Page 37 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Owen

I NEVER IMAGINED THE first time I’d tell Rio I loved her would happen like that—frayed at the edges, the words tangled in everything that came right before and everything we hadn’t figured out yet. I never fully believed she’d say it back, either. And definitely not like that.

But she did.

We held each other until it all blurred and each touch became more demanding, charged, searing. We crashed on the bed together, mouths searching, hands grasping, stripped raw, nothing left between us.

I didn’t even care if Walter knew what kept us upstairs so long.

By the time we made it downstairs to get something to drink, his door was shut.

It was better that way. I didn’t want another fight before I left, though I hoped I’d get a quiet moment to tell him I loved him before I left.

My flight was booked for three days later. The next day, Simon texted me for the first time since my testing-the-waters message from a few days ago—a simple “We should talk again. Let me know.”

His reply came that afternoon. “Can we meet for a pint tonight?”

“Anytime. Was hoping you’d ask,” I wrote back.

Rio, perched on the sofa next to me, glanced at my screen. “Will you survive this?”

“I have to,” I said, tossing my phone onto the table. “For you.”

She raised an unimpressed brow.

“Okay, okay. For the greater good.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “As long as you don’t start an argument in the middle of the pub.”

“I make no promises.” I ran the back of my hand along her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I inhaled, then pulled her closer, letting her head rest sideways on my shoulder. My fingers threaded into her hair, grazing the soft skin of her cheek. I bent my head and kissed her temple.

Entering Shore Thing, which wasn’t around when I used to live here, I could see why this warm, cozy place had become a staple in a small town like Blueshore. It was a blend of family-friendly during daytime and an unassuming beach bar at night.

Simon was already at the bar, two half-pints waiting in front of him.

“God, I missed just going for a beer with a friend,” he said, nudging one glass toward me as I took the seat beside him.

“Nicole still doesn’t like you leaving her and the girls alone in the evenings? ”

“Only if I classify it as a business meeting.”

Whenever he visited me in London, he used to drag me out nearly every night, even when I wasn’t in the mood, trying to make up for the lack of that sort of fun at home.

“Is that what you did tonight?” I asked.

“Nah. Told her I’d only seen you twice and you won’t be here for much longer.”

His word choice sent a jolt through me.

“I’m flying for checkups day after tomorrow.”

“I know. There was a piece about it on ESPN.

“How the hell did they find out?”

Simon carved the coaster with his nail. “My guess? Your agent. Creating a buzz.”

We both took long sips from our beers.

“You know that Chloe joined the school’s soccer team?”

I turned to look at him. “She did?”

“Yeah. She’s been talking about it for a while, but now she decided that if you started late and made it, she could try it, too.”

Warmth spread in me which wasn’t just the result of the beer.

“See? You’re an inspiration at home and away. I just don’t know which is which.”

The warmth in me turned to cold, gray lead.

“Listen.” I exhaled slowly. “Rio and I talked. We ...” I scraped a hand across my jaw. “Simon, let her make her own decisions. What you’re doing isn’t fair.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “And what you’re doing?”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m not making promises I can’t keep. ”

Silence stretched between us. If it wasn’t Rio, if it wasn’t tainted with what he thought of me in that regard, I would have told him that I loved her, but right now it felt like exposing a delicate new bud to a gust of hurricane.

So, instead, I ran a finger through the condensation on my glass, watching the beads of water slide down.

Simon’s phone buzzed on the counter, and he glanced at it, thumb hovering for a second before flipping it face-down. He sighed. “Okay, listen. That’s not actually why I asked you here.”

I shot him a spill-it look.

“Chloe reminded me ... You built this career with your own hands. Or feet.” He smirked briefly before turning serious again. “You fought for every inch of it. You should fight to finish it the way you want. You owe that to yourself.”

“You just want me out of the way.” I let out a tired scoff.

“No. I mean it.” He exhaled, shaking his head.

“I care about you, Owen. I don’t think you’re right for Rio, but you’re still my best friend.

You know me better than most. And I don’t want .

..” He trailed off, then started again. “What I said before—I meant it. But I don’t want you giving up on your career. It’s always been your dream.”

I blinked, the words landing heavier than expected.

