When she heard Bowie’s knock, she leaped from the couch and sprinted to the door. Behind her, Brystol laughed. She thought about chiding her daughter for being childish but couldn’t muster up the strength to turn away from her mission—get to Bowie. Brooklyn threw the door open, and the scent of Bowie’s cologne washed over her instantly, and she barely noticed that Luke had bumped into her on his own mission to get to Brystol. She unabashedly looked him over, letting her eyes roam as slowly as possible. Bowie set his arm against the doorjamb and studied her as well. Their attraction to each other was undeniable. She wanted him. He wanted her.
Bowie tilted his head and smiled, loving the attention she was happily giving him. “Sweet baby . . .” Brooklyn couldn’t finish her sentence. She was finally giving herself permission to look at the man he had become. Bowie had aged well. It wasn’t one of those fine wine–type moments—he’d simply aged the way a hardworking man should. The gray shirt he wore fit him like a glove. His triceps bulged from the tight sleeves, causing her to swallow hard. Later, he would hold her with those arms, making her feel safer than she had in years.
“Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night, or are you going to come outside so we can leave for our date?”
“Yeah, Mom, you look like you’ve never seen Bowie before,” Brystol added.
Again, Brooklyn swallowed. She was speechless at being called out by Bowie and her daughter, and the only thing she could do was stand there, looking back and forth between the two of them.
Brystol stood and walked toward her mother. “I love you,” her daughter said. “Have a wonderful time tonight. You deserve it.” Brystol all but shoved her mom over the threshold and slammed the door behind her.
Brooklyn stumbled. However, Bowie’s hands were on her hips, holding her upright. “I got you,” he whispered as one hand moved from her hip to her hair. He gently pushed her hair behind her ear and leaned in, bypassing her lips for her cheek. “I’m never letting go.”
Her mind, heart, and body rejoiced. She didn’t want him to ever let go. “Me neither,” she managed to say. “I should’ve never left.”
Bowie moved closer. He held her head in his hand and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “You were right to leave, B. The only thing I wish is that I went with you. I would’ve followed you anywhere.” He didn’t wait for her to agree or tell him the many reasons why she couldn’t tell him before he pulled her into a long, deep kiss. When they parted, they were breathless and smiling. “Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand.
In all their years growing up, Bowie had always opened the car door for her. She was surprised when he only opened the driver’s side to his truck and motioned for her to get in. “If you think you’re sitting by the door, you’re crazy. I want you next to me when I drive.”
All in a matter of seconds, he made her feel like a teen all over again. She climbed in and scooted to the middle. He followed, and right after turning his truck on, his hand rested on her thigh. “I feel like I’m in high school all over.”
He laughed and then quickly groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Brystol—she’s going to start high school in the fall. Some dude is going to want to take her on a date. He’s going to want her to sit in the middle so he can touch her, like I’m touching you.” Bowie looked at Brooklyn and couldn’t resist kissing her. “He’s going to want to kiss her.” He gripped Brooklyn’s thigh and started bringing her closer to him, only his truck lurched forward, causing them both to laugh, and panic a bit.
“Maybe we should make out later,” Brooklyn suggested.
Bowie shook his head. “I don’t want to make out, B. I want to be with you. I don’t know if you want to wait or . . . shit, I don’t even know what you want.”
“Shh.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “We want the same thing.” He nodded, smiled, and returned to driving.
There was a time when Brooklyn couldn’t remember much about Cape Harbor, a time when she couldn’t remember how to get to certain places when she’d tell Brystol about her former home. And when she had returned, she’d felt lost and out of place. Driving down the road with Bowie, she knew exactly where they were going. On instinct, she turned around and looked in the back of his truck. Sure enough, there was a blanket and a picnic basket. After all these years, he remembered what her favorite thing to do was.