Page 18 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

She answers fast. She knows what she wants. “I love my house. It’s right on the beach. And as nice as this remodel is”—she gestures to my cabinets with both hands—“I’m not moving farther from the beach.” She clearly thinks if we can’t move in together, then we’re doomed from the start.

And I poured my soul into this house—I’m not giving it up for anything or anyone. Sure, she might be slightly closer to the water, but the exchange isn’t worth it for what this place means to me already. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

“Really? I thought you’d be gone by the end of winter and list this as a vacation rental.”

“Nope, I’m here for good. You’re stuck with me,” I say.

“You’re really not off to the Med or Turks and Caicos?”

I shrug. “For a short trip, sure. But Wendell Beach is my home port from now on.”

She looks skeptical. “Right. Well, either way, if it works or if it doesn’t between us, we’ll both end up miserable. So we shouldn’t.”

I’ve learned something about Carina in the last minute I don’t think anyone else knows: she says things she doesn’t believe. But the truth is easy to pick out.

If our hooking up was only a fling, and was something we are both okay with, then there wouldn’t be any risk. We could hook up, it would be great, and then we’d stop and we could live next to each other and everything would be fine.

The only way it would end in catastrophe would be if feelings got involved.

So, she’s as wrecked as I am over what happened last week.

She’s right. If we hook up again, it won’t be enough. We’ll consume each other until our world explodes. She’s dug in. If she claims she won’t move, then she won’t.

But I bought this house to be my home. To be a promise of a stable future. Everyone back in Boston might think I’ll be bored in a few months and ready to move on. They’re wrong.

It’s not out of stubbornness or a need to be right. It is about me knowing my mind and knowing even if I was wrong those times before, I’m not wrong now.

This time is different. I need to tread carefully around Carina Webb.

I’m planting here. It’s not just that she’s next door, but she’s also a pillar of the community. I’ve looked her up since that day. In addition to her polished Instagram feed, she constantly shows up in posts from other small businesses. I also found articles about her advocacy for native wildlife. She might not take revenge on me if I hurt her, but I have a feeling this community would. They know what she’s done for them. They will go to batfor her in a way I’m not prepared to cross. If this goes wrong, the way it has with every other woman I’ve been with, I’ll lose everything I’m trying to build. I knew that when we were on my boat. I truly thought it would be just the one time. Before I knew how good it was and wanted more.

What does it mean, that this feels different to me? That she would be different?

But no matter how good the sex is, if she is so against it, I won’t risk my home. Not for her and not for anyone.

So I agree with her lie. “You’re right. I’m not looking for a relationship. Never had one that lasted more than a few weeks anyway. We should just be neighbors.” Anything more than neighbors is taking a risk. I need to be willing to gamble.

I’m not sure I’m ready to yet.

“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way.” She finally looks around her. She’d been so focused on me that she hadn’t looked at the house.

She’s been next door this whole time, so she must have noticed the contractors. I deeply hope they haven’t been a pain for her. I couldn’t be around for any of it, so Alex checked on things periodically. He assured me things were moving smoothly and not a bother to the area.

Funny he never mentioned my neighbor.

I practically gutted the place. It hadn’t been updated in years, and since I am making this my first home on land since I was a teenager, I wanted the best of everything.

Carina scans the kitchen.

When I bought it, the cabinets were from the eighties and the appliances the nineties. I put in white cabinets and a blue marble countertop. All the appliances are stainless steel and state-of-the-art. I can watch a movie on my fridge if I want to.

She looks down the hall to the living room and slowly walks that way, peeking into the two guest rooms. She’s mentally noting every detail and change.

I want to know what she’s seeing. Did she know the people who lived here before me? I don’t know how long she’s been in Wendell Beach, and I honestly don’t know anything about the sellers. I did the showing in person, which they were absent for, and the rest was done remotely.

She gets to the living room, to where I have a couch set up with a big-screen TV. Across is a wet bar, already filled with a few bottles of my favorite rum.

“How?” she asks.

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