Page 9 of Shades of You (Calypso Key #4)

Chapter Nine

Brenna

The unfamiliar room around me was quiet, and I was blissfully comfortable. I stretched luxuriously, surprisingly refreshed despite the turmoil that had sent me seeking refuge in Hunter’s apartment. After crossing the plush, carpeted floor, I found the robe I’d draped over the chair during my unpacking session yesterday. Wrapping it around myself, I experienced a momentary sense of intimacy as if he were somehow holding me with the fabric. I padded out of the room and down the hall, anticipation building steadily.

But Hunter wasn’t there, and an unexpected twinge of disappointment caught me off guard. “Guess it’s just you and me, Pedro,” I murmured to the kitten, who blinked at me lazily before resuming his nap on the sunny windowsill. A smile rose on my lips as I remembered Hunter’s embarrassed mumbling about buying the kitten a bed and placing it in his bedroom when the fluff bundle had been scared. All while denying he was becoming attached.

“You don’t fool me, you big lug.”

The bookshop would remain closed today, which was probably for the best. I needed time to think, to process all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. After a hot shower that did little to calm the flutter in my stomach, I slipped into shorts and a faded T-shirt. Descending the stairs, I braced myself for whatever remnants of last night’s chaos awaited.

But it wasn’t chaos that greeted me—it was the sight of Hunter. He was sitting at a cluster of desks within the big open area of KeyMark Security. Two unfamiliar faces sat with him, all deep in conversation. During dinner, he had told me that his two employees were friends and fellow Marines who had worked with him in South Beach, then followed him on his new venture. They certainly looked the part. My heart did an odd skip at the sight of Hunter, clad in black and looking every bit the part of the brooding protector. His button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing strong forearms, and the jet-black jeans clung to him.

“Morning,” I called out, more cheerfully than I felt.

Hunter looked up, a flicker of something unidentifiable crossing his features. “Hey, Brenna. Sleep well?”

“Like a rock, surprisingly.” I couldn’t help but add a light-hearted tone to mask my inner disarray.

“Good to hear,” Hunter replied, his voice low and even.

I glanced at the two strangers, who gave me polite nods as I leaned against the wall. Seeing Hunter among allies, a cascade of relief washed over me. There was safety in numbers, or so I wanted to believe. Despite the security of Hunter’s apartment, it was his physical presence that truly made me feel safe. As if the danger that lurked beyond these walls couldn’t possibly touch us while he was here. It was a ridiculous notion, but in that moment, I clung to it.

“Guys, this is Brenna Coleridge,” Hunter introduced with a casual wave in my direction. Then, turning to me, “Brenna, Myles Decker and Garrett Howard.”

Myles, with sandy hair cut high and tight, offered me a warm smile. His tan spoke of hours in the sun, and his stretched-out legs crossed at the ankles suggested an easygoing nature. But my impression changed when he rose from his chair, the movement effortless in a way that suggested coiled strength ready to be loosed. He extended a hand, which I shook, finding his grip firm yet unassuming.

“Nice to meet you, Brenna. Heard a lot about Bookshop in Paradise,” Myles said, his voice tinged with a coastal drawl.

“Only good things, I hope,” I replied with a smile, immediately at ease with him.

“Of course, though Hunter’s the real bookworm.”

Garrett was a different story. His posture was rigid, like a soldier standing at attention, and his gaze held a focus that seemed to weigh and measure me in a glance. Dark stubble lined his jaw, and his piercing blue eyes flickered to Hunter before resting back on me. As if he was looking for something unsaid, an undercurrent beneath the surface. I expected a crushing grip when we shook but found my hand unsmashed.

“Myles is just coming off shift at Calypso Key, so he’s heading home to sleep,” Hunter explained. “I asked him to stop by so I could fill him in on the developments. Garrett will be keeping an eye out for you while I look for Knox.”

“What?” The word slipped out before I could censor it, my hesitancy clear.

Garrett smiled, and his face transformed. The stern, intimidating Marine vanished, and I relaxed a little. “Trust me, you won’t even notice I’m there.”

“Uh, thank you,” I managed, mustering a polite smile. “I appreciate it, though I’m still not sure all this is necessary.”

Hunter eyed me, not giving an inch. “If it becomes necessary, you’ll be very glad to have Garrett there.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I turned to give Garrett a smile but found him contemplating Hunter—a long, evaluating look like he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together. As the men continued their discussion, I drifted toward the window. Outside, small-town beach life stirred awake, the sky a canvas of pastel hues, all of it a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me.

When I climbed back upstairs, Hunter’s bookshelf caught my eye, a solid mahogany case that stretched seven feet high, filled with an array of titles. My fingers trailed over the spines, pausing on a worn, well-used collection of Hemingway titles. I couldn’t help but smile—at least some things never changed. In these small details, I glimpsed the boy I once knew, before he became this enigma shrouded in danger and allure.

He had all of Hemingway’s works, from The Old Man and the Sea to The Sun Also Rises , my favorite. Each book seemed to echo a part of Hunter’s soul, the adventure, the stoicism, the unspoken wounds. In my mind’s eye, I could see him sprawled on the couch and lost in those pages. He was the storm itself, and yet here I was, standing in the eye of it and finding peace.

