by Barley A. R.
He should have worn better shoes to pick Nico up. Tennis shoes or loafers. His eyes squeezed shut, sparks dancing in the darkness.
Nico had been wearing loafers when he’d first stepped onto the beach. They were gone now—lost somewhere in the surf—but he could still remember every detail. Oxblood leather and tan stitching. So fucking proper, Dale had wanted to chase him down and muss his hair.
He’d done a hell of a lot more than that.
Not that it mattered.
August was drawing to a close, and it was time for Nico to go home. Summer people never stayed. It was a lesson Dale had learned early on and one he should have remembered.
A little girl in a navy-and-gold one-piece bumped into his arm and sent him churning into a rack of boogie boards. He needed to get off the street before he stumbled into something more dangerous than Styrofoam coated in spandex.
The next door on the right was the bookstore Aunt Shirley had owned since before he could remember. He could hide out there until he figured out his next step. If he waited long enough, then Nico would be gone, back to Chicago, and he wouldn’t have to worry about hard goodbyes.
The metal knob was cool to the touch. He yanked hard, holding his breath until he was finally off the street. Fuck. Going from the hot air to the intense bookshop air-conditioning always gave him a headache. He grabbed a magazine from the rack near the counter and headed over to snag one of the beanbag chairs in the fantasy section.
The magazine he’d stolen didn’t have any Calvin Klein advertisements, but it was full of logic puzzles.
He’d finished the first two sudoku when someone kicked him in the shin. Hard.
Shirley. She was wearing a flouncy purple dress and a pair of scarlet earrings. Her lipstick was a little too bright. Her eyes were narrowed angrily. “I hope you’re paying for that.”
“Afraid I’ll hurt your profit margins?”
“Hmmph.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Thanks, Aunty Shirl, but I’m done for the day.” He’d finished his paperwork, handed out water bottles and sunscreen to forgetful lifeguards, and left Becky in charge of the emergency radio.
Leaving early had taken some careful coordination, but it had all been worth it for Nico.
His headache was pounding away now, a big bass drum beating at the top of his spine. “Can we not do this now?”
“Sure, you want to wait another ten years?” There was a long pause, and then she hunched down, close enough for him to smell her dusty daisy perfume. “You used to hide here when you were a kid, when you were fighting with your dad. Want to tell me what you’re hiding from now?”
Dammit. He really should have kept going until he reached the mini-golf course. Austin’s rental stand might not be air-conditioned, but at least the med student wouldn’t ask him about his feelings.
Plus, Austin would have snacks.
“I’m not hiding from anyone.” He dropped the magazine and tried to sit up straight. It was hard to be presentable in an electric green beanbag chair—he was pretty sure he was listing to the left—but he did his best. “Nico’s going back to Chicago.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“Because it’s automatically my fault.”
“Yup.” Shirley grabbed the other beanbag chair and plopped down beside him. At least now they were on even seating. She nudged him in the arm. “What the fuck did you do? That boy’s got a nice job. He picked out paint colors for your spare bedroom. He—”
“His grandfather’s here to take him home.”
“This grandfather bring along a six-pack of cute boys for Nico to pick from?”
“A woman in a pencil skirt.”
“A pencil skirt at the beach?” Shirley snorted. “Really?”
“I think she’s his cousin.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“He works for his grandfather—at least he used to before he left Chicago. If he goes home, he gets a promotion. He’s going to be a big shot.”
It was everything Nico had ever wanted, and Dale refused to stand in his way. Not that he thought Nico would think twice before hightailing it back to Chicago. The way he’d talked about his family—about the business they’d built and the place they held in his heart—it was clear who he’d pick.
Their relationship was over.
Finished.
Done.
“And you’re going to let it happen?”
Dale blinked in surprise. He stretched his foot out in front of him until it knocked against a large-print edition of The Hobbit. “I thought you’d be on his side. You’re all about taking over the family business.”
“You want the bookstore?”
“I meant the farm.” His chicken farm with its big white barns and yards full of preplucked poultry. “You’re still mad at me because I sold the farm.”
“I hated that fucking farm.” Her nostrils flared, and she grimaced like she’d smelled something bad. “Dirty. Noisy. Never any time to read. How much did you make those bloodsuckers pay for the farm?”
It didn’t make a difference now, so he told her.
“Damn.” She whistled. “You held out. I would have sold it for half that.”
“You really hated it.” The pounding in his head was coming faster. Everything was too damn bright. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately to think. It didn’t work. “Then why have you been so mad at me?”
“Because you gave up, Dale.” Shirley’s shoulders slumped forward. For a moment all her tension dropped away and she looked young again. Not that she was old. Despite her dyed hair and the crow’s feet around her eyes, she’d been his father’s younger sister.
