by M. C. Cerny
Yawning, I reply, “Oh, not at all. My mother used to call me Abby, until she passed away a few years ago.” While digging into the fragrant and delicious meal, I can’t recall the last time anyone cooked for me, and although this is a part of my reservation, it’s still nice and homey. It’s the kind of distraction I need right now.
Maddie sits next to me and squeezes my hand gently, nodding her head as if she knows the pain of losing someone firsthand and can understand. I need a lot more of that understanding right now. I lost my mother and now I’m facing certain disownment from my father.
“Well, I think you’ll have a good summer here, my dear. What are your plans for the day?” She clears the dishes and refuses to let me help, shaking her head and motioning me to sit back down and refill my plate.
I’d tossed and turned last night, despite the comfortable bed. Damn thoughts about Lucas, mingled with the stranger who brought my luggage in, had me feeling confused and unsatisfied. I’d been forced to take care of business in the early morning hours. While thinking about the overbearing stranger, I slipped my hands over my body. The more I did, the more I craved something real. Working at a high-powered law firm made me paranoid about visiting sex shops with my girlfriends for toys, and I’d never purchase something online, so that left me to do all the work the good, old-fashioned way. Needless to say, I’m exhausted and would love to go back to bed, but I won’t.
“I was thinking I’d go jog on the beach and check out the town for a late lunch.”
“Oh yes, we have some lovely places to eat. The Porthole Café is my favorite right in town, and there’s a nice local bar called Ship’s Bottom. They have a good crowd at night and a band.” Maddie smiles and refills my coffee cup.
“I’ll check out the café today after I run a little.”
“Make sure you wear sunscreen, my dear.” Maddie has a motherly way, and the reminder is taken to heart with a smile. I’ve missed mine far too much lately.
Sipping my coffee, I broach a much more sensitive topic than skincare. “Is the guy, um, who brought my luggage, does he work for you, for the property?”
“Oh, Roman? No, not really. He’s a dear boy who helps me with fixing up odds and ends during the summers when he’s living here. A bit of a wild one, that Roman.” Maddie smiles and only half of her face follows. I’m thinking there’s more to Roman than she’s letting on, but I shrug the idea out of my head.
“It’s fine, really. I was just curious, nothing more.” Maddie makes a murmur in affirmation and I have to wonder if she believes me. I only half believe myself at this point.
“While I’m thinking of it, you know our town has a tradition each summer where the locals hide colored glass balls on the beach for tourists to find, right?” Shaking my head no, Maddie’s clearly excited about this local pastime; she could be the sole tourism board for Gold Beach.
“Really?” This intrigues me. I don’t recall reading about this when I researched the town before booking my stay. My mom never mentioned it growing up, and Dad wouldn’t have told my sister and me about it. Thoughts of my dad remind me he’s probably devising some new emergency for me to return to.
My host continues her excited dialogue with sweeping hand gestures toward the large window overlooking the beach and dunes. “Oh yes, each ball is tagged with a message that reads: ‘Show this glass ball to the Gold Beach Visitor Center Staff and enter to win a weekly drawing.’ The idea is to draw more folks into town. If you’d been here in February, all of the balls would have been red. I think a lot of them are green, clear, or blue now for the summer.”
This past February, Lucas and I planned to go away right up until my dad strong-armed us with guilt to assist for two separate trials. Plans were scrapped and forgotten amidst the hope this was the last trial we would be assisting before getting jobs that actually paid us for our time and sacrifices.
How wrong I was.
Again.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely hear Maddie’s next words. “Well now, you enjoy your day, dear.” She clasps my free hand before leaving me alone. Deciding I’ve mulled over the past enough, I make my way to the beach.
The weather is a near perfect day, sunny and cool as I jog and walk for a good hour along the rocky shoreline, picking up a few shells here and there that hadn’t been crushed by the ocean’s brutality I look them over before tossing them back into the waves. Taking my sneakers off, I wiggle my feet in the coarse, wet sand. It feels good between my toes, keeping me grounded when my traitorous thoughts let me stray back to LA and what I’m trying to avoid.
