The Beach House

by Jolie Campbell

  She sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid to tell you. She seemed upset, and he put his arms around her and hugged her. And it didn’t look-” She frowned again, and her voice got gentler. “I’m sorry, hon, but it didn’t look friendly, if you know what I mean.”

  My heart dropped. Doubts flooded my mind. Is that why Julianne warned me off him, because she was already involved with him? He had gotten so angry with her. Was that passion?

  But then, why wouldn’t he have said that in the car?

  Or was he really a player, and just so good at it that he had me completely fooled?

  No. It seemed impossible that he was faking it with me. And yet, something had told me to be careful, that he couldn’t possibly be really interested in me. Or maybe he was just fickle?

  “I have to go look,” I said, just as much to myself as to Shari.

  “Emmy, don’t. It’s only gonna hurt you.”

  “Maybe, but I have to see it for myself.”

  I toed off my shoes at the foot of the stairs and padded up as softly as I could. Peeking around the corner, I spotted them, then pulled back, straining to listen. I couldn’t make out most of what they were saying, but Julianne was definitely upset.

  Ugh, she’s probably one of those girls who looks beautifully dewy when she cries, not splotchy and swollen-eyed, like me.

  “Quinn, I just, what can I do?” she cried softly. I peeked around again.

  The moment I chose to look he was holding her hands, and I saw him drop them, only to wrap his arms around her. He held her for what seemed like a long time, and when they broke apart, she raised her hand to touch his cheek. I turned away as he was covering that hand with his own. My heart slammed against my ribs as I went from feeling white-hot jealousy and anger to a longing so intense I could barely breathe. I could practically feel those strong arms around me.

  Emmy, get a grip. He’s holding another woman.

  So Julianne had been right about him, sincere in warning me away from him. Obviously she also had an ulterior motive, since she must have wanted him for herself, but what did that matter, since he clearly wanted her, too?

  “Jules, come inside, we need to talk about this,” Quinn insisted. He opened the door to his room and guided her inside with his arm around her waist. The door shut softly behind them, and I went back downstairs to finish the bread.

  I gave myself one night to have a true pity party. I made rich, gooey mac and cheese and Erica came over to eat it with me and let me cry on her shoulder. She never said, "I told you so," though of course she had, several times.

  After she left and I cleaned up, my head started to clear. Nothing had really happened. Quinn and I had kissed, and though it was the most intense kiss I'd ever experienced, it hadn't gone any further than that physically. I would always wonder what it would have been like to sleep with Quinn, but I knew the whole thing would have been so much worse for me if I had.

  It would be hard, so hard, but tomorrow would be day one of no more Quinn. From now on, he was just a guest, like any other. I would tell Elaine that the chef role he was up for fell through and she would go back to making sure he and I were all business. It was time to focus on myself, to think about the future. I was going to follow up with Lauren about the other ventures she had with Dennis that I could possibly get involved in. I was going to sit down in front of the computer and crunch the numbers, figure out what I needed to do to save up the last of the money I needed for school.

  Enough messing around; it was time for my life to happen.

  I went to bed, sad about Quinn but resolved to do what my mother had said, make this one of the best times of my life. It was all up to me.

  After a long, extra-punishing run in the morning, I went to the market on the way to work. This way Quinn couldn't offer to come along and chip away at my resolve. When I strolled into the kitchen to unload the bags, he was sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee, clearly waiting for me. "Hey!" he greeted me, grinning with that open, unguarded smile that always melted me.

  "Hey there," I smiled back, trying to seem normal but taking care not to let our eyes lock. He jumped up and started pulling the bags off my shoulders, then poking inside them.

  "You went to the farmers market without me," he accused, his tone light and his face still happy, though his grin faltered. "Why?"

  "No reason," I said, keeping the smile planted on my face. "I just have a ton to do today, so I thought I'd pop in there on my way here." I started unloading the bags.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Em, what is it?"

  I turned to him. "Don't be silly! Nothing's wrong. Just a busy day."

  I went back to unloading, though I could feel his eyes on me still.

