Cottage on Oceanview Lane (Emerald Cove Book 1)

by Lilly Mirren

  When she reached the back of the break, Mick was riding a wave almost to shore. She caught glimpses of him whenever he rode high, then he was gone again. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled a deep, salty breath. The air was fresh and invigorated her. The water, a clear azure colour, sparkled beneath the rising sun. In the distance, she saw a family splashing at the water's edge, the children laughing, squealing and chasing each other into the waves.

  After an hour, she was exhausted. Every part of her body felt bone-tired in the way that signalled sore muscles would soon follow. She stumbled up the beach, dropped her board in the sand and fell onto her rear end, puffing hard. Mick followed her, irritatingly even-breathed.

  "That was great," he said. "See, it's just like riding a bike - you've still got the moves."

  She laughed between gasps for air. "Yeah, only I think I'm about to keel over and die. Ugh."

  Sarah peeled the top of her wet suit down, grateful to get the restrictive material off her chest and stomach. She gulped great mouthfuls of breath. "Ah, that's better."

  "Definitely." He smiled, his eyes sparkling.

  She punched him softly in the shoulder. "It was too tight, I couldn't breathe."

  He laughed. "Well, please don't let me get in the way of you stripping down. I'm all for freedom of breathing. It's very important."

  She rolled her eyes. "Okay. You know, I'm officially your boss, so you should watch yourself."

  "Oh yeah? Hmm… That's true. I didn't look at it that way. Okay, I quit."

  Sarah's brow furrowed. "You can't quit. My cottage has no walls and is a complete disaster zone. I need a kitchen, I miss cooking and being able to breathe without sneezing."

  Mick shook his head. "I suppose it would be rotten to leave you in the lurch like that."

  "Yes, it would. Although I wouldn't blame you. How you can see anything good coming out of that mess and clutter of broken palings and rotting timber is beyond me."

  His eyes narrowed, and a smile played around the corners of his mouth. "That's the beauty of it. I love seeing everything come together, the way destruction becomes creation. It's a pretty great thing to be able to use your hands to build something."

  She watched him, marvelling at the way his voice soothed her, his words touched her. "That's how I feel about editing. I see a raw manuscript with a great story, but the writing needs work and there are passages that repeat themselves and poor grammar - and I work on it, stitch the bones of it together in a way that highlights the story without all those distractions, and the final product is a beautiful piece of art."

  "Wow, I never thought of it like that."

  "Yeah, well, most people don't even realise what an editor does. The writer gets all the glory, but that's fine with me. I feel the satisfaction of making something special, whether anyone else gives me credit for it or not."

  He grinned. "I'd better get to work, my boss is a real pain in the…"

  "Hey!" She slapped him again. "You watch yourself."

  He winked. "Come on, Sassy, let's go."

  "I can't stand up," she complained, shifting her seat in the sand.

  He chuckled and reached out both hands to pull her to her feet. The strength of his arms caught her off guard, and she found herself smack up against his bare chest. He stared down at her, his eyes full of an intensity she'd never seen before. He usually wore more of a sleepy expression, as though he'd only woken minutes earlier and run his fingers through his hair. But not now. Now his eyes were like embers as they locked on hers.

  "Sorry… I…" she began.

  He released her hands and pressed his to either side of her face, then lowered his lips to hers. The taste of salt hit her tongue as his lips caressed hers, sending a zing of electricity through her body and setting her legs trembling. Her hands rested on his chest; she could feel his heart pounding beneath her palms. She'd felt the electricity between them, the tension, the attraction building every time they saw each other, but she still hadn't expected the kiss. It took her by surprise and stole the breath from her lungs.

  When he pulled away, she wanted more. Her lips missed his the moment they were gone.

  Her eyes flitted open, and she found him staring at her with a half smile on his lips.

  "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

  She released the breath caught in her lungs. "It's only been a few weeks…"

  "No, it's been twenty years, actually." He caressed her cheek with his hand, then let it fall to his side.

