“I think we can say we’re even.” He plucked his shirt from the water and wrung it out before tossing it into the boat.
I noticed he didn’t seem mad. I had been more than annoyed when he sent me tumbling into the creek. The only reason I had agreed to take him out was so that I could ask him more about his writing. Somehow, that had turned into a race and now we were both soaking wet. I hadn’t even gotten in the first question about his book.
“Maybe we should get back to the docks before either of us goes overboard again,” I suggested.
I followed every muscle along his back with my eyes as he hoisted himself into the seat. I had no idea all of that was under his T-shirt when I hired him. I bit hard on my lip and closed my eyes, willing myself not to think all kinds of dirty thoughts. Like how those muscles might feel under my fingertips and pressed against me. No, bad idea—very irresponsible and dangerous idea.
“Sure. Maybe we can try this again another time.” He smiled at me as he breezed past in his kayak.
I paddled, matching his slow pace. He sat relaxed, cruising slowly enough to see an egret in the marsh and a turtle slip off a log. There was so much more to see when you weren’t racing through. The orange hues of the sun cast the entire creek into a fiery dream. I could tell he was taking it all in.
“So, what do you think of Brees Island?” I was almost completely parallel to him. We glided at a steady rhythm, unlike our earlier sprint.
“It’s got something I’ve been searching after for a long time.” He sounded pensive. A mullet hopped in front of us.
“Really? What could that possibly be? We don’t even have a movie theater.”
I knew that vacationers loved the island. The beaches were beautiful and the seafood was always fresh, but they didn’t know what it was really like. If anyone of them had spent a winter here, they would think differently. Everything shut down. The tourists were gone, the landscape turned brown, and the chill from the humid winds cut right to the bone.
“No movie theater? Well, that explains some things.” He eased into the boat launch.
I waited until my bow touched the incline of the ramp before hopping to the side. “Yeah, no movie theater, no mall, no hospital. It’s like we’re cut off from civilization out here.”
“Sounds perfect, if you ask me.” He rested the paddle in the cockpit as he stepped out of the boat.
“Perfect? Where are you from? It’s boring and there’s nothing to do. I miss Chapel Hill and people who are interesting.”
I hadn’t stopped mourning college life. I’d finished grad school over a month ago. But sometimes I still felt like I was home on summer break, waiting for classes to start back up in the fall. I felt a sense of accomplishment for getting my second degree, but there was nothing good about college being over. I missed it every day I was here. I knew if I didn’t have a job lined up by September, I would have to stay on this island doing the same thing, day after day with no end in sight.
“I guess I don’t need much entertainment.” He winked as he turned to grab my boat and lift it into the rack.
It was a simple gesture, a flirty gesture I had received hundreds of times. But this was the first time I felt giddy, like I had just had a few sips of wine. I wanted him to do it again.
“That’s not what I mean. I know how to have a good time. But living on an island, you see the same people, have the same conversations, hear the same news over and over again. I miss meeting new people. The ones I haven’t known my whole life.”
“Would you consider a writer an interesting person?” he asked.
He was bold. It didn’t take much interaction with him to know he was a professional flirt, but I couldn’t help but like it. He was good at it.
“Maybe. Depends on the writing.” It didn’t hurt to flirt a little. My back was turned, but I heard him laugh. It made me grin.
“I see.” He lifted the kayak next to me. “I’m from a small town too. It’s not all that bad. There’s something to be said for people knowing who you really are.”
“Right. Like knowing when you sneak out of your parents’ house when you’re twelve, or everyone knowing you made straight As on your report card, or did you like the part about people giving you advice on what you should do with your life?”
I tightened the loops of the straps and made sure the kayaks wouldn’t fall over when we stepped away.
“Agreed. That part of small town life is rough, but it’s home. You can travel the world and live in twenty different cities, but deep down, there is only one home. You’ve got to love this place.”
I knew the answer he was expecting to hear from me. It would be too complicated to tell him how much I loved the island, but at the same time how much we needed a break from each other. Brees was stifling me.
“I do. I will always love it, but that doesn’t mean I have to stay.” This conversation had suddenly turned more serious than I wanted. The more he talked, the more I kept revealing. It was already a bad habit.
“I get it. Sometimes you have to leave home for a while to realize it’s the place you’re really supposed to be.” His hand gripped the kayak even though I had already secured it. It was as if he needed the extra balance.
“Speaking from experience?” I asked, wondering what had made him so pensive. All day he had been nothing but smiles.
“You could say that. I just miss home some days more than others.” He stepped back from the row of boats and adjusted his sunglasses.
I knew there was truth in what he said. I liked to remember my college days as the perfect escape from the island, but there were times when I missed the ocean sounds and friendly faces of home. Wherever Jake was from must be calling to him right now.
I tried to run my hands through my hair, but the creek water had tangled it. “Well, thanks for everything today.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah, taking the job. You really bailed me out this morning.”
The argument with my father and Derek turning in his notice seemed like it was days ago. What were the chances I would be able to fill the position so quickly?