Best friend . Knowing how much had shifted between us, it was strange to hear.

Good strange. Once, that title had been effortless, unquestioned.

Now, it carried layers of loyalty, of history, of conflict.

I wasn’t sure whether it reassured me or twisted something deeper inside .

“I don’t think there’s much left of my career. With my age and that fucked up knee, they’ll probably release me and send me right back.”

“Remember that match in Madrid?” Simon asked suddenly, his voice quieter.

“When your knee was fucked the first time, and they told you to sit the last ten minutes out? And you insisted on going back in because you couldn’t stand watching from the sidelines?

” He shook his head. “You’re not someone who lets things happen to him, Owen. So don’t start now.”

So, it wasn’t just that he could name-drop my flings—but also remember the moments I shined? That felt more like the Simon I knew.

“Besides ...” Simon continued.

I waited.

“Besides, my sister wouldn’t want someone giving up everything for her. She’d feel like it was because of her.” He met my eyes. “That’s not a great foundation for any relationship if you have to give up a part of yourself. You wouldn’t want that either.”

I recalled Rio’s words and the look in her eyes when she told me this was mine to see through.

These two were more alike than they knew.

I stared at my half-empty pint. “I love her, Simon.” As I said this, I hoped he wouldn’t stomp on the bud. “I know you don’t think I’m right for her. I understand why. But ... I want to be.”

Simon didn’t answer right away, just watched me.

“I built this career. With my own hands. Feet. Blood. Sweat. Whatever.” I exhaled. “This injury. Feels like I’m clawing at something that’s gone.” My jaw clenched. “I still have to try. Or it’s really gone.”

Simon let out a slow breath. “You’ll figure it out. Same way you always have. Regardless of anything else I said or think— she wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I huffed a short laugh, shaking my head. “I know.”

Simon clinked his glass against mine. “To life being a hell of a puzzle.”

His phone buzzed again. Simon pushed his empty glass. “Have to head back, before Nicole sends the dogs after me.”

“If only you had dogs.”

“The neighbors do. Two vicious poodles.”

Laughing, we bro-hugged.

“Let us know, yeah?”

“Of course.” I tapped on my fucked-up knee.

Simon gave a slow, pensive nod.

He left, and I followed soon after.

For the remaining time, Rio and I were inseparable.

We didn’t talk about my leaving or what might happen, if and when.

We strolled on the beach, went out for lunch and coffee, spent our nights together, and our mornings until she had to head for work.

We blended our new routine—one that had quietly formed and felt fresh yet familiar, like the pieces of a puzzle we hadn’t known we were putting together—with what was there before.

Walter—driving him to swim class and to the seniors’ center, making his meals, losing Scrabble to him.

Rio did most of that, keeping her usual rhythm with him, as he was mostly avoiding me.

I went to my final physiotherapy session and made a few travel arrangements .

The night before my flight, I knocked on Walter’s door. He’d been avoiding me—not out of anger, but guilt, according to Rio.

When he answered, I pushed the door open but stayed in the doorway.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow. Just wanted to say goodnight. Take care of Rio. And yourself.” I smirked. “And don’t dance-gloat.”

He waved a dismissive hand at my joke. “Good luck, Owen.” Then, softer, “For the record, I want you to be healthy, happy, and ... I am proud of you.”

“I know,” I said.

I didn’t always know.

His voice softened further. “I don’t say it enough, but I am. And ... your dad isn’t your fault. Neither is your mom. You did well for yourself. All by yourself. And I hope you continue to succeed. I’m just a grouchy old bastard.”

“That’s not your fault either.” I took a step inside the room. “That was a job requirement at the IRS.”

Walter’s scoff sounded as tired as my chuckle. “Good night, Owen. Safe flight. I hope you get what you worked hard for.”

“Thanks.” I walked toward him. He was sitting in his usual spot—his cozy chair in front of the TV.

Bending down, I hugged him.

He patted on my back. “Okay, okay. No need to get all mushy about it.”

I laughed because, with Walter, I couldn’t help it.

UPSTAIRS, RIO LIT EVERY candle she owned. And she owned many. The cream-colored walls glowed golden, casting soft shadows, while the large, white bed looked like a haven. One I’d have to kick myself out of in the morning.

