, I was just going to watch this great cooking show. If you want to stay.” I said against my better judgment.

My heart was pounding, which was stupid. I wasn’t declaring anything huge to him. Just asked him if he wanted to watch the Food Network with me. Zander nodded, “Okay.”

I stood, moving over to the couch with him, and once again, wondering who thought setting up this room with chairs that didn’t face the TV was the right thing to do. Zander moved over, and I pulled my legs up under me and turned on the TV. I clicked a few buttons until the show I wanted to watch came on. We sat in silence, and I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking glances at him. His hands were resting on his thighs, and I wondered what it would feel like for his hand to be on my thigh.

“Wait, so they’re cooking in a grocery store?” Zander asked, leaning on the arm that was closest to me.

I glanced over at him, his shirt stretching over his bicep. “Yes, and they have ridiculous challenges or gross ingredients they are required to use. Like canned asparagus.”

Zander met my eyes and made a disgusted face. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Somehow, they make it into something delicious, though.” I grabbed a pillow and held it in my lap. “It’s a fun show to watch.”

“Do you like to cook?” Zander asked, leaning his head back against the couch.

“I do, yeah. But I don’t usually get to make food like this, you know? It’s just whatever the boys want to eat.”

The way he looked at me was so direct, so unwavering that I wanted to look away but couldn’t make myself do it. “What’s your favorite thing to cook for you?”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had the energy to cook something just for me. “Honestly, I don’t know. Which is sad.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” he said, turning his head back to the TV, where they were working hard at their cooking stations.

“And how are we going to do that?”

He didn’t look at me, but he smiled. “Let’s cook something because now that I’m watching this show about food, I’m hungry again.” Zander stood and held out a hand to me. I put my hand in his and let him help me up. He led the way to the kitchen and flicked on the light. Zander opened the fridge and pulled out a handful of things: roasted chicken, cream, parmesan, and a bag of brussels sprouts. “Actually, now that I think of it, I’m just going to cook for you. I bet it’s been a while since someone has done that.”

“It has,” I told him, pulling myself up to sit on the counter opposite the stove. Zander moved around the kitchen, looking through cabinets like he’d been here before.

“You like to cook, I take it?”

Zander had pulled out a cutting board and placed it next to me. He pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, exposing his forearms, and I had to peel my eyes off them. He washed the brussels sprouts. “I do. I had to learn how to, I guess, because otherwise, I’d have nothing to eat. But, in actuality, I love to create something delicious from something else.”

“And what are you making me?” I leaned my back against the edge of the raised bar and watched him cut the brussels sprouts into small strips like a pro.

Pro at football and pro at cooking, apparently. Pro at wearing that shirt, too. Stop.

“Just let me surprise you, okay?” he smiled, and my stomach flipped. He was handsome. Very handsome with green eyes and his dark hair pushed back from his face.

“Fine.” I bit my lip as he moved the brussels sprouts into a hot pan on the stove. “I guess I’m just not used to this.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, “Used to what? People doing things for you?”

I shrugged, letting my eyes travel up and down his body when he turned back around. Man, I needed to get control of myself. I was not remotely ready for this, but no one else had made me interested in them since Jack. I needed to reel it in. “Yeah. I’m usually the one who is doing everything.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Your boys are really lucky to have you as a mom.”

I hoped that was true. I certainly felt lucky to be their mom. “You said your mom was a widow, too?” I asked him.

He didn’t turn around as he threw some butter in another pan. “Yeah, my dad died when I was twelve. My older brother was out of the house by then, but it was, well, you know.”

“How did he die?” I asked, remembering how he had asked me about Jack that day on the porch.

Zander sprinkled some flour in the pan next. “He had alcoholism. He’d been sober most of my life, but I guess he’d also relapsed multiple times when I was a kid. My mom told me that bit later. But he’d gone out and gotten himself very, very drunk and drove straight into the divider.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Jack had been hit head-on by someone who’d been looking at their phone, but I imagined Zander’s dad crumpled and broken. “I’m sorry.”

He glanced back at me and gave me a small smile, “It was a long time ago. I’ve had enough time and space from it, so it probably doesn’t seem as hard as I’m sure losing your husband does.”

“It has gotten easier with each year. And harder, I guess, in different ways.”

“How has it gotten easier?” I enjoyed watching him make dinner from this angle. He stirred the brussels sprouts as they sizzled against the hot pan. And Zander turned back to me, bringing the cooked chicken onto a new cutting board.

