Page 4 of Rowan’s Renewal (DKAG Summer Shorts #6)

“ H ey,” I tap lightly on the doorframe to Rowan’s room, offering him a smile when he looks up from his reclined position on the bed.

I interrupted him texting someone, but he sets the phone down on the mattress beside him and looks at me expectantly.

Throwing my thumb over my shoulder, I say, “I’m going to go check out the resort. Want to come with?”

He scrunches his nose in contemplation, and I can’t help but think it’s a cute expression.

He’s older and broader than me, but he doesn’t carry himself with the kind of confidence (or arrogance) most men who look like him do.

Instead, he seems to withdraw into himself, hunching those broad shoulders as if he’s trying to shrink and fade into the background.

“I think I’ll pass,” he replies, and I try not to feel too disappointed at the rejection. “I’m kind of wiped, so I might take a nap. But,” his teeth sink into his lower lip, “if you want to join me for dinner later, I’d like that. My treat. For, y’know” —he gestures around the room— “this.”

The Daddy in me wants to argue with him about who will be paying, but just because my instincts are screaming that this big, attractive man is submissive, it doesn’t mean I can automatically slide into that role with him.

So, I smile and tell him, “Sure. I’d like that, too.

” Glancing at my watch, I say, “I’ll probably be back in a few hours, so… dinner around seven?”

His shoulders relax. “Perfect.”

***

After exploring the resort and making a mental list of all the things I want to try over the next few days, I head back up to the suite. I almost swallow my tongue when I walk in to find Rowan dressed in loose-cut jeans, and a tight black t-shirt which hugs his biceps and pecs like a second skin.

“Whoa,” I breathe, and he arches an eyebrow at me.

I gesture at his outfit, wishing the jeans were just as flattering as the shirt. “You look fantastic.”

His cheeks turn pink, and he shakes his head. “Hardly, but thank you.”

I want to push the issue, but that might make things weird, so I just roll my eyes. “Give me twenty to grab a quick shower, and I’ll be good to go, too.”

I dress more casually in beige shorts and a white t-shirt, sliding my bare feet into brown boat shoes. I enjoy the way Rowan’s gaze travels over me when I emerge from the bathroom, a glint of appreciation and hunger in his eyes before he blinks it away.

“So,” I cock my head, “want to eat here at the resort, or would you like to venture out and explore a bit? I heard some of the guys saying that there are some nice places to eat on Hastings Street. That’s, like, the main tourist strip here, I think.”

“It could be nice to leave the grounds and see what else is out there. Now that the sun is going down, I don’t feel like I’m as likely to melt.”

I want to tell him that wearing jeans probably isn’t helping with the heat, but he would know that. He’s a grown man, and he’s not my Boy, so I don’t have the right to dress him or even offer suggestions on his clothing. I guess I got too used to picking Jerry’s outfits for him.

I pocket my room key, phone, and wallet, and watch as he does the same before we head out of the room together.

We get an Uber from the resort to the main tourist strip, which is a long street of clothing stores, hotels, and restaurants with the main beach on one side and a river running along the other side.

It’s bustling with people, with a number still flocking to the beach, despite the waning sunlight.

Even in summer here, the sun sets around 6:30pm, which is kind of different to back home.

It makes the days feel shorter, even though the heat carries on during the night.

Meanwhile, other people are stumbling their way off the sand and onto the sidewalk, their skin damp with salty seawater, granules of sand clinging to them.

Some carry surfboards, some have towels draped over their shoulders.

Then there are those dressed like me and Rowan, ambling towards the bars and restaurants.

The atmosphere here is somehow both vibrant and relaxed. Most people are smiling, clearly enjoying a vacation themselves, and everything looks bright and airy.

“Want to wander a bit and see if anything calls to us, or have you already Googled and you know exactly what you’d like to eat?” I ask, guessing that my companion is probably the latter kind of traveler.

He smiles sheepishly. “Usually, I would do that. But this is a thank you meal for you, so…let’s see what’s out there and then decide?”

Once again, I’m struck by the firm belief that he’s quite submissive, and I wonder if he wants me to make the decision because he finds it stressful to make any himself.

“That sounds good to me.”

We stroll along the beachfront side of the street first, reading the menus encased behind glass on fancy stands outside each of the restaurants we pass.