After selecting a James Patterson thriller, I spent several hours lost in thrills, yet finding comfort in the soft bundle of fur on my lap. After a quick lunch, I was filled with restless energy. And with my store closed, I sought the familiar confines of home. My car was still parked behind the bookstore, and after letting Garrett know I was leaving, I trotted down to it and got in. Reaching Main Street, I turned west and made my way toward Siesta Sunset Resort. The Florida sun was generous today, giving the town a golden hue as I crossed the short distance to the family business. The resort was like a snapshot from a bygone era—cozy and homey, with two blocks of rooms painted in soft seafoam green with crisp white trim. Each room had its own little porch or deck, complete with a sitting area. I parked behind a rectangular structure made from cinderblocks painted a gentle blue.

The familiar sights filled me with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. It was a place that held so many memories of my childhood, of running around with my brothers and helping my parents with odd jobs. But now, it stood as a reminder of the struggles my family faced and the remnants of my parents’ shattered marriage.

As I approached the reception area, I could see Harper inside, her brow furrowed as she stared at the computer screen. Her bouncy brown curls looked like she’d run a hand through them. She’d taken over manager duties from Dad when he left and had shouldered the burden without complaint.

But the lobby wasn’t my destination today, and with a guilty pang, I bypassed the building. I let my feet guide me through the resort. Siesta Sunset exuded a casual coastal vibe, with its two-story room blocks arranged around the central amenities and pool. At the heart of the resort stood the main restaurant, Driftwood Grill, and the resort pool with palm trees whispering in the breeze. Near the beach, I passed Tidal Hops, the brewpub that was my brother Braden’s pride and joy. The pub’s white picket fence and turquoise signboard welcomed guests to dine in the shade or inside in the cool air .

I strolled farther, drawn by the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore. A crescent of beach unfolded before me. Powdery salt-and-pepper sand gave way to gentle azure waters. A weathered yet solid wooden pier stood on this little haven, anchored by a simple structure made of sun-bleached wood at the far end. Adorned with nets and buoys that spoke of the deep blue beyond, a red-and-white dive flag flapped from the top of the roof.

The house I’d grown up in, and that Ben was staying at while our mother was away, was barely visible in the distance, tucked away among sea grape bushes and the whispering fronds of palm trees. As I walked down the pier, the planks creaked under my weight with a comforting sound. I pushed open the glass door to find my brother Eli behind the counter, arranging dive gear with practiced ease.

“Bren! Long time no see.” Grinning, he swept a lock of slightly too long light-brown hair out of his eyes. We Coleridges had been graced with a variety of eye colors, but I loved Eli’s bright blue shade.

“Hey, you,” I replied, leaning against the counter. “Busy today?”

“Two-tank trip is out right now, and I’ve got a student in another hour. You know, the boat’s going out tomorrow, and I just happen to have a spot with your name on it. Or if you’re up for some shore diving, just say the word.”

I laughed. Four years older than me, Eli and I had gotten certified together. Where I found a hobby I enjoyed, he’d fallen utterly in love and discovered his calling. He never missed a chance to get me in the water.

“Thanks, but I’m back to work tomorrow. Maybe another time. I was just talking about diving last night with a friend.”

A friend. One I was afraid to even discuss with my protective big brother, so I kept quiet. The subject would only stir up trouble, and God knows I had enough of that. It weighed on me, though. Hunter hadn’t said anything about payment for his services—he just wanted to be sure I was safe. And yet I couldn’t discuss his generosity with my own brother.

Because he was a Markham. And I was a Coleridge.

So stupid.

When we’d discussed diving last night, the glimmers of an idea had formed in my head. How I could spend time with him and pay him back for his help at the same time—by submerging in a shared passion. But diving with Hunter was a complicated subject. Even though it was an activity we had loved doing back in the day, Hunter had terrible memories involved with diving. Evan’s accident had precipitated him leaving Calypso Key in the first place. And I didn’t want to know what his dives in the Marines had involved. But I couldn’t shake the idea that going diving with him could be the perfect way to ease some of those shadows from his eyes and help him remember how magical the watery world could be. After ensuring I could borrow dive equipment sometime to use with a friend I was careful not to name, Eli and I chitchatted until the dive boat’s motor indicated its return and he had to go help.

Leaving the dive shack, I allowed myself a moment on the pier. The sea stretching out before me was a reminder of the vast reaches beneath the surface, waiting to be rediscovered. Maybe diving was exactly what I needed to clear my own head. But for now, the intricacies of life above water called me back.

As I weaved through the resort to my car, I was reminded that although Siesta Sunset was home, it wasn’t my home. My home was a two-story structure on Main Street. Except now I was denied even that. With a sigh, I headed back to Main Street. And Hunter.

The distant glint of a vehicle trailed behind me as I left the resort, and I glanced in the rearview mirror. The SUV was nondescript and blended in with the other tourist-packed vehicles—a testament to Garrett’s subtlety. Hunter’s friend had promised to be a shadow, and he’d lived up to that. If he’d been around while I was at the resort, I never saw him.