“But, I need to change out of these clothes, and you might want to put on a shirt.” It was hard to talk to him while he stood dripping, shirtless, and looking incredibly edible.
He looked at his shorts and laughed. “Maybe not a bad idea. So, what time do I need to be here in the morning? Is it really five thirty?”
Finally, someone who recognized five thirty was the most ridiculous time to go to work. “Yes, sorry about that part. The fishermen are in early. They like to get their coffee and donuts.”
He slung his shirt over his shoulder. “All right. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned and started walking toward the parking lot.
“Jake. Wait.” The words were out before I could take them back.
“Yeah?” He looked as confused as I felt.
“Since you’re new and everything, would you want to get something to eat? But, totally not a big deal if you can’t, because you’re probably tired and you need to change and then you have to be here so early and—”
“Sure.”
My pulse whirled, making me slightly off balance.
“Oh, really? Cool.” I hadn’t thought past the invitation.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you come to my place? I have a feeling it’s part of the island you might not know so well. Maybe it will be something different.”
“Have dinner at your place?”
My stomach flipped. This was starting to feel like a date. When he had started walking away, a part of me wanted him to stay a little longer. But a date? That was something else. I questioned why I would be resistant to him though. He was cute and sexy. He had made me laugh all day, and he had this crazy calming effect on me that was hard to ignore.
“I can’t guarantee it will be the best meal, but yeah, let’s try it. Consider it my thank you for the job.”
I didn’t know how to react. Dinner was cross
ing the line, but it was hard to explain how something about him put me at ease—no matter how many times I caught him checking me out today.
“Yeah, we can talk about writing,” I suggested.
I had tried all day to bring it up, but he kept asking work-related questions. Maybe over dinner I would get to ask him if words hit him like they did me. If he woke up in the middle of night with a life or death mission to get the words out. Yes, there were things I definitely wanted to ask him.
“But since you dunked me in the creek, I need to change. Give me the address and I’ll meet you in an hour.”
He smiled. “Ok. I’m at the Brees Campground, last trailer on the right. You’ll see the name, Silver Sand Dollar.”
“I don’t know what to make fun of first: the campground or the name.” I giggled and pulled my bike from the rack.
“It’s high living for me.” He retrieved a pair of keys from his soggy shorts. “See you in an hour.”
“Bye.” I grasped the handlebars and pushed down on the pedals—half-watching him walk away, and half-watching the road in front of me.
In an hour’s time, I would be having dinner with a handsome writer. I didn’t think I could imagine up a better ending to my day if I tried.
Fifteen
Ben
I spun into my usual parking space near the Sand Dollar, and raced into the camper. It looked like a tornado had blasted through the place. What was I thinking asking a girl over? Two weeks of solitude were starting to take their toll on my judgment. I shook my head and started hiding all signs of my bachelor lifestyle.
I pulled the trash from the bin and tied the sack. As soon as I walked out of the camper, Alice stopped me. This was her usual time to hit the sand for beachcombing.
“Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen you all day,” she purred.
“Hey, Alice.” I didn’t have time for this. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Oh shoot. I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for a beer after my walk. I have your favorite. You drink that Texas stuff, right?”
“That’s real nice of you, but actually, I have a friend coming over tonight.” Maybe this was the deterrent this woman needed. If she saw me with another girl, she might take the hint.
“Oh, that’s too bad. But, baby, don’t worry. That beer won’t go bad. We’ll just do it another time.” She patted me on the shoulder and headed down to the beach.
I was convinced nothing would dissuade her. I clutched the trash bag in my hand and jogged to the dumpster near the office. I still had a few minutes to jump in the shower before Chelsea arrived.
I looked in the mirror one more time and rubbed my palm against the smoothness of my jaw. I looked more like myself than I had in weeks. I liked the beard, but it wasn’t really me. It was a part of letting everything go in my life—diet, friends, career. But I liked my face better this way.
There was a small amount of cologne in a bottle in my overnight bag. I pressed halfway on the trigger. This was feeling more and more like a date. I couldn’t argue, Chelsea had been the one to ask me to get dinner. But I took the reins and asked her over here. I hadn’t set out to make a date with her or any girl this summer. As far as I was concerned, I was off the market. Becs had made sure to cure me from wanting any more dates.
Tonight was all about having a good time.
I pushed open the camper door to check on the fire I lit before showering. The coals were blazing . I hoped she liked steak, because that was what was on the menu. So many girls I dated ate salads and fat-free cardboard, I didn’t know what real girls ate anymore.
I smiled thinking back to her expression when we tumbled into the creek. She was more real than any girl I had been around in a long time.
I rolled the sleeves on my plaid shirt and slid my feet into my new flip-flops. I knew I looked like a combination of a Texas boy and a Carolina transplant, but I felt comfortable in the khaki shorts and my old shirt. It was better than a tux.