  Her eyes widened. "Really?"

  "Yeah, of course. You didn't know I had a huge crush on you?"

  She shook her head. "No. You were two years older than me. Besides, I couldn't have waded through all the girls who were hanging around you in time to catch your attention if I'd wanted to." He was the surfer, the laid-back, bleached-blond, board-shorts-hanging-low, tanned surfer whose gentle charm had always attracted the girls of Emerald Cove, even with the skinny legs and braces on his too-big teeth. She was younger, a nerd and too busy with her studies and sports to notice much of anything.

  "Never mind, the wait was worth it," he said.

  They wandered back to their cars, and he slid his hand over hers, entwining their fingers. Feet dug toes first into the sand, and by the time they reached the car park, sweat was trickling down Sarah's temples and spine.

  They loaded up the surfboards. Mick helped Sarah strap hers to the roof of her car, then he pinned her against the car to kiss her again, one hand on either side, pressed to the metal. There was no way out, and this time, the passion behind the kiss left her gasping for air.

  As she drove from the parking lot, he waved goodbye. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. What'd just happened? Her contractor had kissed her. What was she thinking? He was renovating the cottage, and now it'd be awkward between them. Not to mention the fact that she wasn't ready for anything even remotely romantic. She ran her tongue over her lips, still tingling from his touch, and a smile tickled the corners.

  Chapter 29

  Meg

  As she pulled the keys from her purse, Meg rolled her head from one side to the other, stretching out the kinks in her neck. She yawned wide and wriggled her toes in the black flats that'd stopped being comfortable about four hours earlier. A day on her feet at the salon had left her drained, her stomach clenched with hunger, and she had the beginnings of a headache in the base of her skull from not stopping often enough to drink water. She always intended to drink more water, just found some days too busy and ended up with a pounding in her head that nothing could fix other than an early bedtime.

  The door swung open, and she was greeted once again by darkness. Brad left it to her to switch on the lights when she got home at night. No doubt he'd be seated in front of the television set as usual, and she'd have to start on dinner instead of sitting with her feet up for a few minutes of rest.

  With a sigh, she stepped inside, then hesitated, her eyebrows drawn low. It was silent. No noise from the television set, no running water. Not even the sound of a breath. The only thing she could hear was the crash of waves across the road behind her as they slapped at the shore.

  "Brad?" she called, moving into the unit and switching on the hall light. "Brad, I'm home. Where are you?"

  She walked through the small space, flicking on lights, calling out. When she reached the bedroom, a gasp escaped her throat. The bed was made, a miracle in itself, and Brad's bedside table had been cleared of medications. When she opened the dresser drawers, she found his completely empty. His clothes, toiletries, even his magazine collection - all gone.

  Her throat tightened as her head spun. Where was he? What had he done?

  She ran to the kitchen. "Brad! Where are you?" Shouting now. No response. He was gone. The television set sat dark in the corner, the curtains still shut over the windows, the way he always left them.

  "Brad," she whispered as she fell onto the couch. She sat, hunched over, as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. Her visi
on blurred, and she blinked a few times to clear them. There must be an explanation, but first she had to find him.

  That was when she saw the note. A single sheet of paper, from her own stationery kit, folded on the coffee table. She leaned forward and read her name on the outside.

  It was in Brad's handwriting. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine. She grabbed it and began to read.

  Dear Meg,

  I know you'll be upset to see that I'm gone, but I believe it's for the best.

  I haven't been happy here, and having me around isn't helping you either. It's too much for you to deal with - paying for everything, taking care of me, driving me to appointments. I can see how tired you are and how hard it is on you.

  I've gone to stay with Mum and Dad until we can get our marriage annulled. Our marriage never really had the chance to become real.

  You deserve better than this - better than me and what I can offer. When you married me, you made a vow to spend your life with a whole man, someone who could take care of you. That's not me anymore.

  Honestly, I don't know who I am now. The accident took everything from me, and I don't know what I want from this life.