I step out into the water and let the foamy waves come up to my knees. Even with the sun, the water is icy cold. The contrast of warm sun, salty air, and numbing water keeps me raptured to my spot. The sun warms my back, zeroing in on my exposed skin in my sports bra and the small of my back above my shorts. Adrift in my mind, I raise my arms up to the sky, taking it all in peacefully and feeling renewed. I don’t hear the loud splashing behind me or the yelling following it until I surface, sputtering out breaths of salty water.
“Down, Bella, down! Bad girl!” The excited dog uses its paws to push me back under the water. I break for air in the icy surf, seeing the large chocolate lab being shooed away from me by a deep voice. As she runs down the beach, I hear, “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” Big hands grip my shoulders, my sensitive skin feeling the rough calloused fingers as they lift me clear out of the water to settle me on the beach.
I can’t breathe as the cold water shocks my system after swallowing a good mouthful. It burns down to my belly. Sunlight blinds my eyes and I’m coughing hard when he tosses me over his lap in the wet sand. Arranging me over his knee, he thumps my back a few times before I cough out the last bit of water.
“You’re okay, just got a stomach full of seawater and the wind knocked out of you.” He chuckles and I swear he is enjoying this, but I don’t have the strength yet to shrug him off. “That’s Bella for you.”
He rubs my back again, gently this time, before turning me over to lie on the beach. My skin responds to his fingertips grazing my body ever so smoothly. His hands feel good and it takes me a moment to focus my eyes on his face, the features slowly coming together.
Water drips from his wet hair to his forehead and down his strong cheeks to a dimpled chin. Full masculine lips smirk at me and I look up into his gray eyes, which stare right back. He licks his lips and I have to swallow back the ocean salt still caught in my throat. I’m parched, and it’s not for a drink. It takes me a moment longer to recognize who this man is while he’s lying half on top of me and pushing my wet hair back off my face, checking me out.
“You!” Angrily, I realize this is the man from yesterday who brought my luggage to the cottage and rudely dumped it in my bedroom. The behemoth jerk is taking small liberties every damn way he can leering over my body.
“Yes, me. Who are you?” he asks with a full smile, still leaning over me. Looking around, I try to focus anywhere but on his face and realize we are alone on the beach. He is just as wet as I am—white T-shirt plastered to his chest, swim shorts not hiding much of anything, and him currently resting against my hip, hard. I feel my traitorous nipples tighten against my cold, wet sports bra, causing me to freak out. I push him back by the shoulders. My first try doesn’t budge him at all, and the second he swats away, annoyed.
“Relax, Miss Feisty Pants.” He stands, brushing a hand through his hair before extending it to help me up. I swat his hand away just as he did mine and roll to my side, getting up on my own and brushing sand off my body. “You could say thank you, you know.” He smirks, cupping the back of his neck with his hand, watching the dog from hell run down the beach and back again
“Thank you for what? Almost drowning me with your hulking size and that obnoxious dog?” I spit back, hands on my hips and glaring at him, hoping my retinas will burn through him like lasers if I’m lucky. The dog comes back for another pass, just missing me but tripping me up just e
nough that the former luggage handler grasps my arm to steady me.
“I did save your life. You could have choked on that water, or been eaten alive by Bella, here.” He shrugs and whistles for the dog to come back. I stand aghast at his attitude. Throwing my hands up in the air and slapping them back down on my shorts, I grumble about dogs and owners being two peas in a pod.
“Oh, my god! Most people restrain their dogs, you know!” Brushing the salt-sticky, matted hair from my face, I grab for my sunglasses, which are missing from my roughly tangled hair due to my dip in the water. “Damn it, my sunglasses are gone.” Longingly, I look out toward the vast ocean with a frown, sun blasting my face.
“Sorry. Bella loves people, especially new ones. I doubt she knows her own size or strength. She thinks she’s still a puppy. Did she scratch you?” He looks me over again, checking me out, and it only serves to make me madder—first aid, my ass.
“Neither do you, it seems!” Intent on flouncing away, I turn, but trip in the sand, landing on my knees and huffing in anger and embarrassment. He tries to help me up while unsuccessfully attempting to keep his chuckling under his breath. When I glare at him with the stink eye, he burst out laughing.