  "OK. I guess I better get out of the way, then," he sighed. "Can I come by and bug you later?"

  "Of course. Do you want a snack or anything?"

  "No thanks. I guess I'll head out for a run. I wish I had my coach with me," he touched my arm lightly.

  It took all my resolve to hide how even that casual touch affected me. I gave him a wan smile as I subtly backed away from him. "Yeah. Have a good one."

  CHAPTER 14

  Days passed, and I kept waiting for it to get easier, for the ache I felt for him to fade.

  He kept after me, tried different tactics. Sometimes he would joke with me, find subtle ways to touch me. I always pulled away, though I tried not to be obvious about it.

  Other times he withdrew, and it seemed like he wanted me to come after him. I never did.

  Julianne was in and out of the Beach House as always for appointments with Quinn. When there were other guests around, they would disappear into his room, and my heart broke a little bit more every time. I tried not to think about what they were doing.

  Every time he tried to engage me in conversation, it took all of my willpower to pull away, but each time I felt myself being drawn to him, tempted to joke with him or stand close enough to feel his warmth, I replayed the scene in my head of him holding Julianne, comforting her, touching her and taking her into his room to be alone with her.

  I wanted more than anything to trust him, to believe he'd felt the same connection I did, but I just couldn’t.

  I found him on the terrace drinking iced tea with Dan and Martin when I came in Tuesday morning, following a long day off filled with errands, seeing a movie with my mother and helping her clean out one of her overstuffed closets, then grabbing dinner with her and Erica.

  "Emmy!" Martin said, jumping up to kiss my cheek.

  "Hi guys," I said, smiling brightly. I was genuinely happy to see them, all of them. "What's going on out here? Have you had breakfast?"

  "We have, now we're just enjoying the ocean breeze," Dan said. "Join us?"

  "Oh, I'd love to, but I can't," I sighed. "Work to do! I'll be in the kitchen for a while if you need me."

  I was careful not to hold Quinn's gaze as I waved and left.

  An hour later I was down in the pantry gathering supplies when I heard the stairs creak.

  I knew it was Quinn. His scent quickly permeated the cramped little room, but more than that, it was the electricity I felt whenever he was near. It was heightened all the more by the small space, and the fact that we were truly alone. It was rare that anyone but me came into the pantry.

  My body lit up, buzzing with excitement and anticipation. E very part of me yearned for him.

  I pretended I didn't know he was there and studied the shelves, pulling off boxes and cans. Maybe he would give up and leave. Or grab me and kiss me again. I needed the former but was nearly desperate for the latter.

  "Hi," he whispered. He was right behind me now, and there was nowhere in the cramped little room for me to withdraw to. The already-small pantry shrunk down even more. There was only Quinn and me. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest.

  Come on Emmy, hold it together.

  "Um, hi," I said, pretending to continue my work. I didn't turn around.
<
br />   The effort to keep away from him was backfiring. All it had done was bury my desire for him, and his proximity, his scent, his warmth, all of him so close, was threatening to make it spring out of me full force. If I turned around, I would throw my arms around his neck, press my body up against his, kiss him, let his hands explore me...

  Emmy, focus!

  "Did you need something?" I murmured, trying not to sound breathless.

  "I did. I mean, I do," he whispered.

  A pause.

  "What is it?" I hated how cold I sounded.

  "Well," he sighed, and his breath tickled the back of my neck. "Em, could you turn around? It's weird trying to talk to the back of your head."

  As I turned, he reached for my arm, and I got so flustered I dropped everything I was holding. "Ugh, dammit," I said, dropping to my knees to gather up all that I had been holding. Quinn got down next to me to help, and now his face was just inches from mine.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you."

  I sighed. "It's all right, not your fault." I carefully avoided his eyes, focusing my attention on picking everything up. I had to get out of there. His scent was making me dizzy. My resolve was crumbling.

  "Quinn, I don't mean to be rude, but you should really go back upstairs," I whispered weakly. "If Elaine found you down here with me, I could get into a lot of trouble. You know that."

