I nod. He’s right. I can’t blame him for other people’s past bad behavior. He’s given me no reason to think he’s a shallow asshole. “Sorry.”

  “No more apologizing. Sit down, have a glass of wine, and talk to me while I grill.”

  “It already smells good.” The aroma of fresh herbs and cedar have filled the surrounding air.

  “I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” he said with a chuckle. “It should. It’s a dish I’ve made several times.”

  “You were going to tell me about your house,” I reminded him. The topic was safe. Real estate wasn’t a topic of much controversy.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m an open book mostly, and if I can tell you something, I will. I wasn’t avoiding the question before, and believe me, asking about my house isn’t prying. The interruption was in order to cook while we talked. The house has three bedrooms, three and a half baths and a nice five thousand square feet lot, which, as you know, is almost unheard of with this location.”

  “Do you have any idea what it would go for if you sold it?”

  “I have an idea. The house next door went on the market last month. It was under contract in a day.”

  “The market is insane right now. There are more buyers than inventory, interest rates are at an all-time low. It’s definitely a seller’s market.”

  “How do you like working in real estate?” Knox asked her.

  Now this is a topic I can easily talk about. “Well, you know, there are some challenges not being the best-looking realtor in town because hello, we live in California. People associate beauty with—”

  “Victoria Anne,” he interrupted her.

  “Yes?”

  “If you tell me you aren’t beautiful, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to control myself, negotiations or not.”

  “I—”

  “Am very focused on looks and I’m not okay with that. You are beautiful, Vickie. Absolutely beautiful. Weight has nothing to do with beauty. Tread carefully, little girl, you are walking a tightrope.”

  I can’t turn my Kindle app on for his inspection because he’d see my Daddy Dom and other spanking romance books staring him in the face. Books by my favorite authors, like Laylah Roberts. I swear, I manifested him right out of one of them. Swallowing hard, I nod my understanding.

  I don’t feel like what I was doing was putting myself down, though. Maybe, it’s because I’ve done it so much it’s become second nature.

  “I get what you are saying. In reality, though, looks do matter here in California. Maybe you have been privileged enough to not know that—”

  “Living in California, I’ve seen how superficial society is. Doesn’t mean I buy into the bullshit.”

  “Right. Some people pick realtors based on their looks. It’s part of the industry.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your looks, Vickie.”

  “No, but I am not the stereotypical California tan, long legged, blonde. I work two to three times harder than some women in my office who are handed their clients simply based on their looks. I’m a better realtor though. I know what I’m doing, and my clients are overall, happier for having hired me.”

  “I have no doubt you work really hard, and you are incredibly talented. You knew a lot about my house, things I didn’t even know. I’m sorry we live in a society that places so much emphasis on size. Size, Vickie, not beauty. Because they are two incredibly different sides of a coin. You are beautiful and to me, there is nothing wrong with your size. Society is wrong with their industry standard bullshit. Men go through the same thing. My three brothers were all American athletes, lifted weights, were broad shouldered and all the girls loved them. I was tall and skinny. No matter how much I ate or how many weights I lifted, I couldn’t put on the muscles I badly wanted. Puberty came later to me. The bullies came for me in school, but my brothers stepped in.”

  He sets two plates of delicious looking food on the table. The grilled zucchini, squash, tomatoes, and onions surround the plank grilled salmon with a dallop of homemade herb butter. The salmon melts in my mouth. A groan of pleasure escapes my lips, and his smile widens as I appraise him, trying to imagine him as he has described.

  There was no way. None. The giant in front of me with the massive muscles? He was skinny? Lanky? Bullied?

  “Don’t make me pull out my high school yearbooks,” he teased.

  “It’s hard to imagine you as being skinny.”

  “Skinny freckled face boy with acne. If you’d known me in high school…” I laugh at the idea. “The point is, I don’t give a fuck about societal norms or expectations or what is in or out of fashion. If someone is fat, skinny, tall, or short, it doesn’t matter to me. How they treat other people is a better indicator of beauty.”

  “I can’t even say I’m innocent of it. I’ve myself wondered about compatibility. Sitting on the beach, I’ve seen large women with fit men and the other way around and wondered at their compatibility. I’ve thought, is the bigger person rich? Are they a sugar daddy? I know it’s not right. Society has programmed us to believe that they can’t be compatible without an equalizer involved like wealth.”

  “The world has taught you to value your worth based on your body, and that is bullshit. I will have no problem reprogramming your brain. Your worth has nothing to do with a number on the scale, or in your bank account. In fact, your worth has nothing to do with a number anywhere. You have value in simply existing.”

  You have a value in simply existing.

  I’ve never heard someone say something so profound before. His intense tone caused butterflies to dance in my stomach. I play it safe and change the subject.

  “Knox is a unique name. Is it a family one?”

  “My father is a retired Army special forces operator. My parents named us after the bases we were born on. I’m the youngest. Pops ended up at Knox before retiring as a trainer. My brothers are Carson, Campbell, and Lewis.”