“The least you could do is not laugh at me.” I’m horribly embarrassed and try pushing him away. He doesn’t let go and instead insists on assisting me stand up, brushing the sand off me. It doesn’t escape my notice how attractive and similarly annoying he is. Attractive or not, I want—no, I need to be left alone right now.
“This isn’t LA, Miss Hollywood. You could, I don’t know…” He looks out toward the water like he’s searching for something benign to say after assaulting me with his—and I’m reluctant to admit this—fine body. “Relax, you know. It was an accident.” He looks up the north end of the beach, his eyes following Bella, who seems content to run wild with her destruction elsewhere. He annoys me and I hate feeling any kind of reaction to him at all. The nerve of him and his stupid nicknames bother me. He may as well call me Abs the way Lucas does.
“It certainly isn’t LA, that’s for sure.” I stand up straight, composing myself and grab my sneakers from the beach before marching back toward the cottage, angrier with myself than him—but in no way ready to admit that.
“All right, brat,” the man whose name I still don’t know—with exception of Maddie calling him Roman—calls after me as he jogs down the beach toward the loose dog who is chasing seabirds into the waves. Turning, I look at him, my mouth drops open at his embarrassing name calling. I am not usually so prickly and bitchy, but I’m feeling pretty raw. It’s no excuse, and I feel guilty about being so rude to him on two occasions now.
I walk back to my cottage feeling ashamed and a little beaten by my poor manners. A quick shower is just the thing to make me feel refreshed. Wearing the soft fluffy towel on my head and a short bathrobe, I pick up my cellphone and find a message from Lucas is in my inbox.
Lucas Crowley: Abs - Babe, I hate how we left things. Let’s just take a break, cool off a bit and figure this out when you get back. There’s no rush. Miss you xoxo
What? Take a break? Cool off? Miss me? Was he breaking up with me for the summer? If he misses me, he could have come with me. Brown-nosing little shit. I can’t believe it. Lucas has broken a lot of promises in our relationship. Right, what relationship? With a sigh, I dress in a short summery dress and sandals. I need to do this for myself. Getting away and enjoying myself for the summer is still my plan, and it’s not like Lucas and I are breaking up… right? We are just taking time off. Maybe we do need this; maybe I need time away to see what I really want.
I drive into town letting my ire subside speeding around curves of road before parking the car. Looking for some souvenirs, I decide to browse a few of the nautical-themed antique shops picking up a watercolor painting for my condo at home before stopping for lunch at the Porthole Café. I keep checking my phone, but nothing shows in my inbox, which leaves me with a sad, niggling feeling.
“Good afternoon, can I take your order?” Absorbed in my thoughts and with the glaring sunlight, at first I don’t recognize the man in front of me until he gives me his megawatt smile. Oh come on. My blood returns to its previous simmer.
“You!” I say as we both eye each other up, except his version of eyeing me up feels more like an undressing.
“Well, don’t you clean up nice, pop princess.” Chuckling, he pulls a pad out from the apron pocket, clicking his pen to the pad of paper he is holding. What the fuck is up with this guy?
“Argh! I want a new server!” I slam my hand down on the table, making the glass wobble enough that I have to grab it so it won’t tumble off.
“Sorry, Blondie, Miss Bonnie is out having a baby, so I’m all you got.” He smirks putting his pen behind his ear, grabbing a pitcher from the table near me to pour my water. I see him eye my dress as if he wants to dump the water on me instead. He better retract those thoughts. My eyes narrow at him.
“Don’t even think about it,” I tell him, moving the cup, forcing him to pull up the pitcher or follow through with soaking me.
“Ah… pretentious out-of-towners,” he mumbles. “I bet you filled your car with souvenirs of anchors and landscape paintings.” My face blushes and I snap.
“What are you, the town handyman? Do you have a real job?” I’m nasty as he leans in close enough so I can feel his hot breath. Nervously, I brush my hair back from my face. I’m trapped in my little café chair on the sidewalk for everyone to see. I look around, but again, there isn’t a soul to see our exchange, not even the dog.
