Page 4 of To Her

Geri

J ake's parents' beach house turned out to be exactly what Haley had described—not quite a mansion, but definitely not what normal people would call a "vacation home.

" It was a sprawling two-story structure with weathered cedar siding and massive windows that reflected the moonlight bouncing off the ocean.

Music pulsed from inside, and the wraparound deck was already dotted with people holding drinks and laughing.

"Told you it was gorgeous," Haley said as our Uber pulled up to the circular driveway.

"Jesus," I muttered. "Is everyone we know secretly loaded?"

Anna laughed. "Not everyone. Just Haley and Jake."

We made our way inside, where the party was already in full swing.

The interior was all polished wood and nautical touches—rope railings, driftwood sculptures, and framed vintage maps.

A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall of the living room, though it wasn't lit; the night was unseasonably warm.

Jake's mother, a willowy blonde woman who looked like an older version of a luxury skincare advertisement, greeted us with air kisses and compliments on our outfits.

His father, a silver-haired man with the confident stance of someone who'd never worried about money a day in his life, handed us each a glass of champagne from a tray.

"The boys aren't here yet," Mrs. Reynolds told Haley. "Jake texted that they're running late. Something about picking up Matt from the hotel."

I caught the meaningful glance she shot my way and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Great. Even Jake's parents knew I was being set up.

"We'll just get settled then," Haley said smoothly, steering us toward a cluster of empty seats near the windows.

For the next hour, we mingled with the other early arrivals—mostly Jake's parents' friends and their adult children, all dressed in expensive casual wear that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

I nursed my champagne, letting the conversation flow around me, occasionally chiming in when directly addressed but mostly people-watching.

It was nearly ten when a burst of louder laughter announced the arrival of Jake and his friends. They tumbled in like a pack of overgrown puppies—five guys in various states of dressy casual, all talking over each other and making a beeline for the bar.

"There they are," Anna said unnecessarily, her eyes fixed on Jake.

I followed her gaze, trying to figure out which one might be Matt.

Jake I recognized—tall, sandy-haired, with the easy confidence of someone who'd never been told no.

Beside him was a shorter guy with glasses who I vaguely remembered from some previous gathering.

Then there was a redhead, a blond with a man-bun, and?—

Oh.

The last guy in the group stood slightly apart from the others, surveying the room with an intensity that was almost predatory.

He was tall—taller than Jake by several inches—with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. His dark hair was cut short on the sides but longer on top, styled in a way that looked effortlessly messy.

But what caught my attention were the tattoos.

They covered his arms completely, disappearing under the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt and reappearing at his collar, hinting at more coverage beneath.

Even from across the room, I could see the intricate designs—not the scattered, random pieces that some people collected, but a cohesive artwork that flowed across his skin.

"That's Matt," Haley whispered, following my gaze. "The one with the tattoos."

"I figured," I said, trying to sound unimpressed even as I felt a flutter of interest. I had a weakness for tattoos—both getting them and admiring them on others. And these were clearly quality work.

"Should we go say hi?" Anna asked, already half-rising from her seat.

"Let them get drinks first," I suggested, not quite ready to make my approach. I needed another moment to compose myself, to shore up my defences. Because despite my determination to remain aloof, there was something about this guy that made my pulse quicken.

I watched as Jake's mother greeted the newcomers, her smile slightly strained when she hugged Matt. I could practically hear her thoughts: Such a shame about those tattoos on such a handsome boy.

Matt seemed to sense it too, his smile turning wry as he accepted her embrace. He said something that made her laugh, the tension dissolving, and I found myself curious about what words had that effect.

"Okay, they've got drinks," Haley said after a few minutes. "Let's go."

I stood, smoothing down my dress and taking a fortifying sip of champagne. "Remember," I said to Anna, "asthma attack if I give the signal."

"What's the signal?" she asked.

"I'll sneeze three times in a row."

"That's a terrible signal," Haley protested. "What if you actually have to sneeze?"

"I don't have allergies," I pointed out. "If I sneeze three times, it's deliberate."