  “How’d that go over living on bases?”

  “Like a lead balloon. It gave the bullies another thing to focus on. I grew pretty tough skin. Do you have any siblings?”

  “Too many. There’s an even eight of us kids. I have three sisters and four brothers.”

  “Wow. Your parents were busy.”

  “Twins run in our family. I have two sets of twin siblings. My younger sisters and my older brothers are identical twins. Also, two of my siblings are adopted from foster care.”

  “Where are you in the line? Middle child?”

  “Third or second youngest, depending on how you do the math. My twin sisters are the youngest and then me.”

  “Practically the baby. Some people study birth order and what it means for a person’s personality.”

  “Do you?”

  “Me?” He shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe in any of that birth order or astrology stuff. I mean, take a premature baby. Do you go off when they were born or when they were due? Or an adopted child? Is it their birth order in their biological family or the family they were raised in? What happens if their parents' divorce or a parent dies and remarries and the birth order changes drastically down the line with a child born, say, ten or fifteen years later? I have a friend who at twenty went from the youngest child to an older brother. Birth order has now changed. Is his personality expected to as well? Nah. I don’t give in to any of that. I think life is about choices. You wake up and decide every day who you are. If you don’t like it, you can change it. No, I’m not naïve to think it’s an instant process. Sometimes, changing, healing or reprogramming your thoughts takes time, but ultimately it’s your responsibility.”

  “You have a way of thinking about things unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

  “I believe in taking responsibility for your own actions and thoughts. I couldn’t care less about what society or strangers think about me. If everyone focused on loving themselves and then showing others that same love and respect, society would fix itself.”

  I nod in agreement. Why does it sound so simple when he says it? Putting it into practice was another thing altogether.

  He’s sexy and sensitive. Intuitive. Intelligent.

  Hot as fuck.

  Why is he single?

  My stomach lurches, threatening to heave up the salmon I’ve just eaten. What if he isn’t?

  This house is definitely big enough for a girlfriend. No one could be this perfect.

  “Why were you at the bar alone?” My heart rushes in my chest, pounding loudly in my ears as I await the answer.

  “My buddy was supposed to meet me after work, but his wife went into labor. I’d arrived and ordered a beer before getting his text,” he explained.

  “You weren’t meeting a girl?”

  “No, I wasn’t meeting a girl. What? You think I got stood up or something?”

  Or something.

  Maybe your girlfriend or wife had to work late.

  I look at his hand. No ring. No discoloring.

  “Little girl, I know you are not looking at my left hand like you expect to see a wedding ring on my finger.” The sound of his fork clattering on the table caused my heart to drop to my stomach.

  “You’ve said all the right things…” His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at me.

  Uh oh.

  “Stop right there. The fact that you don’t know me yet is the only thing saving you. My character is the only thing I have control over in life. There is little I can promise you, Vickie, because I do not know what will happen in life. At any minute, things can change without warning. But what I can promise is to always be honest. I will never lie to you. I am not a cheater. I have never cheated on a woman in my life. My word is my bond. You get a free pass this time, but only this time.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  As they finish their meal, they continue to get to know each other, talking about topics one would discuss on a normal first date. Vickie found herself relaxing around Knox, telling him a few intimate details about her life and when she started to really indulge in the romance books she reads. Before long, they were clearing the table into a bin that Knox kept outside for that very reason.

  CHAPTER 4

  Vickie

  “You’ve been watching the waves crash on the ocean since we came outside. Do you want to walk down there?” His voice softens as he pushes his chair back.

  “I’d love to!” He takes me by the hand and led me down the path. Within a minute we were along the water’s edge. The smell of the saltwater and the slight spray as it hit my face relaxed me. His hand was big, it engulfed over mine, I felt safe walking with him. I wondered if anyone saw us and thought we were a weird couple.

  I’m aware of my own bias. How many times did I see a hot girl with an ugly dude and think to myself he must be rich? Or an ugly girl with a hot guy and wonder what he saw in her? How can I be angry with others when I do the same thing?

  More importantly, like Knox had said, why the fuck do I care? What does Noisy Nelly opinion matter? She’s not paying my bills or warming my bed. I wish I could simply turn off my ability to care. I’m a people pleaser. I’ve been that way my entire life. I care too much, I suppose, over the wrong people’s judgements.

  The tide rises, and I find myself scooting closer to Knox. Releasing my hand, he pulls me closer to his side as we walk.

  “You grew up here and yet you aren’t tired of the water,” he observes.

  “Yeah, some people who grow up around the ocean continue to be drawn to it. It’s home to them. Others end up getting used to, or tired of it, and move away.”

  “You look beautiful with the wind blowing in your hair and your eyes sparkling. Your eyes remind me of the North Pacific Ocean. I’ve never seen another pair quite as aqua blue as yours.”

  “They are a family heirloom.”

  “A priceless one.”

  The compliments start to make me feel uncomfortable. I’m not usually the one to be on the receiving end of male attention let alone one as attentive as Knox.