And then there was Rio.

In lavender lace bra and panties, she was heaven.

“You took the words out of my mouth,” I managed to say when my breath steadied.

She chuckled, her eyes warm. “Now you know how I feel.”

I stepped forward, traced my thumbs over her cheekbones, memorizing her. The way her lips parted, the glimmer of candlelight in her eyes. Rio Mio.

I cupped her face and kissed her long, slow, deep. Etching her taste into me.

Her fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, sliding it up my chest, her touch igniting every inch of my skin. I let her pull it over my head, and the second it hit the floor, she pressed against my bare skin, her lavender-clad curves a soft contrast to my rough edges.

Her hands moved to my belt, unfastening it with deliberation. My own fingers skimmed down her back, the silky straps of her bra, her skin warm beneath my touch.

The fabric came away, and I didn’t just look—I savored.

“Heaven,” I murmured, my lips finding the slope of her neck .

Rio exhaled, tilting her head to give me more, and I took it, trailing kisses down to where her heart pounded under my mouth.

I bent to lift her, guiding her onto the bed. She gasped as I settled above her, my weight pinning her against the mattress.

I brushed her hair away from her face. “I love you, Rio Mio.”

Her hands framed my jaw, her eyes holding mine. “I love you, Owen.”

Even though I’d heard them before, the words hit me like a gut punch. I let them sink in, fill the empty spaces in me.

Her lips curled, and she pulled me down, and there was no more talking. Just whispered breaths, soft moans, and hands and lips that knew exactly where to go.

I traced every inch of her, learning her all over again. My heaven. My haven. My Rio.

When we came together, it was slow, deep, a confession in every movement.

And when we finally lay tangled in the sheets, her cheek pressed to my chest, I closed my eyes, holding on to the feeling for as long as I could.

A BLUSH OF PINK SUNRISE tore through night’s mist as I held the carry-on on the way to the Range Rover.

The ocean lay near, and in the cool silence that wrapped the world, I could hear its low hum .

Kissing a sleeping Rio before I left, leaving the warm bed, letting go of her soft body from within my arms was stepping away from something I’d only just discovered and already had to let go of.

I’d known this feeling once before—the day after Simon’s wedding.

THE RECEPTION WAS IN full swing, music and laughter floating throughout the garden of the Coral Bay Inn. The early evening glow washed everything in soft colors, and from my spot near the bar, I had a clear view of Rio in that damn salmon-colored dress.

She wasn’t looking at me. Not really. She’d glance past me, around me, but not at me.

And maybe I was doing the same, pretending not to track her every move.

Maybe because last night, under my touch, she hadn't hesitated—she’d opened for me, trusted me, let me in.

I still remembered tracing that tiny tattoo on her hip with my fingers, the way she shivered when I did.

Now, here we were, all dressed up, too many eyes around us, pretending nothing had happened.

Then we ended up on the dance floor together.

My hand settled on the small of her back, and I felt it again—the heat of her through the thin fabric, the difference between this and the way she had moved beneath me just hours ago. I swallowed hard, keeping my expression even, but inside, everything tightened .

It didn’t last. Her father cut in so fast, I hardly had a chance to say anything even if I knew what.

I let her go, but the ache didn’t ease.

Later, when the noise and commotion had thinned, I found her standing alone near the inn’s side garden, the warm light from the reception shining behind her.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said before I could.

I nodded, hands shoved in my pockets. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. The kind that stretched too long. The kind that had texture.

She gave me a small smile, her eyes warm. “Thanks for ...” she didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. “Have a safe flight.”

Something lodged in my throat. I didn’t know what to say—what I could say.

I just knew I couldn’t leave without touching her one last time.

Something feral bloomed inside me, unexpected.

Like I’d unwrapped a precious present for someone else to have.

I felt like a complete dickhead just feeling that.

I stepped closer, cupped her cheek, and pressed my lips to hers. Soft. Slow. Just enough to remember.

I then pulled back, brushed my thumb over her skin, and let go. “Goodbye, Rio.”

Before I could do any more damage, I turned and walked away.

I DIDN’T KNOW THEN that sixteen years later, I’d be in love with her—trying to trace the beginning, still unsure about the end.