Page 7 of Fragile Hearts (Hibiscus Hearts #3)

I seriously missed my fluffy little baby so much, and I can’t even believe Owen went and got him.

This has made my night, especially after the long day I’ve had.

I feel like I should throw my arms around Owen and thank him profusely, but something stops me, a concern that, again, it will cross the line from roommates to more.

“Did Alana tell you to come get him?” I ask, setting Mochi down and heading back outside, where I was sitting before Owen came in.

The view from the back deck is spectacular, and I love watching the sun sink into the ocean, the waves lapping quietly at the shore.

“No, but why didn’t you tell me that you wanted to bring your dog?” Owen says, his words coming with a bit more of a demand than I’m used to. He’s normally so chill, rarely raising his voice about anything. But now, there’s a bite to them, like he’s upset with me for not bringing Mochi here.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to push things. It was already really nice of you to let me move in, and what, I was supposed to ask to bring my dog too?”

“Yes.” Owen’s single-word answer catches me off guard, and I’m not sure what to say. “It’s not like you’re living here for free, and even if you were, he’s your dog, Sloane. Where you go, he goes.”

The worst part of this conversation is that I want to tell him that’s not always true. Just because something is yours doesn’t mean it gets to come too.

Thinking back on everything I’ve lost over the years, he doesn’t know what that feels like and how I’ve just learned to cope: leaving behind toys and dolls and stuffies and clothes. At one point, I even lost the one picture I had of my mom.

Not that it matters now. As an adult, I realize she wasn’t worth having around, but as a kid, I held tightly to the belief that she was going to come back for me. She never did, and I know now she had opportunities to but failed.

I will never be that type of mother, but as I think this, I realize I just was. I left Mochi with Alana because I was afraid to ask Owen if I could have him here. Never again. Everything that is mine will now come first. Adding this to the list of things I get to do now that I live on my own.

Sort of on my own. I’m relying on Owen right now.

“You’re right,” I say quietly again, reminding myself to be louder, to be my own voice.

Mochi follows us out onto the deck, frolicking down the steps and into the small yard. Sniffing around, he goes to the bathroom and then instantly sprints back up to me.

I sit down, and he jumps up into my lap and settles in, letting out a contented sigh, and I can’t believe I left him with Alana. Not that I don’t think she was taking good care of him, but because I feel horribly guilty now.

“Let it go, Sloane,” Owen says, and I turn to look at him. He can’t possibly know what I’m thinking, but it feels like he does. “Mochi’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere.”

“Thanks.”

We sit silently for a few minutes, the sun beginning to set, the sky filling with the most beautiful shades of orange and pink, making the ocean look like it’s on fire. I take it in, reminding myself that I get to start over tomorrow.

I don’t need to keep things from Owen, and if we’re going to make this roommates thing work, I need to be more open to letting him in.

“How was your day?” I now ask him, trying for friendly, something Daisy, Alana and I would do when our night would end.

Living with Owen should be no different than that.

Even if he is a hot surfer with a body that looks like it was made for women.

He has the sweetest smile with a dimple that dots his cheek when his grin widens, hair that is always disheveled from the saltwater of the ocean, slightly lighter at the ends.

He doesn’t look rich, but he is. Filthy rich, the kind of rich that people dream about. Private jets and massive homes, a portfolio of luxury hotels, which I’m sure he’s the heir to.

It’s a lot.

But I try not to let this affect my opinion of him. He’s never given me a reason to dislike him based on this. If anything, he’s the humblest person I know, and not just that, incredibly giving.

His family donates massive amounts of money to Mitch’s surf school and is always willing to help out when anyone needs it. Case in point: letting me move in.

“Not bad,” Owen now answers. “Class, lessons, a couple of hours at The Pipe Dream. How about you?”

“Pretty much the same. Class, and then I had this stupid seminar on de-escalation for work,” I say, rolling my eyes.

But what I just said was not the best idea.

“Oh my god,” I now say, covering my face with my hands, the heat creeping onto my cheeks.

“It wasn’t stupid. Your parents are the ones who scheduled it. ”

“I’m sure it was stupid. All that stuff is boring. Why do you think I don’t work there?” he says, laughing. “I did for a couple of summers while I was in high school, and shit, it sucked.”

“Really? What did you do?” I ask, not that I think he wouldn’t work there. It’s just funny to hear him say it sucked.

All jobs suck, but I will admit, working at Orchid Bay isn’t so bad.

I get paid pretty well, and they’re great about working around my school schedule.

The worst part is the wealthy tourists who think the resort is there to do everything they ask.

And maybe we are. They do pay a ridiculous amount of money to stay there.

“I worked at the lagoon,” he tells me. “As one of the guys who set up chairs and umbrellas, showing people how to use SUP boards, handing out towels. Occasionally being yelled at because there were fish in the lagoon or the sand was too hot.”

I laugh at his explanation. People really do complain about things like that. Working the front desk, we get all kinds of complaints.