  I felt his fingers cup my cheek, so softly, and he gently tilted my head up so that I was looking into his eyes. His face was right there, his eyes boring into mine. I stopped breathing. He leaned in.

  "You're already in trouble, Em," he whispered in my ear. He gave me the softest kiss on the cheek, and I gasped at the feel of his lips on me.

  Then he was gone, bounding back up to the kitchen with two steps of his long legs.

  “Jesus, what does that even mean?” Erica asked when I told her the whole story. “’You’re already in trouble’?”

  “I know,” I sighed. “It’s so weird. But I’m getting really tired of the hot and cold. I’m trying to just keep my distance.”

  We were sitting in my little kitchen, nibbling on slices of pizza she brought over. I stood up to bring her a fresh Diet Coke and refill my glass with sparkling water.

  “You have to, honey,” she said. “I know it’s tough. If Quinn Buckley showed the slightest interest in me, I’d jump him in two seconds flat. But you, you’ve always taken it all much more seriously. You are not the hookup type.”

  “I could be the hookup type!”

  She rolled her eyes and cracked open her can of soda. “Yeah, right. Remember when Doug Simon kissed you in eighth grade, and we talked for like 12 hours straight about what it meant? And after all that, it was just a dare? I thought you would never stop crying.”

  “Erica! That was my first kiss ever! Of course it meant a lot to me,” I sat back down. “And it was like 100 years ago. I’m different now.”

  “No, you’re not, Em. You’re exactly the same. You want it to mean something. And there’s nothing wrong with that,” she smiled at me. “But you have to know it about yourself so you don’t hop in the sack with a guy who you’ve been warned is not really into it, no matter how sweet he seems. Or do it, hop in the sack, but go with both eyes open so you don’t get so wounded when it’s over. And then call your best friend afterwards and tell her every. Single. Detail!”

  We both laughed. “Erica, you are seriously the best. What would I do without you?”

  “You’ll never know, kiddo,” she grinned. “Now, can we talk about me for 5 minutes?”

  I cut three pieces of the smoked salmon frittata I had made and plated them with a simple green salad and slices of homemade sourdough bread on the side. I brought them into the sunroom, where I had set the table earlier and Elaine and Lauren were already seated.

  Like the rest of the house it was spacious and comfortable, boasting built-in bookshelves along three walls, several comfortable chairs and a dining table that could open up to serve 10. For a good part of the day, light poured in from the wall of windows that looked out on the small backyard and the little lane that led to the beach.

  “Thank you, Emmy,” Lauren said as I served the lunch. “This looks lovely. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

  I was about to say that it wasn’t any trouble, when Elaine piped in. “It’s no trouble, Lauren. We’re both so happy to have you here.”

  We all began eating.

  “So as you know, Quinn is going to host a meeting here in a few weeks. Dennis and I were thinking that with a little bit of work, this room would be perfect, since it’s so private. If Quinn and his agent are pleased with the result of this meeting, they’re likely to host at least one or two more,” Lauren put her fork down and took a sip of iced tea. “Ladies, this is extremely important. Part of moving the Beach House business into catering to VIPs is being able to host events. We can offer them the privacy and intimacy that they can’t get at larger hotels, but we also have to have excellent business capabilities and outstanding catering, or it doesn’t work. We need to offer them the whole package.”

  “It’s a perfect direction for the inn, Lauren,” Elaine said, sounding completely confident and professional. And sober. “What more can you tell us about this first meeting?”

  Lauren outlined the details of the meeting, date and time, how long it would last, what supplies would be needed, and I wrote it all down. It would be held mid-afternoon, so there wouldn’t be a meal, but refreshments would be expected.

  “Why don’t we do a tray of cookies, coffee and tea, some cold drinks?” Elaine suggested. “Or a selection of some of Emmeline’s banana bread, zucchini bread, that sort of thing?”

  Lauren hesitated.

  “If you’d like to go more elegant, we could do more of a charcuterie and cheese plate, with dried fruit or grapes and an assortment of house-made crackers and jams on the side,” I suggested. “And then finish with some little bite-sized fruit and custard tarts.”

