Page 13 of Fragile Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #3)

We’re dancing a fine line, teetering on the edge of something more, and I never want it to stop.

The moment Owen’s lips touched mine, I forgot everything that ever happened in my past. He makes me feel alive and loved and grateful, but there’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he’d be taking on.

And it’s all shit he’s never experienced in his life and never will.

But I love that we’re different, that he has so much more to share with me, to experience with him, and he’s so willing to give.

The truth is, he’s right about the kiss.

I used to think all he saw was a cute blonde with the ability to control a surfboard with some serious skill, but I realize now it’s more than that.

He wants to know me. He wants to be the guy I need him to be.

The crazy thing is that he already is, and that’s the reason I never let him in.

He’s too perfect. Too right for me. He’s everything I need him to be and more.

“Why’d you ask me to move in with you?” I pull back as I ask the question, looking right at him. I hate that I still have this part of me that doubts everything everyone does. Especially with Owen. Doubting him feels wrong because he’s done nothing to ever make me think otherwise.

He doesn’t answer right away. His head is cocked to the side, he’s watching me with reverence, but it’s like my question clicks and his face changes.

“Sloane, don’t ever think I asked you to move in with me because of my interest in you,” he now replies with a bite. “It had nothing to do with that. Nothing. You needed a place to live, and I could offer my place. I’d have done it if it were Daisy or Alana or any of the guys.”

His words ease my worries as much as they can, but they also encourage me. Needing to share with him so he understands.

“I have to tell you something,” I start, swallowing back the fear that lingers. It’s always there when I talk about my past, knowing it could turn people off. But I’ve tried so hard to not let it define me. This isn’t who I am now, and it won’t be who I am in the future either.

Alana knew me when I was in foster care. She knew I needed a way out, and she took me in with all this knowledge and helped me change my life. But she already knew what it was like dealing with someone so fucked up.

Nate.

And I look at him as a role model.

He changed his life, and it’s because of Mitch and Alana that he’s where he is today. Not that Alana had it easy growing up. She didn’t. Her mom kicked her out as soon as Alana turned eighteen, and maybe that’s why she took me in. She knew what it was like.

“You can tell me anything,” Owen whispers, his words calm yet encouraging. His green eyes watch me, taking in my face, and I could stare into them for hours. He’s gorgeous, but more than that, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.

“Thank you.”

My hand rests on his cheek, his arms embracing me in a hold that makes me more comfortable than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him for hours, letting his tongue explore my body.

His lips are soft and full and perfect. Everything about Owen Sinclair is perfect, and it’s a thought that just won’t leave my head.

I wish I had a better way to describe him than perfect, but it’s the only word that comes to mind.

“Don’t ever be afraid, Sloane, not of me, or your past, or anything. It doesn’t define you, but it made you who you are. And that’s someone who is resilient and kind and accepting and beautiful.”

Fucking hell, he’s just so damn…perfect.

And there’s that word again.

“There’s a lot here, Owen,” I say, and he shakes his head. His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, his touch sending warmth through my skin.

I lean into his touch, slipping closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder, letting his arms cradle me. It’s always been easier to talk about my life when I’m not looking at the person, not wanting to see the judgment on their face.

“I have something called food insecurity, and I hate it,” I admit, my heart racing a little as the words leave my mouth. “It’s where I worry that I won’t have enough to eat because, as a kid, it happened a lot.”

I stop, waiting for Owen to respond, and when he doesn’t, I continue. My head is still resting on his shoulder, but his hand is now brushing soft circles over my back.

“It’s why I won’t ever eat the last of something and why I never throw out leftovers. It’s why I’ll pretty much eat anything. I lived in foster homes where withholding food was used as a punishment. But I also lived in places where there wasn’t ever enough food. It really fucks kids up.”

Owen holds me closer, tighter. His lips drop to my head, letting them rest there in the sweetest of gestures, and I close my eyes, taking in the comfort I find with him.

“I want to tell you that you’re safe with me, and that you will never experience anything like that again, but I know that doesn’t help.”

His words hold so much weight. There’s no dismissal in them, nothing telling me that it isn’t real or that I should just get over it.

“Whatever you need, just ask me, and I’ll do it,” Owen adds, and I feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes.

I close them, willing myself not to cry, not to let this conversation get to me, and it isn’t the part about me sharing that has me choked up. It’s Owen. It’s everything he says. He has no idea how much it means to me to have him accept me, to have him just be here with me.

“You’ve already done so much.” I burrow into the crook of his neck, loving how calm he makes me feel. “Just having a place to live is more than enough.”

His fingers slip under my T-shirt, bare skin to bare skin now as they caress my back, but there’s nothing sexual about it. No preconceived notion that this will go further. Just the simplicity of his touch to remind me that he’s here.

“Do you want to tell me why you took me to the ground that day I came home and surprised you?” he now says, and I tense a little in his arms. That day was not my finest hour, and all the feelings that came rushing back then almost sent me spiraling to a place I hadn’t been in so long.