“I’m used to being alone now. In those first months, I could hardly sleep. I was overwhelmed by how alone I was in every moment of parenting and had to absorb his role and do my own, too. There was no one to give me breaks, no one I trusted to be with the kids like I would be to relieve me. But now, I’ve got a good flow. The boys and I have our routine, and that’s definitely better.” Zander chopped the chicken and looked right into my eyes when he was done.

He put the knife down. “And what has become harder?”

The answer was on the tip of my tongue, and it came out before I could stop it, “Being alone is hard, not in the parenting sense but in not having a partner. Not having, well. All of it. No one to talk to or connect with in that way.”

Zander’s face stayed stoic, even though I felt my cheeks burn. “But you don’t want to date?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Who would want to date me with all my baggage and my two kids? Instant dad, anyone?” I laughed awkwardly because otherwise, it was too sad to say out loud.

“Way to undervalue yourself.” Zander put a hand on my thigh, and I couldn’t help but look down at it. I’d wondered what it would be like earlier, but now I just wanted to know what it felt like for him to be on my bare skin. A tiny flame struck inside as he squeezed me. I met his eyes, and their deep green reminded me of the tall grass on the hill before reaching the ocean. “You’re worth it and don’t even get me started on those boys. They are something special.”

I looked away, not sure that I could even respond to him. He took his hand off me, and my thigh felt cold as he put the chicken in the cream sauce he’d made. He drained the pasta, and I watched him put everything together on two plates. Zander grabbed a fork and brought me a plate right where I sat. It smelled delicious, and I tried to remember the last time someone made me a meal, something meant for me.

It had to have been Jack; he wasn’t the best cook, but he tried. “Thank you,” I told him before taking a bite. The sauce was flavorful, and I loved the bite of garlic from it. “This is amazing,” I said with a mouthful of food.

Zander leaned on the other side of the kitchen, facing me with one leg over the other. “My favorite. I love brussels sprouts, and my mom taught me how to make this sauce. She’s an excellent cook.”

We ate for a moment, and then I asked, “So what about you? Anyone special in your life?”

He smiled, “Are you asking me if I’m dating someone?”

“I guess.”

Zander put his plate down next to him on the counter and took the two steps to cross the kitchen. He put a hand on either side of me, bringing his face close to mine. “No, . I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Okay,” I swallowed, and it felt like my throat was bone dry. He was so close to me, his lips just inches from mine. The plate in my hands separated us. Zander’s eyes dropped to my mouth, and my stomach dropped. It was strange to admit, but I wanted him to kiss me. I hadn’t felt that way before now, but if I was going to kiss anybody after Jack, I wanted it to be him.

He leaned down closer, and I held my breath. He was about an inch away from me when I heard the squeak of a door opening upstairs. I blew out the breath, and Zander stepped back, turning his back. “Mom, I need potty,” Kingston’s little voice came from the stairs.

“Okay, buddy. Do you need me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

“No, it’s just pee,” he answered, and then I heard his little feet padding down the hall.

I put the plate on the bar behind me and jumped off the counter. Zander’s back was still to me, and part of me wanted to pick up where we had left off. But the air was different, and the moment had passed. “Zander, I–”

“It’s getting late. I should probably get going,” Zander cut me off and turned around, avoiding my eyes.

My heart sank, and I wondered if I got it wrong. He didn’t really want to kiss me. Or maybe he had, but Kingston reminded him of what it meant to kiss me. Like I’d said, baggage and potentially being a stepdad. I forced a smile on my face and walked out of the kitchen. Zander followed me and slipped his shoes on. He put his hand on the handle and then turned around, stepping close to me. I stepped back, afraid to run into him, and he grabbed my arm, leaning down to kiss my cheek softly. The kiss made my skin tingle, and he said, “Can I get a raincheck on that kiss?”

He smiled slightly as he turned and slipped out the door, moving too fast for me to respond. I stood there for a few moments, my hand covering the spot where he’d kissed me. This all felt so unfamiliar. Being a widow was difficult in that I loved Jack, and I would always love him. We didn’t get divorced. We didn’t break up. He died. He died, and I loved him, and that feeling wasn’t going to just disappear. But with Zander, I could feel the beginnings of something new.

The complication was that I was buying his house. He was leaving Oregon, so what was I doing? Why was I starting to feel things for someone who wouldn’t stick around?