Page 18 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Rio

JUNE COVERED CLOSING for me that evening so I could leave early.

“We got two more bridal orders!” she announced, coming in through the back where Angelo’s guitar workshop was—right by the stairs leading up to their studio apartment.

I grinned, proud. My video had worked. No one had stopped by the counter with rental leads, though, despite my plea for housing help. The real estate sites I’d checked and the agency I’d called earlier that day had only confirmed what I already knew—bad news all around.

The Canal Street dump was still available.

“How’s cohabitation going?” June asked, failing at suppressing a knowing smile.

She’d been smiling a lot more ever since she and Angelo got together.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, just peachy. Now we have an in-house gym, a Range Rover jamming up the lane, and a fridge full of protein shakes and grilled chicken fillets. You would have lost your mind by now. ”

June arched a brow. “You do remember what I live with?” She gave me a pointed look. “A dairy-loving carnivore in my vegan kitchen.”

“But you love him.”

“And you don’t?”

“Oh, I love Angelo.” I chuckled.

She poked a finger against my chest, silent but smug, as if saying, I see right through you .

I ignored her. “Okay, I’d better not be late for babysitting, or Nicole will never forgive me.”

My lime-green Kia looked like a toy parked next to Owen’s luxury SUV when I got home.

Passing by the storage-turned-gym, I caught the unmistakable sound of weights clanking. Then ... grunts. Low, deep, exerted grunts.

My heart and core pulsed in unison.

I should not look.

I should not look.

I looked.

Owen, shirtless, was on the bench press, lifting a bar loaded with plates, his arms flexing with each movement. Biceps, forearms, shoulders, chest—everything taut, corded, and glistening .

I barely swallowed a whimper.

Great. Maybe the Canal Street dump wouldn’t be that bad after all.

After making sure Walter had everything he needed for dinner, I showered and got ready.

I was about to knock on Owen’s door when it swung open .

And there he was—a six-foot-two wall of muscle, fresh from the shower, deep blue eyes, wet brown hair ruffled just enough to make my fingers twitch.

My God. This man.

He wore a blue Henley that made his eyes insanely bluer and a pair of olive-green slacks—probably the expensive version of Dockers. Even his scuffed brown boots were a fashion statement.

“All set?” he asked.

“Great,” I responded absent-mindedly, a snarky comment hovering on the tip of my tongue about how Chloe and Emma would surely appreciate his designer babysitting attire.

Simon and Nicole lived on the other side of Blueshore, in a neatly arranged neighborhood where all the houses looked almost identical—same size, same shape, different color fronts and fences.

Simon was waiting for us at the door.

“Were we late?” Owen asked, glancing at his definitely expensive watch and giving Simon a half-hug.

“No, no, you’re good.” Simon adjusted his collar. “Nicole needs to stop by a friend’s house first, and that’s out of our way, so we have to leave now if we want to make our reservation.”

“So leave,” I said and walked straight in.

Emma ran to me—chubby arms swinging, cheeks bouncing, all the round sweetness of a three-year-old pressed to my face as soon as I picked her up.

“Hello, baby,” I planted a big kiss on her cheek. “Ready for some play time? ”

She nodded vigorously and pointed at her toys on the carpet, some of which had escaped the chic woven baskets Nicole specifically bought to store them.

She appeared from the hallway, fastening an earring.

“They already ate. You can give them a little snack, and please make sure they go to sleep on time. Chloe’s allowed some phone time, as long as it’s done thirty minutes before bedtime.

” Lowering her voice, she added, “Her phone is on the top shelf in my bedroom. I hid it so she’d focus on her math paper.

She should be done by now, but she’s not in a good mood.

” A pointed look emphasized just how bad her mood actually was.

Simon and Nicole had some struggles, which was why there was a nine-year gap between their daughters.

“Don’t worry. Go, enjoy your night out.”

“Be good, Emma.” Nicole kissed the little one’s forehead, then turned as Owen walked in with a bag of gifts.

“Oh, look who’s here!” she announced.

She hurried to hug him, beaming. “You’re coming for dinner, and we’ll catch up, yeah?” she said, already breaking for the door, where Simon was impatiently motioning her along. “It’s amazing how you two always fall right back into place, as if years and planes weren’t involved.”

Owen smiled. “Have fun. We’ll be great over here, and I can’t wait for that dinner.”

The front door closed, and Owen turned to me and Emma, who was still in my arms.

“And where’s my goddaughter?” His grin was bright. “There she is! Emma, you’re so big! And pretty and sweet!” He gently stroked her feathery curls. “And I know you like presents, right?”

Emma nodded so vigorously that I almost lost my balance.