Before she could argue further, Jake spotted us and waved enthusiastically. "Ladies! You made it!"

We made our way over to the group, exchanging hugs and greetings. Jake introduced his friends—the guy with glasses was Ethan, the redhead was Connor, and the blond was Liam. And then, with a barely concealed smirk in my direction, he turned to the tattooed one.

"And this is my cousin Matt. Matt, this is Haley, my girlfriend; Anna, who you met at Christmas; and Geri, who you haven't met yet."

Matt's eyes—a startling shade of green that reminded me of sea glass—locked onto mine. "Geri," he repeated, as if testing the name. His voice was deeper than I expected, with a slight roughness to it. "Short for Geraldine?"

I nodded, bracing myself for the usual "that's an old lady name" comment.

Instead, he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that transformed his serious face. "It suits you."

"Thanks," I said, surprised. "Matt suits you too."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Better than Matthew, anyway. Too many syllables."

"God forbid you have to say two whole syllables," I replied, the sarcasm slipping out before I could stop it.

Instead of being offended, his smile widened. "Exactly. Exhausting."

And just like that, the ice was broken. We fell into conversation as naturally as if we'd known each other for years.

The group migrated to a cluster of couches and chairs in a corner of the living room, but somehow Matt and I ended up slightly apart from the others, perched on the wide windowsill overlooking the ocean.

"So," he said, taking a sip of his whiskey, "Jake tells me you're a skin therapist and a waitress. That's a lot of hours on your feet."

I shrugged. "Bills don't pay themselves. And I like being busy."

"Where do you work? The restaurant, I mean."

"The Harborview. It's down by?—"

"The harbor?" he suggested, eyes twinkling.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Original name, I know. My friend James is the sous chef there. He got me the job when I moved back to town a couple months ago."

"Moved back from where?"

“Seabreeze Haven. I was living with..." I hesitated, not wanting to bring up Ben so early in the conversation. "With a roommate. It didn't work out."

Something in his expression told me he caught the evasion but was choosing not to press. "And the day spa? You like that too?"

I wrinkled my nose. "It pays well. The clients are mostly rich women who want to complain about their husbands while I exfoliate their skin."

"Sounds thrilling."

"It's a living. What about you? Haley mentioned engineering and the army?"

He nodded, rotating his glass between his hands. "Studied civil engineering at uni. Joined up after graduation. Just finished my initial training."

"Why the career change?" I asked, genuinely curious.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting to the window. "Needed something different. A challenge. A purpose."

There was more to that story—I could feel it—but it wasn't my place to dig. Not yet, anyway.

"And the tattoos?" I asked instead, gesturing to his arms. "They don't mind those in the army?"

He smiled, extending one arm for my inspection. "They're not thrilled, but as long as they can be covered by the uniform, they don't care much."

I leaned closer, examining the intricate designs. They were primarily black and grey, with occasional splashes of colour—a full sleeve of geometric patterns interwoven with more organic elements. Waves, mountains, what looked like star charts.

"These are beautiful," I said honestly. "Who's your artist?"

"Different people for different pieces. The main work was done by a guy up north." He studied me with renewed interest. "You have ink too, right? I noticed the cherry blossoms."

I touched my shoulder where the tattoo peeked out from my dress. "Yeah, and a few others. Nothing as extensive as yours, though."

"Yet," he said with a smile that made something warm unfurl in my stomach.

The conversation flowed easily after that.

We talked about tattoos, then music (we had similar taste), then books (he read more than I expected), then travel (he'd been to places I'd only dreamed of).

He was funny in an understated way, dropping dry observations that made me laugh despite myself.

And he listened—really listened—when I spoke, his eyes never leaving my face.

I was so engrossed in our conversation that I barely noticed the time passing until Jake appeared beside us, champagne bottles in hand.

"Midnight in ten minutes, people! To the deck for fireworks!"

Matt stood, offering me his hand. "Shall we?"

I hesitated only briefly before taking it. His palm was warm and calloused against mine, his grip firm but gentle. A shiver ran up my arm at the contact, and I found myself wondering what those hands would feel like elsewhere on my body.