  “You said you were a dog person earlier, but what about cats?” Quickly changing the subject, retreating back to the safety of pets, I look up into his frowning face.

  “You struggle with accepting compliments. I plan on complimenting you so much that the only reaction you have to them is a smile or a thank you.”

  “I’m not sure after one date…”

  “Nah, I’m like a potato chip. Once you start, you can’t stop.”

  “I guess we will see about that. There are some chips I could eat the entire bag of and others I don’t want more than one bite.” He laughs but I can’t help but wish the ground would open up and swallow me in it.

  I’ve managed to somehow score a date with a sexy as fuck man who owns my dream property along Coronado Beach and I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth at every turn.

  Here I thought I was a strong, confident boss babe who had grown past my insecurities over my weight.

  I was wrong.

  I’ve been wearing this shield of false confidence, pretending I was bigger than the number on the scale, but when push came to shove, with this man, the insecurities flooded back, and the weight came flooding back. The unevenness of how society would view us. Why do I care? Social media influence? I think back to the couple, the beautiful curvy girl, and her fitness buff husband and all the hate they get.

  She doesn’t care. Why should I? Why does it matter what anyone else thinks? I’m better than this. Aren’t I?

  “I’ll never get tired of this view,” Knox says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Same. The ocean is my safe place. Which is odd because the ocean isn’t safe. Her fury can be incredibly dangerous. But that’s why I don’t turn my back on her. I like to watch the waves grow larger as they come into the shore and when I venture into the water, I face them, not away.”

  “Have you spent a lot of time out on the water?”

  “My family has gone out boating from time to time, but I prefer to be on a sandbar or on shore. I don’t get seasick or anything, but I prefer my feet on solid ground.”

  Knox releases my hand to bend down and picks something up from the ground. He hands me a perfect sand dollar. A souvenir from our night together. I smile my appreciation and pocket it. His arm snakes around my waist, dragging me close to his side. The heat of his body is pressed against mine.

  “You know what I do, but I haven’t asked what you do.”

  “I’m in the military.”

  “What branch?” How odd. Normally, they brag right off the bat about the branch they are in. A humble military man. His house didn’t scream military. I didn’t notice a single emblem or flag anywhere. Weird. Coronado was mostly Navy but nearby were several other military installations.

  “The Navy.”

  “I thought you were an open book?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can when I can. There are some things I won’t be able to disclose because of national security.”

  I read between the lines. He’s special operations. Likely a Navy Seal. Unlike some of his cocky younger coworkers, he doesn’t feel the need to brag about what he does. Admirable.

  “I have a question for you now, Vickie. How would you like the rest of this night to progress? Do you want to head back to my house and cuddle on the couch and watch a movie? Or do you want me to show you how I can make you fall in love with your curves and what it will be like dating me?”

  Damn.

  He’s bold.

  It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, but we just met. If I have sex with a stranger, am I a whore? Will he think badly of me?

  My mother’s words ring in my ear. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

  I don’t want him to buy the cow. I told him it was just one date. Maybe he isn’t a cheater, but a player. Perhaps all of his perfectly said words were more to get into my pants and less about honesty and integrity.

  After all, why would a man like this want a woman like me? I’m back to questioning what he could see in me. The part of me trained by society to see my weight, instead of my intelligence, confidence and humor and his incredibly good looks. The mismatch of our bodies still nagging at the back of my mind. Justification of why he picked me.

  “Vickie?”

  He’s waiting for my answer. I’ve never had a one-night stand in my life.

  “I’m not a whore.”

  “I didn’t think you were. You are the one who said this was a one-night thing, not me. I’m hoping to change your mind. There’s no pressure from me. If you want to watch a movie, or drink wine under the stars, or skinny dip in my hot-tub, we have options. Whatever we do, I’d like it to include scheduling our next date. Even if you use me to visit my house.”

  “Now you are speaking my language.” I laugh softly. “Or, you know, if you ever need a house sitter.” It’s his turn to laugh. We’ve turned back towards the house and are a few feet away from the backyard.

  My heart speeds up as we approach the backdoor. He steps in front of me to open it and then, stepping back, he guides me through the doorway, his hand going to the small of my back. I can’t help but think back to the conversation at the bar where I’d mentioned that small detail. Did he remember it, or was this part of his personality?

  He flicks on the light and takes me by the hand, leading me down the hallway to the living room and looks at me expectedly. Letting go of my hand, he steps back.

  “Well? The couch is right here. My bedroom is the first door on the right. Your choice.”

  I swallow hard, trying to inhale a calming breath and instead getting a whiff of his masculine scent. Lifting my face to his intense gaze, time freezes as our eyes meet. There’s fire in his eyes, a passion he couldn’t fake.

  My tongue flicks out to moisten my suddenly bone-dry lips. He takes the movement as an invitation.

  He closes the space between us. His hand cups my neck and his mouth linger close to mine but doesn’t connect. “Is this what you want? Can I kiss you?”