“When you were eight years old, you wanted to be a policeman. You had a little blue uniform—and you read all the murder mysteries you could get your hands on. It was freaking adorable.” She sighed. “And when you were eighteen you wanted to take over the family farm. You got me to order you agricultural studies and books on small business management. You cared about it so damn much. And then—”
“Then I sold it all for thirty pieces of silver.”
“Then you made a hard decision for the good of the town. I understood it, but you lost yourself along the way. You gave up. You play at the beach all summer and you spend the winter drinking away your problems.”
Suddenly Dale wished they were back exchanging dirty looks and underhanded insults on street corners. It would have hurt less.
Fuck. She was right.
Mostly.
“I wouldn’t call it playing. Someone has to manage the lifeguards.”
“And that’s what you want to do with the rest of your life?” Shirley nudged his knee. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, Dale, so tell me…. What do you want?”
“Nico.” With his sooty lashes and expressive gray eyes, just beginning to spread his wings and make his own way in the world. They’d only been together a little while, but already it felt like the other man was an extension of his soul. “I love him.”
“Does he know that?”
Dale took a deep breath, inhaling the twin scents of paper and ink. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything to offer him.”
“You don’t have anything to offer a man?” Her tongue clucked against the inside of her teeth. “We both know better than that, Dale.”
Yeah, they did.
Dale kissed his aunt on the cheek. It took him two tries to disengage himself from the beanbag chair. “Thanks, Aunt Shirley! You’ve been a big help.”
“Don’t mention it. Ever.”
He would have said something snarky, but he was already halfway out the door.
Chapter Fourteen.
“GOD DAMMIT.” Nico’s teeth sliced into his bottom lip. Sweat was pouring down his spine. It took him two tries to undo his apron and toss it at his boss. “I’m leaving early.”
“Something I should be worried about?”
Chris took his feet down off his desk. His lips twitched. “You’re thinking about going with them? The hottie and the old guy?”
“How’d you—” Nico swallowed, hard. “Tim has a big mouth.”
“He likes you.” The Lazy Crab’s owner shrugged. “We all like you. We’d hate to see you go.”
“How long are you staying?” It was the same question everyone had been asking since he got to Delaware. No matter how many times he told them he was sticking around, they didn’t quite believe him.
Except Dale.
They’d shared something real. Secrets. Sexy fun times. Soft words spoken in hushed tones.
Nico should have introduced him the instant he stepped onto the porch. Instead he let him listen in like some kid peeping at doorways, not quite understanding what he heard.
His fingers clenched tight, searching for something he couldn’t quite hold on to. “And if I don’t have anything to stay for?”
One bushy eyebrow rose thoughtfully. “Dale do something stupid?” Chris didn’t wait for an answer. “Fucking martyr.”
Nico shrugged. “I still have my job if I come in tomorrow?”
“You’ve got tomorrow off. Take your friends to the beach. Fuck your boyfriend. Your job will be waiting first thing Thursday morning.”
Good to know. Nico gave him a nod and headed out of the restaurant. Gina and his grandfather caught up with him by the time he hit the sidewalk. Tony was still talking—demanding to know where they were going and asking Nico to slow down—but his cousin was quiet. Her heels click-clacked against the sidewalk as she stretched out her legs to follow him.
The big red truck was still double-parked on the main drag like a rough gash on the horizon. Dale hadn’t left town, but his spun golden hair wasn’t visible above the crowd either.
Nico was going to have to find him somewhere in the noise and chaos. He turned first one way and then the other. An inflatable crocodile flapped in the wind. A nearby kid was crying because he’d dropped his ice cream.
In the very distance he could make out red flags whipping back and forth in the wind as the lifeguards passed messages from stand to stand.
“We looking for something in particular?” Gina demanded. “Because my thong’s riding up my ass.”
“Dale.”
“He someone special?”
“My boyfriend.”
“You’ve got a boyfriend?” His grandfather looked around in confusion, like he was expecting Dale to pop out from behind a rack of swimsuits.
No such luck.
“You were talking about Chicago, and he’s from here. He must have thought I was leaving.”
So he ran. It had probably worked on guys before, fading into the background when it came time for them to leave. All those other guys had probably spent their last few hours in Delaware wondering what they’d done wrong.
Unlucky bastards.
Nico wasn’t going to be one of them. He was going to track him down and hash things out once and for all. No matter how much it hurt. If Dale wanted him, then there wasn’t a force on God’s green earth that could drag Nico out of Delaware. And if Dale didn’t want him? If their relationship had really been just another fling?
Nico would stay anyway.
Convincing Dale that they belonged together—permanently—might be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but it would be worth it.
“You’ve been out less than a minute and you already have a boyfriend.” Gina rolled her eyes. “Is he cute?”
“I love him.”
Fuck. Awareness slammed into him like the wave that had sent him ass over teakettle when he’d first arrived in Delaware. He loved Dale more than he’d loved anyone in his entire life. He wasn’t letting him go.