  “That’s perfect, Emmy, thank you,” Lauren said, sounding relieved.

  “Wonderful idea, Emmeline, thank you,” Elaine said. She was smiling, but her eyes were deathly cold.

  Uh oh.

  “Mr. Matthews, let me help you with those,” I shouted as I ran out to the porch and grabbed the packages he was struggling to get up the stairs. I brought them in, then jumped back outside to help him up the stairs. “Are you all right?”

  He looked tired and a little dazed. He fixed an unfocused stare at me, as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was. Then he smiled weakly.

  “Oh Emmy, thank you. Just an old man thinking he’s still young,” he chuckled. Anna came outside to help.

  “Thanks Anna. Let me get him settled, then can you please help me get these packages upstairs?” I asked quietly. I knew old-fashioned Mr. Matthews wouldn’t want the two of us helping him with his bags, but they were clearly too much for him.

  “Sure, Emmy,” she whispered.

  I got him settled on a chair in the living room and brought him a glass of lemonade. “There you go. Why don’t you take a rest? Would you like me to sit with you?”

  He took a few sips, then gestured toward the ottoman at his feet. “Do you have time? I always love a visit with a pretty lady,” he said. He was as charming as ever, but I had never seen him so out of sorts.

  “Are you sure you’re OK, Mr. Matthews? Should I call someone?”

  “No, no, I’m fine, darling. Just need a few minutes to cool off, then I’ll head upstairs and take a little nap.”

  Anna crept in and took his packages upstairs. It took her two trips, but we made eye contact and she gave a little smile, so I knew she didn’t mind. I gave a little nod of thanks. I was about to ask Mr. Matthews what he had been up to all day when Elaine glided in.

  “Well, good afternoon Mr. Matthews, Emmeline. How are you both?” She was in a good mood. I caught a faint whiff of scotch beneath her perfume.

  “Hidey ho there, Elaine! Ho
w are you, lovely lady?” he said, a bit weakly.

  “Mr. Matthews, are you all right?” Her eyes narrowed with concern. “You look a little pale.”

  “I was just going to sit with him for a minute, then take him upstairs for a rest,” I said, meeting her gaze. She gave me the same faint nod I had given Anna just moments earlier.

  “May I take you upstairs, Mr. Matthews?” Elaine said, holding out her hand.

  “Well sure. Now, now, ladies, don’t fight over me,” he chuckled. He faltered a little as he stood up, and Elaine and I both grabbed an arm. We got him settled into bed and came back downstairs.

  “Elaine, I’m really worried about him. Should we call someone?” I asked.

  She furrowed. “Yes, I am, too. I’m not sure whom to call for him,” she said quietly. “But he definitely didn’t look good.”

  “Would Lauren know? I know they’ve known each other a long time.”

  She brightened a little. “That’s a good idea, Emmy. Mr. Matthews is an old family friend of hers. She’ll know what to do. Thanks.”

  She smiled at me and swept out.

  A few hours later I was cleaning up the kitchen when Elaine came in. She was as far gone as I’d ever seen her, reeking of liquor and stumbling. She glared at me.

  “Elaine, are you OK? Can I get you anything?”

  “Elaine, are you OK?” she imitated me, sidling up to me, grasping the counter. “Don’ give me tha’ smug look, Miss Thing,” she laughed at herself. “Miss Thing! Ha ha ha. You thing you’re so smart. Showin’ off to Lauren. Bitch.”

  “Elaine, let me help you downstairs,” I said quietly. I went to reach for her and she punched my arm, hard.

  “Ow!”

  “Aww, poor lil Miss Thing,” Elaine slurred, then grabbed me around the mouth with one hand, squeezing hard. “You thing tha’ hurts? You don’ know hurt, lil girl. I’m gon’ make you hurt.”

  I pulled away, out of her rough grasp. “OK, Elaine, whatever you say. Come on, let’s go downstairs,” I said, taking her arm again. This time she let me. She leaned heavily on me, mumbling.