Our Love Story

“Are you sure they’re not gonna be mad that you brought me back?” I had asked him.

Enzo and Mason assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem.

“They’d hate the idea of a woman like you being here alone,” Enzo promised me.

And I think Mason and Enzo were right. The guys don’t look angry that I’m here. Instead, they walk over to us, trying to understand the situation. Once Mason and Enzo have explained how they came across me on the beach, the other two guys introduce themselves.

“I’m Noah, and it’s about time someone brought a woman to this place. Might finally be some real competition for me. These jackasses can’t handle the heat I bring.” He grins. This guy is a man’s man and carries the kind of confidence that I bet gets him in trouble. “You play Madden?” He nods toward the video game.

I shake my head. “Not once in my life.”

Noah shrugs. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

He is athletic and blond, but that’s not what I’m staring at. When he talks, his face lights up, and a pair of dimples appear in his cheeks. I can tell he’s a jokester, and his ease around me is helping calm my nerves about being such a fish out of water.

“And I’m Ethan,” the other guy says, offering me his hand formally. A dark shadow seems to follow him. He is nice, but not as welcoming as the other guys. He has tattoos on his knuckles, and I read the letters FEARLESS. “I’m glad you’re somewhere safe.”

“Thanks,” I say slowly, trying to read him, but it is next to impossible. Still, when our hands touch, an electric current seems to pass through us. The sensation felt charged with something. “I’m Chloe,” I tell them. “And I’m glad your friends found me, too. I was starting to wonder if I would freeze out on the beach tonight.”

The guys look at me and I look at them and I swear they’re having a silent conversation. I don’t make the first move, in fact, I’m enjoying this attention. Men never look at me the way these guys are, never in my life.

I take them all in too. Heck, if they want to examine me from head to toe, I’ll do some unabashed ogling of my own.

Mason and his gentle way with me.

Enzo with his Italian flair.

Noah with his easy smile.

And Ethan with his intensity.

I know we’ve all only exchanged a few words, but standing with them right now, it feels like I’m exactly where I should be.

The moment shifts when Ethan clears his throat, and it’s like their silent conversation has ended.

Mason walks toward the kitchen and we follow him. This part of the house has a massive great room facing the ocean. It has leather couches and dark wood tables, and there is a stainless steel and granite kitchen fit for a chef. As Mason starts moving around the kitchen deftly, I notice how comfortable he is in this space. He puts on a kettle to make me tea and then asks me if I’m hungry.

“I already had dinner.”

“That doesn’t mean anything not when Mason is in the kitchen,” Noah says pulling out a barstool and offering me a seat before sliding in next to me. “What are you making for us? Any more of that mango and pineapple cobbler from yesterday?”

My eyes must reveal how delicious I think that sounds because Mason dishes up a bowl of the cobbler and hands it to me. “Here you are, Chloe,” he says smiling warmly. “It’s vegan, but you won’t miss the butter, I promise.”

“Vegan?” I frown, not having heard of many macho-men eating so healthily.

“We’re not vegan, but we do what we need to in order to stay in shape. No artificial anything, no refined sugar. Still, this cobbler is comfort food. And that makes even the toughest situations easier to swallow,” he tells me. “Take a bite.”

I do, and he’s right, it is melt-in-your-mouth delicious.

It’s clear he’s good at taking care of people, and he has a gentle way about him too. Even though he is ruggedly good-looking, it’s in an unassuming way that it makes me wonder what kind of sportsman he is. He looks comfortable in his own skin.

“What about me?” Noah asks as if he’s offended. But by his exaggerated expression, I know he’s not.

“What about you?” Mason snorts.

“Dish it up yourself,” Enzo says, giving Noah the stink eye. “If there’s any left.” I watch him take a heaping serving, laughing at his friend. Turns out there is plenty for Ethan and Noah both.

Once everyone has bowls of the cobbler, and I have my tea—the guys are drinking whisky or wine, the only approved low-cal alcohol allowed in the house––they ask what brought me here.

“The story is kind of sad, to be honest.”