“I think you already know why.” The words come out a little harsher than I intend, and I quickly apologize.

Owen shakes his head, not saying anything, but the way his hand moves along my back, his fingers brushing so gently, telling me there’s no need for an apology.

“I learned to defend myself at an early age because I had to. Random guys my mom would bring home. Foster dads trying to sneak into my room at night.” A lump forms in my throat, my words getting trapped behind it.

“Nothing ever happened to me, but it was scary enough just knowing it could. At least not that I remember. I learned how to barricade a door with simple things like a sock or a fork. I even once locked myself in with a penny.” I laugh a little, remembering how the door had to be taken off the hinges to get the penny out.

“There were times when I would rather have slept outside on the beach than in the house I was living in. Moving in with Alana changed all of that. And now living here…” I trail off, not finishing my thought because I’m not even sure how to thank Owen for his kindness.

I pick my head up off Owen’s shoulder, my hand resting on his chest, and I can feel the slow, steady beat of his heart.

“This is the safest I’ve felt in my whole life. Right here with you, in this house, in that bedroom, in your arms.”

He doesn’t say anything, our eyes meeting, his gorgeous green eyes flecked with gold that hold no judgment.

And without giving it another thought, I kiss him. It’s tender and sweet, my hand cupping his jaw, his eyes falling closed. I scatter kisses along his cheek and his neck, soft and simple. Each time my lips touch his skin, they’re a thank you.

We sit like this, my head back on his shoulder, the sound of our breathing matching the gentle waves that lap at the shore. Days could pass and I wouldn’t know it because being here with Owen is like a dream. A dream I never want to wake up from.

“We should probably get to bed,” Owen says, breaking the peacefulness of our evening.

“Yeah.”

I climb off his lap, looking down at Mochi, who has been quietly sleeping at our feet. As soon as I stand, he jumps up, spinning around. He knows it’s time for bed.

“Ready, little guy?” I ask him, and he yips, making Owen laugh.

“He has the tiniest bark. I don’t think he could scare a fly,” Owen jokes, and I can’t help but agree.

“But he’s really loyal, and that has to count for something, right?”

“Totally.”

We both head inside with Mochi trailing behind. Owen locks up the house, and before I know it, we’re both in our respective rooms.

And I’m staring at the ceiling, my brain focused on how much I want to kiss Owen again. I’m never going to fall asleep tonight, and just as I’m trying, Mochi jumps from my bed, scrambling out into the hallway.

His little claws tap dance along the wood floor, and I hear the creak as he noses open Owen’s bedroom door.

That little shit.

“Mochi!” I whisper-shout, hoping he listens and just comes back in here, but that’s wishful thinking.

Climbing from my bed, I tiptoe down the hall, calling Mochi’s name, but he still doesn’t appear. Luckily, I can hear Owen’s shower running, and I poke my head into his bedroom and find it empty.

Mochi’s on Owen’s bed, his fluffy tail wagging like crazy, so damn proud of himself, but I need to get him out of here before Owen gets out of the shower.

I scoop him up, tucking him into my side, and we return to my room, where I promptly set him down on the bed, telling him to stay put.

But he has other plans, and again, he jumps off the bed, the sound of his claws scampering to Owen’s room filling the silence of the house.

Instead of going back to get him, I call out, “Fine, stay in there, you little shit.” Letting out a laugh, I close my door and get back in bed.

Seconds later, Mochi’s scratching at my door. And I wasn’t kidding when I said I was going to have trouble falling asleep, but it wasn’t Mochi that I thought would be keeping me up.

“Oh my god, Mochi,” I groan, dragging myself from the bed. I open the door to let him in. But instead of coming back in, he runs from me, tearing down the hallway like it’s the Indy 500 and straight into Owen’s room.

“I’m not chasing you!” Laughing harder now, I shake my head at Mochi’s silliness, but it’s late, and I want to go to bed. “I’m closing the door. You get to sleep with Owen tonight.”

I feel ridiculous talking to the dog, but I still do it.

And I repeat what I just did a few moments earlier. Closing the door, I’m back in bed, smiling as I think about this night.

The kiss.

Sharing with Owen.

His body warm and comforting.

I close my eyes only to have them open a second later when a soft knock comes on my door.

“Sloane?” I hear Owen’s voice, and again, I’m laughing.

“Come in!”

He pushes open the door, standing in the doorway, Mochi under his arm. Owen has the cutest smile on his face, that dimple that I love appearing on his cheek.

“Someone is being a little needy tonight. He doesn’t seem to want his mom and dad apart. I tried to boot him out into the hallway and close my door, but he just scratched at it. And every time I got in bed, he just barked at me and ran toward your room.”

“Mochi is trying to be a little matchmaker. And now you’re calling yourself a dad, huh?” I say, trying hard not to let Owen shirtless in my doorway distract me.

But shit, it’s so damn hard, and before I know it, the words are out of my mouth.

“Why don’t you just sleep in here with me tonight?”