After parking next to Hunter’s sleek black SUV, I tapped on my phone screen, pulling up the security code he’d sent. The keypad beeped in compliance, then I entered to find the open office area empty and closed up for the evening. I ascended the stairs to his apartment with a flutter in my chest, but I couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or anxiety.

Hunter stood in the kitchen, the setting sun streaming through the window outlining his silhouette. He updated me on Knox, keeping his voice even, though I caught a hint of frustration as he discussed his search. Finally, he threw a hand up in apology. “I spent the whole day chasing down leads. Nothing yet.”

“Maybe he’s checked out and left the area.” My gaze fell upon the sizzling pan on the stove. The sight of Hunter cooking chicken breasts—just for me—coaxed a smile onto my lips, along with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat from the burners.

“Figured I’d try to do better than pizza tonight.” He flashed a half-smile, his eyes softening before he turned back to the stove. “I went shopping this afternoon and stocked up. Hungry?”

“Starving, actually.” I accepted the glass of white wine he offered. The cool glass was a contrast to the heat that seemed to simmer every time I came near him. I perched on a stool, swinging one leg languidly.

“Do anything interesting today?” Hunter asked, his back to me as he tended to our meal.

“Just went home.” I hesitated. Home used to mean something simple and comforting. Now it was woven with complications. I took a sip of wine to help gather my thoughts. “The resort’s struggling a bit. Harper is doing her best, but… Everything is so complicated.”

“You didn’t tell your family you’re here with me?”

“No.” I traced the rim of the glass with my finger. “They wouldn’t understand. Not with everything that’s happened between our families.”

He snorted as he poured a bag of salad into a bowl. “More than that. They’d probably expect the worst from me.”

I didn’t bother to deny that. Many of the unsettling rumors about Hunter I’d heard over the years had been from the mouths of my brothers, especially Ben. Weren’t rumors supposed to be grounded in truth? I studied Hunter as he stepped around his small kitchen. He moved with incredible grace for a man his size, his actions economical and precise. He paused, utensils in hand, and turned to face me. Our gazes locked, and the air between us thickened, becoming charged.

“I’m not sure I could convince them that nothing’s going on between us.” My voice was firm, but the lie was brittle, crumbling under the intensity of his gaze.

“Nothing at all.” The corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smirk or scowl—I couldn’t tell which.

The room seemed to shrink, bringing us closer even though we hadn’t moved an inch. My heart thrummed and a strong roll of desire unfurled within me, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the man standing across from me. Under the counter, I clenched my hand, trying to fight off the image of what his dark beard might feel like under my fingertips. And those muscles… tattoos…

“Let’s eat,” he said finally, breaking the spell as he plated our food.

After we sat at the table, I forked a bite of grilled chicken, the perfect sear flaking away under the tines. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this ridiculous feud between our families.”

Hunter’s dark eyes met mine from across the kitchen table, his hands still as he listened. They were large, capable hands that had probably seen more than their fair share of hard work. What other things had they done? What things could they do to me?

That hot roll came back, and I swallowed over a thick throat, getting back to the subject at hand. “It’s a century-old grudge holding us all back. I want it to end.”

He leaned back in his chair, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I agree. It’s stupid, but not easily forgotten.”

“Maybe not.” I moved some pieces of lettuce around on my plate, then sighed. “I couldn’t even discuss what’s going on right now with my brother today. And that makes me sad.”

“I’m sorry. Hopefully, I’ll find Knox tomorrow. When I do, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore.”

I snapped my head up at that. Hunter answered with a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything illegal. But that asshole needs to understand that he’s not going to lay a finger on you ever again.”

The air hung heavy with implications and unasked questions. His presence was like a magnet, pulling me in despite every logical reason I should resist. It wasn’t just his looks—though those could stop traffic—it was the aura that clung to him like a second skin.

With effort, I focused back on my plate. We ate in silence for a few minutes before I dared to sneak another glance at him. The way his black shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, how he’d roll his lips inward thoughtfully. The sheer maleness of him captivated me. What would it feel like to have those strong hands cup my face, to taste those full lips in a stolen kiss? The air around me warmed.

As the meal wound down, our connection seemed to solidify with each shared smile and lingering look. Yet the unresolved tension of our family legacies draped over us like a net.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said softly, my gratitude genuine but also tinged with something deeper, something akin to yearning.

“You’re welcome. It’s nice having company.”

There it was again—that electric charge, the pull that neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge fully. Then Pedro meowed loudly, breaking the spell as only a pet can.

“Looks like someone’s jealous.” I laughed and reached down to scratch behind his ears, grateful for the distraction.

“Can’t blame him,” Hunter quipped, a smile playing on his lips as he collected the dishes. “I make a pretty good chicken.”

“Undoubtedly,” I agreed, standing up to help with the cleanup. But as I brushed past him, our arms touched, and the simple contact sent an electric jolt through me.

This was dangerous territory, a path leading to forbidden pleasures and inevitable complications. And yet, as I stared at that broad back as he cleared the table, I wondered if it was already too late to turn back.