Seafood seems to be a common theme, which isn’t really a surprise, given the location.

There’s also a little Italian restaurant, and a Mexican one as well, but as we turn around at the end of the street and make our way back on the opposite side, it seems like Rowan and I are on the same page when it comes to our options.

“I like the sound of this place,” I say, pointing at the menu of a restaurant midway on our journey back up the street, “or the first one we saw.”

“Mmm,” he hums agreeably, “me too.”

“Do you have a preference between the two?”

He chews his bottom lip, then glances over his shoulder in the direction of the first restaurant we looked at. “The one over there has oceanfront tables…and they had a miso salmon thing on the menu which sounded amazing.”

“That did sound good,” I agree. “Let’s check these last few places while we make our way back to that first one.”

There are a bevy of options, but we still find our way back to the first restaurant with its dining room more an open deck jutting out towards the sand and the rolling waves.

Despite not having a reservation, we’re lucky enough to land ourselves a table for two with uninhibited views, and the salty breeze ruffles our hair as we take our seats.

“Wow,” Rowan says, looking out at the darkening ocean instead of at his menu, “this is gorgeous.”

The overhead fairy lights have lit up, strung in a zigzag pattern over the large deck, and they glint gold in his wide blue eyes. “Yeah,” I agree, “it is.”

Rowan smiles and looks down at the menu before he abruptly shifts in his seat. He glances over his shoulder, eyes searching the interior room of the restaurant for something before relief flickers over his face.

Setting the menu down over his plate, he apologizes, “Excuse me for a moment,” then pushes away from the table.

I watch as he weaves his way past other diners and disappears inside. At first, I think he’s heading towards the bar, but he bypasses it for the bathrooms.

While he’s gone, a waitress appears to take our drink order. I glance at the wine list and choose each of us a glass of white wine from what the menu says is a local vineyard, hoping that I’m not overstepping by choosing for my companion.

He slides back into his seat only moments before the waitress returns with the drinks.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I say softly. “I have this thing where I like to try local stuff when I travel.”

Rowan shakes his head, locks of brown hair falling into his eyes before he brushes them back with his hand. “Not at all. I try to do that, too.” He lifts his glass. “To…new experiences?”

I grin. “I’ll drink to that.”

***

Dinner with Rowan feels like a date, but in the best possible way.

We discover that we live in the same city back home, which is a wild coincidence given how far from home we both are, and we share similar tastes in fiction, TV, and even food.

When our meals are delivered to our table, Rowan catches me eyeing his salmon dish and he smiles shyly, nudging his plate forward.

“We could share both?” he suggests, his eyes greedily taking in the swordfish sashimi on my plate.

There’s something so sweet and wholesome in the way he offers to share that my stomach gives a funny little flip-flop. “Are you sure?” I ask.

He nods, pushing his meal even further into the middle of the table. “Please. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone.”

“Me too,” I lift my cutlery and cut into the salmon, being sure to swish my piece through the miso glace, “Jerry wasn’t a sharer.”

“Not everyone is,” he says, watching as I pop the forkful of food into my mouth. My tastebuds dance at the explosion of flavor and I moan, making him chuckle. “But I like seeing other people happy. I like sharing in that, too, I guess.”

I chew thoughtfully, mulling over the quiet confession. Swallowing, I dip my chin, “Well, Jerry was a spoiled brat, and I enabled him.” I gesture to his plate. “But that is so good. You have to try it.”

Rowan cuts himself a corner from his end of the piece of fish, using the side of his fork to slice through the tender meat. I watch the utensil slip between his parted lips and my stomach flips again as his eyes flutter shut with his enjoyment of the food.

Yeah; I’ve definitely missed this.

In fact, if we weren’t complete strangers, I would get another forkful of the melt-in-your-mouth salmon and feed it to him myself, just to feel even more responsible for his sheer pleasure.

Getting a bit creepy, Park. Reel it in.

Lifting the set of chopsticks that came with my meal, I dive in to the sashimi to distract myself from those intrusive thoughts.

I can’t help the fact that there’s something about Rowan calling out to my Daddy instincts. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but he just seems…Little. And lost. Lonely.

Alliteration. Well done.

The voice in my head is snarky tonight.