“Would it kill you to just be nice?” He looks into my face and I follow his eyes traveling down to my lips and back up again. The tension between us is making me sweat and I feel a bead trickle down between my breasts as I swallow the lump in my throat, ready to make my retort. He’s kind of rude, but I’ve been pretty bitchy, and I can admit that.
It’s his intense stare that unnerves me, like he’s trying to figure me out. I already feel wounded by Lucas, so I don’t need another man to screw with my head at the moment. When his eyes travel down again, past my lips and to what I can only assume is my chest, I’m angry all over again. Huffing in his face, I push him back and stand, letting everything on the table rattle, and a fork clings against the ground.
“You know what? I’ve lost my appetite, but thanks.” I sidestep, but he’s so close I have to brush my hips against his to get out because he refuses to move away. Damn him. I feel his body next to mine and my nipples harden as he moves his hips closer. The ridge under his apron brush against me. I wish I could feel disgusted by our little sword parry, but I’m not and that bothers me more, because I do like it. I hate knowing he feels this tension between us too. I head down the street flipping my arm up in the air, as if that will make him disappear from my life.
He calls out to me and our rude exchange continues. “Suit yourself, princess, but you’re missing out on the best turkey avocado wrap this side of the Rocky Mountains.” Taunting me, he laughs, so I feel justified in giving him the finger. Right up until I see a little old lady sitting on a bench glaring at me from under her wide brimmed hat and clutching her straw purse. She gasps, clearly appalled by my childish behavior. “Well, princess, if you insist.” He continues sniggering. From this distance, I see him wipe a tear from his face from laughing so hard and the brat in me hopes it burns just a little.
“Argh!” Are all men like this? They think you want to fuck them when you give them the finger. He is possibly the most aggravating, annoying man I’ve ever met and I still don’t know his name.
* * * * *
I was hoping to never see him again after that day, but apparently, I have no such luck. We ran into each other several more times the first few weeks I was here, sometimes daily. I saw him bringing in books to the library, but only after we’d knocked into each other, dropping them all. He was at the ice cream shop, where he bought everyone behind him ice cream—including me. I found him inside th
e post office selling stamps when I went to mail postcards to my friends in LA. Huffing, I left and debated on driving to the next town, but nixed that idea. Let’s just say a lot of postcards are still sitting at the cottage without those silly Forever stamps because I vowed to not go in the post office for the remainder of my summer.
Forever.
One day, he was playing Frisbee on the beach with a beautiful Labrador dog that wasn’t Bella, and that was fine—until he threw it my way, causing the dog to jump on the blanket I’d been sunning myself on. It was infuriating. I refused to inquire about him. He seemed like a jack of all trades—bringing suitcases to the newly arriving guests at Maddie’s bed and breakfast during the week, delivering mail, walking dogs, and serving tables at the best lunch spot in Gold Beach, which I missed out on while trying to avoid him. It was simply infuriating that I couldn’t escape him, and, at the same time, the one man I wanted clearly didn’t want anything to do with me. I hawked my phone for messages from Lucas that never came and ignored the calls from my dad and sister weekly. This was supposed to be a great summer; however, nothing seemed to be going according to plan. Sadly, my life was in no more order than when I had left LA.
ROMAN
When I get the phone call from Bonnie’s husband that she’s going into labor and they need me to babysit the sandwich shop, I don’t mind. Waiting tables was something I did as a teen, and it’s hard to forget how to take lunch orders. Besides, I get to leave the cooking to Myrtle. However, I don’t expect to see Blondie sitting at one of the outdoor tables I’m serving.
She’s wearing flashy sunglasses that look new and I’m guessing they’re not the ones she lost earlier at the beach. Staring at her cellphone, she taps her foot in the air impatiently like a spoiled sovereign ready to give orders with her haughty attitude. I grab a pitcher of ice cold water and pour myself a drink. The cold ice diverts my attention and I focused once again. I need to go out there and take her lunch order without getting slayed, and I’m little nervous to interact with her again. Looking at her long legs—although I know from standing up next to her earlier that morning, she barely reached my shoulder—about does me in. I drink the water down. Hoping to cool the rise in my shorts, I think about old Myrtle in the kitchen, but I can’t keep my mind off the woman outside.