“Gotta be a hottie.” She hiked her skirt up a few inches so she could move easier. “I’ll help you find him.”
“I thought you came here to take me home.”
“He came here to take you home.” Gina nodded in their grandfather’s direction. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Next time you take off, answer your damn phone… or at least text.”
There was a reason Gina was his favorite cousin. Nico grinned. “I’ll have it tattooed on my ass. ‘In case of identity crisis, text Gina.’”
“Let’s find your boyfriend. We can tattoo it on his ass.” She gave their grandfather a pointed look. “Are you coming, or what?”
“I—” Tony Travelli looked shell-shocked. His gaze skittered. He looked anywhere except Nico’s face. “Does he make you happy, Nicky?”
“More than anything.”
“All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “What does this boyfriend of yours look like?”
“He’s tall and blond—” Nico’s mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. “He’s a lifeguard.”
“Boy toy,” Gina said. “Nice.”
“Dale’s not a toy.” He might like to play around, but underneath the snarky attitude he was all man. “He’s older than me. Azure eyes. Muscles like you wouldn’t believe. Like Maria’s ex-husband.”
“He was a boy toy.”
“In the bookstore,” his grandfather interrupted.
“That’s not him.” Nico didn’t even bother looking. Dale would rather have his teeth pulled out with a rusty wrench than spend two minutes talking to Aunt Shirley—
The door to the bookstore was thrust open, and Dale charged out with a face full of thunder.
“Nico—” Dale stopped short, swallowing whatever he’d been about to say next. He was a mess. His eyes were cloudy. There was a smudge on his cheek and that big streak of sunburn across his nose.
None of that could stop the smile from exploding across Nico’s face.
“Fucking hell,” Gina said quietly. “Definitely a hottie.”
“Hey, big guy.” Nico stretched up onto his tiptoes to look his lover straight in the eye. “We need to talk—”
“Nope.” Dale’s voice was firm. There were two little freckles on the end of his nose. He’d skipped out on the sunscreen again. They were darker than they’d been a few hours earlier. “I—”
His eyes darted to the side, blinking rapidly when he saw Tony. His lip twisted. He took a deep rasping breath that made his entire chest buoy and shake. He swallowed hard.
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said quickly.
“A proposition.”
“I want to start a restaurant. I was thinking Italian food, someplace nice and friendly. Of course, you’d need to stay here and run it for me.”
Un—freaking—believable. Chris had been right to call Dale a martyr. Whether it was selling off his family farm for the town’s benefit, treating Becky like the little sister he’d never had, or dragging a drowned tourist home off the beach, Dale always did what he thought was best for everyone else. Even now when he thought Nico was pulling away, he fought back by offering him the world.
His own restaurant.
Nico’s heart thrummed happily.
His dreams had only reached as high as front-of-house manager at Travelli’s. A place of his own—where he could hire his own staff and set his own menu—was beyond even his wildest imaginings.
And Dale would hate it.
He’d hate spending his days with the public and his nights with the accounting. Owning a restaurant wasn’t like being a lifeguard. No one would stop when he blew his whistle.
First he’d lose his tan, and then he’d lose his smile.
“The last thing this place needs is an Italian restaurant,” Nico said. “And you would make a horrible restaurateur.” He hopped up on his tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead. “Luckily, I’m willing to stay here to prevent you from making a fool out of yourself.”
Dale gaped in disbelief. “You’re staying in Delaware?”
“It’s brainwashing,” Nico told him. “You showed me the ocean, taught me how to pick crabs, and kissed me stupid. I fell for the
place. I love it almost as much as I love you.”
“You love—” Bottomless blue eyes blinked once, twice. Dale’s mouth closed. Underneath his tan his cheeks bloomed an easy rose. “I love you too, Nico.”
“Kiss!” Gina squealed.
“Girls.” Nico rolled his eyes.
Dale laughed. “Sometimes they have good ideas.”
His lips were velvety soft. His taste was familiar. The clean masculine scent that clung to his skin danced in the air as he wrapped his arms tight around Nico. The kiss deepened to include teeth, tongue, and all those secrets learned on dark nights together in bed.
“We’ve got an audience,” Dale finally said, breaking away from the kiss. “Want to make the introductions?”
“Dale, this is my grandfather, Tony Travelli—”
“And his cousin Gina.”
“And my cousin Gina.” Nico laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The sun was shining, and all the people he cared about were finally in the same place. “Granddad, this is Dale Seward. He saved my life.”
A. R. BARLEY lives in the Motor City with a dog (who’s currently annoying the cat), a cat (who’s doing his best to avoid the dog), and an engineer. She likes hot drinks, hotter novels, and ice cream. She writes seven days a week (when she’s not playing referee to the dog and the cat) and is always happy to hear from readers on Facebook and Twitter.
Facebook: facebook.com/aleahrbarley
Twitter: @aleahbarley
By A. R. Barley
The Shore Thing
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.