She had a slight language development delay, something that always knotted my stomach with worry.

She leaned forward in my arms to peer into the bag Owen was opening, shifting her weight so much that I tipped slightly toward him.

“Your dad told me this got too small for you,” Owen said, pulling out a tiny, Westbridge FC #7 jersey in dark green and white, with Wheaton printed across the back.

Emma’s round eyes widened as she grabbed it.

“What do we say when we get a present?” I prompted gently.

“Auntie Wio get one too?” she asked.

I laughed. “We say thank you to Owen.”

“Wait, there’s more ...” Owen drew out a plush toy.

Emma shrieked. “Bluey! T’ank you!”

She squirmed in my arms, eager to get to play with her new stuffie, so I set her down, and she ran straight to one of the overflowing toy boxes.

“Great way to become a favorite,” I teased Owen.

He clicked his tongue, grinning as he threw his hands up in a What can I say? I’m irresistible gesture. “Auntie Wio wants a jersey, too?” He winked.

I gave him a lopsided smile that said you’re so full of it. “You’ll need that charm with Chloe. She’s officially becoming a teenager. And I hear she’s particularly moody today—fresh off a math paper, which she loves. ” I injected all my lifelong hatred of math into that last word.

“We’ve got this,” Owen said quietly, his eyes locked on mine.

And there it was again—that little smile that told me he was in this—whatever this was—with me.

“I’ll go check on her,” I said, breaking eye contact before the whole room disappeared from my peripheral vision and it really was just him and me, alone somewhere.

“Hi, Auntie Rio,” came a low, flat, deeply unenthusiastic voice behind me.

I spun around. “Chloe! Sweety! There you are.” I walked toward her. “I heard about the paper. If you’re done, we can do something fun to forget it.”

I hugged her, but she didn’t hug me back—just stood there and let me hold her for a moment.

I remembered Simon’s embarrassed look when he’d first told me what they’d decided to name her. “It’s Nicole’s favorite,” he’d said, almost apologetically. At first, I hadn’t understood why—until it hit me. He’d been nervous about choosing a name that started with a sound I struggled with.

“Remember Owen?” I said, pulling back and standing next to her so we both faced him.

“Yeah, sure,” she said quietly, cheeks flushing as she gave him a small, awkward wave.

“Hi, Chloe.” Owen smiled. “You’re almost as tall as your aunt now.”

I looked at her proudly. She was only half a head shorter than me. But the compliment made her cheeks go even redder .

Owen, bless him, either totally aware or completely oblivious to his effect even on twelve-year-old females, walked right up and held a fist for her to bump.

“Don’t be shy, Chlo,” I encouraged.

“When you tell someone to not be shy, they be shy,” Owen said, flashing her a sympathetic smile.

Chloe huffed a tiny laugh and fist-bumped him.

Damn, this man could unfreeze an iceberg.

“This is for you.” He handed her the bag.

She peeked inside, and I could tell she appreciated that the gift-giving method had been adjusted for her age, not her sister’s.

“Thank you.” She half-pulled out a box of a mini digital notebook.

“Your mom says you doodle on your notebooks, so ...” Owen shrugged, but I could see hope written all over his face, like he needed her to like it. Maybe even to like him for getting it right.

The same happened when he gave Walter a cashmere sweater and a LED alarm clock-radio with Westbridge colors and logo. Like he was waiting for a verdict. As if getting it wrong meant something more than just a bad gift—like it meant he wasn’t enough.

A pang in my chest made me want to reach out and smooth a comforting hand over his arm. But Chloe’s reaction did the work.

“I love it. I’ll learn how to use it. Thank you.” A genuine smile lit up Chloe’s face. She then pulled out a larger Westbridge FC jersey.

“Can I go try it on?” She raised glinting eyes to Owen .

“Sure. Make sure you look under the club’s symbol,” he said.

Chloe turned and left.

I barely moved an inch before a loud, “ Oh, my God! ” rang from upstairs.

I turned to Owen with a laugh. “What did you do ?”

“Just got her a few of her favorites’ autographs.” He seemed mighty pleased with himself.

“I can’t top that. I’m dethroned now as her favorite,” I said though I was pleased for him, too.

“I doubt it.” He winked.

“I’ll go see how she’s doing.” And get some distance. “Keep an eye on Emma?”

His what do you think head tilt was all the answer I needed.

When I came back down with Chloe, she was wearing her new signed jersey layered protectively over her T-shirt—“Because I don’t want to ruin it.”

Emma was kicking her colorful sponge ball toward Owen, who effortlessly caught it with his booted foot, despite its wobbly path. The little bell inside the ball chimed with every movement.