I heard music blaring from Pirate’s Booty. Alice must be back from her walk to collect seashells. She had buckets of them all over her yard. I didn’t understand why she brought new ones back every day, but then I didn’t understand much about her.
The fire blazed as I poked it a few times with a skewer. The moon was bright on the horizon as I tried to pick out a few stars. The sky never looked the same as it did in Texas. My heart hurt a little thinking about Texas, back when life was easy and simple. I missed the ranch. But the surf pounding in the distance reminded me I wasn’t done here. It wasn’t time to leave yet, even though I didn’t know who or what had set the timer. It just wasn’t time.
Sixteen
Chelsea
The last time I had been to Brees Campground was after prom my senior year of high school. A big group of us had parked in the tent spaces and run off to the beach. It could have been the full moon or maybe the freedom graduation offered right around the corner, but whatever it was, my friends and I splashed in cocktail dresses, chased each other on the beach, and laughed harder than I could remember. Prom night went down as one of my favorites ever. And here I was again, more than six years later, meeting an almost total stranger for dinner.
I slowed my car along the gravel drive that bordered the horseshoe of camper trailers. I didn’t remember the names being so funny. Under the Seashell? I might have to write these into a parody song.
There was Jake’s Jeep next to Silver Sand Dollar. I touched up my lip gloss again and ran my fingers through my hair. This was only dinner with a new summer resident, I told myself for the twentieth time. I took a deep breath before climbing out of the car and walking to the silver camper.
All day I knew he had flirted with me, but it was different than the advances coming from Derek. Jake was confident and sure of himself. He didn’t pout or punish me if I didn’t flirt back. In fact, it seemed to make him smile more, the more I resisted his innuendos.
It had been surprising spending the day with him. I caught myself laughing unexpectedly and teasing him when I knew I shouldn’t. He took everything in stride and nothing about the store stressed him out.
What I really wanted to know was how long he had been writing and if he had any advice to launch me into the writing world. I needed any help I could get to break into the music business. It was worth a shot.
I noticed two chairs arranged in front of the fire. I tapped on the door, feeling a surge of nerves begin to take hold.
He swung the door open and greeted me with a smile and a smooth face.
“Wow. Hey.” I stood, staring at the once scruffy jaw. “I—uh—you look good without the beard.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed his cheek. “After the dip in the creek today, I thought it was about time. Saltwater and facial hair are not a good combination. I’m not really a beard guy.”
“Oh, I thought it was part of the whole writer thing.” I tried to make a joke to cover my persistent staring. His face looked so different. So handsomely different. And there were dimples when he smiled. It took restraint not to reach toward him and touch his cheek.
“I’ve got beer. Want one?” He revealed two longneck bottles in his hand and stepped back so I could enter the camper.
Everything was red and white like a perpetual picnic. I took a beer from him and reached for a towel to twist off the top. These tops always hurt my palm.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks. It’s twenty-two feet of home for the summer. Want a tour? We can start dinner in a minute.” He shuffled me to the center of the room.
“Definitely. Show me the chateau.” I looked around the small space, wondering where he wrote.
“All right. This here is the culinary den of the place.” He pointed to the quaint kitchenette. “And this is the breakfast nook.” I liked how the table and bench jutted out, giving a better view of the ocean.
He walked toward the back of the camper. “The master suite, complete with a bed. Yeah, that’s all that’s in here. And of course t
he master bath. If you turn just right, you can fit in the shower. I think I’ve learned new contortionist skills this summer.”
I sized him up against the tiny shower, and wondered how someone with such broad shoulders managed to squeeze in there.
“Wow, looks like you have everything you need.” I took a swig of the beer.
“It is pretty damn perfect. This is the living room, I guess.” A red couch ran along the inside wall. He walked two steps to the kitchen and retrieved a plate of steaks from the mini-fridge. “You eat meat, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
He sighed. “Good. I was worried for a second. But this is what I’ve got. Come on. Let’s get these cowboy steaks on the fire.”
“Cowboy steaks?” I had never heard of that before.
“Yeah, you’ll see. Come on.” He led me through the door and motioned to one of the chairs. “All right, so we just throw them on the fire, and in ten minutes, they’ll be done.”
“You mean like on a roaster stick?” I looked around for the utensils we needed to spear the steaks.
He laughed. “No, like this.” He grabbed one of the steaks off the plate and tossed it into the center of the fire where it sizzled on the hot coals. “Want me to do yours?”
“No way.” I chunked it into the flames right next to his.
“Nice throw.”
“Thanks.” I tipped the bottle back and watched as the steaks bubbled under the heat.
Jake settled into the chair. “So, tell me, songwriter, what kind of music do you write?”
I blinked. People didn’t usually ask about my music. They usually acted like I didn’t write at all. Everyone on the island knew I wrote music. I’d been doing it since the third grade, but that didn’t mean it was accepted as a way to make a living. This was a chance to have an actual conversation about the words that swirled in my head and seeped from my pores.
“Anything and everything,” I replied. Ok, well that was about as vague and shallow an answer as I could muster.
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