“Good tips though, I’ve heard.”

“Oh, yeah, people, especially after drinking too much, tend to tip big.” He stops for a second, looking at me, his eyes this interesting shade of green flecked with gold.

I get lost in his eyes, the way they take me in, how calming they feel as he watches me. My tongue slips out, wetting my lips, and his eyes fall to my mouth.

“Once I had someone call the front desk to tell me her ice cream melted too quickly, and she wanted to speak to the manager,” I say, a little hesitantly, worried I might be crossing a line since it is his parents’ hotel.

“It’s ice cream,” Owen replies, shaking his head. “It melts. What happened?”

“You know what happened,” I say, raising a brow, letting him fill in the rest of the story.

“Free bottle of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, a free dinner, a comped night.” He lets out a sigh.

All of those things. They’re our go-to for pleasing disgruntled guests. It tends to work, and it probably doesn’t really cost all that much for the hotel in the end. But it might bring these guests back, and that’s what matters.

“I really do like working there,” I now say, feeling that I need to add that in so he doesn’t think I’m ungrateful. “It’s one of the best places I’ve ever worked. Your parents are really nice.”

“They’d love to hear that,” he tells me. “They do try hard to make sure it isn’t a shitty place to work. Unless it’s their own kid. Then they’re all over my ass.” He says this like it’s a joke, and I can see his parents being the kind of people who don’t cut their kids any breaks.

We both fall quiet again, the sun now completely gone, the stars beginning to dot the darkened sky. I love it out here. It feels a million miles away from everything, like a sanctuary.

“Thanks again, Owen, for everything,” I now say, my fingers laced through Mochi’s fur. It’s starting to feel more like a place I live rather than just a stopover in another move.

But again, it’s not home.

It’s a house.

“Of course. What would you have done if I hadn’t told you that you could move in with me?” His question comes out quickly, and it catches me off guard. This is certainly not where I thought this conversation would go.

I pause, letting it sink in. He’s probably never been in this situation, and his question is asked with genuine curiosity.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I respond. “I didn’t have enough money to rent a place on my own, so I guess…” I trail off, not wanting to admit to Owen Sinclair that I would have been homeless.

“Do you really think your friends would have let you be without a place to live?” He doesn’t use the word homeless, and I don’t know if that’s intentional or not.

“I don’t know. Alana has Flynn now, and Sage and Nate don’t have any room. Daisy’s kinda in the same situation I’m in, and she was just going to move in with her sister or mom. She ended up with her mom.”

“Not one of them would have let it happen, and I want you to hear that.” Again, there’s that harshness to his words, a possessive quality that makes my stomach flutter. “I would have never let it happen.”

“And you didn’t,” I say softly.

“You deserve better, Sloane, and you’re working hard to get there. I wouldn’t let something I could so easily change for you ruin that.”

His words sound loud and booming in my ears. They’re kind and protective, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst in my chest. I might be working hard to make my life better, but what I don’t deserve is a guy like Owen Sinclair.

He’s too good for me.

But I push that thought aside. What if I do let him in? What if I give him a chance and he falls in love with me? What if this simple gesture changes my life?

The trouble is, I have to let it happen, and I’m not sure I can. It’s a terrifying thought, the back and forth of my thoughts, the idea that I might get my heart broken. That he’ll leave when he realizes I’m not worth staying for.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he now asks, changing the subject. Mochi pops up, his little eyes squinting in the darkness.

He hops off my lap and trots the few short steps over to where Owen is sitting. He jumps up into his lap now, spinning around a few times before he plops down.

“Looks like he likes you,” I tease, smiling as Mochi lets out the cutest little yawn, a tiny squeak escaping when he does.

Owen rests a hand on Mochi, giving him a soft pat, and there goes my heart, hammering in my chest at how sweet he is. Most guys would take one look at Mochi and laugh—a foo-foo dog that could fit in a bag. Not manly at all.

“I hope he’s not the only one,” Owen murmurs, his words soft and comforting, leaving the door open for me to comment back.

“He’s got good taste,” I play back, swallowing hard, my stomach fluttering again.

Owen is a dream come true, and I know that, which is what makes this whole thing so damn hard. Sometimes it feels too good to be true.

“I’m gonna kick ass as a dog daddy,” Owen jokes, and I laugh at his use of the term ‘dog daddy’, finding it kind of sexy, actually. Not the daddy part because that just screams daddy issues, and I already have those all on my own, but the part where he wants to help take care of Mochi.

“You look pretty hot with my little dog over there on your lap,” I say, and I can’t believe I just said that. “You look hot almost all the time, Owen.”

What the fuck am I doing?

He doesn’t say anything back, and I can tell I’ve caught him off guard. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, waiting for him to respond.

Maybe I’ve crossed that line I said I wasn’t going to cross.

“Oh, Sloane, don’t test me,” he now says, letting out a hard sigh as he drags a hand through his messy hair. “You know exactly what I think about you.”