  I need time to figure things out, but the one thing I do know is I don't want to be married. I have to do this on my own from now on.

  I hope you'll understand and not hate me too much, although I don't blame you if you despise me.

  Please don't call me. I need some space, it's too hard to talk to you, and I can't face it. Not yet anyway. Hopefully someday.

  Don't let the pain of this hold you back. You should find someone else to share your life with and live out your dreams, even if I can't.

  I'm so sorry for any pain I've caused you. Please forgive me.

  Brad

  The letter fell from her grasp and drifted to the cream carpet below. Tears fell silently down her cheeks, and her mouth hung open.

  How could he do this to her? To them?

  He wouldn't even try, hadn't given them a chance to make things work. He couldn't have loved her as much as she loved him if it was so easy for him to give up on their life together. She'd have fought with every ounce of strength she had to keep what they had, to protect their love.

  As the tears continued to cascade down her cheeks, Meg dropped to her side, hugged a cushion to her chest and tucked her legs up beneath it. She stared at the curtained windows, the darkness of them making her heart ache. He'd blocked out their view of the beach, the waves and sand he'd loved so much, and now he'd blocked out their love, throwing it away like it meant nothing more to him than a worn wet suit or a broken surfboard.

  Her chest ached, and her throat tightened so hard she thought she'd choke. And as her eyes drifted shut, images of Brad smiling as he ran into the surf with a board beneath his arm flashed before her mind's eye. Then another memory, his lips on hers, his arms around her waist, a look of love in his eyes, pushed a groan from her gut and through clenched teeth.

  Chapter 30

  Sarah

  Sarah shoved a pair of dirty underwear into the makeshift hamper in her closet. A cardboard box couldn't really be called a hamper, but it was all she had to work with at that moment, and with Mick coming over to check on the progress the painters were making at the cottage, she was doing her best to tidy up.

  They'd hardly spoken since the kiss on the beach.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she ran through the moment again in her mind. Then, she tossed a shirt into the overflowing box and shoved the closet door shut.

  The cottage was a disaster zone. The walls were up, the new kitchen was in - hallelujah! - and the deck was complete, but there were drop cloths everywhere, dust covering every surface, and she'd been going crazy every time she needed something and had to search for it.

  As a result, she was wearing a pair of too-tight shorts, an oversized shirt - she had no idea where it came from - and her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, since she'd yet to locate her hairbrush and the bathroom was currently occupied by a burly tiler with a propensity to burst into song at inopportune moments. Not to mention her mood. She was in a tizzy, and she knew it. She had to calm down before Mick walked in and saw her like this. He'd think it was because of him, which it most certainly was not. It was the cottage. She was a neat freak, and the bomb crater she was living in gave her the jitters. That was all.

  Besides, she'd only recently ended an engagement. It wasn't the right time for her to be starting something new with Mick. It wasn't sensible, and she'd decided to be sensible. Or perhaps she was always sensible, and it was time to shake things up in her life? She wasn't sure. Either way, it didn't make sense to dive into a new relationship, regardless of how appealing Mick was and how comfortable she felt around him. Well, most of the time. Perhaps not when he was wearing half a wet suit around his muscular waist and dripping wet with seawater. She wasn't particularly comfortable then.

  With a quick breath, she hurried out to the living room. One of the walls had been half painted; two others were complete. A light grey, with a feature wall of charcoal behind where the television would be hung. She loved the way it looked. It was coming together the way she'd pictured it in her mind - only better. The painter had left behind a short stepladder and an open bucket of grey paint with the paintbrush balanced on top.

  She frowned, bit down on her lip. Where was he?

  Perhaps he'd gone to use the bathroom, although she could hear the tiler singing Italian opera at the top of his lungs, so it didn't seem likely. She scanned the room, hands pressed to her hips, then peered outside. No sign of him. Another painter was outside, balanced on a ladder against the wall, painting the outside of the cottage a light shade of grey that complemented the internal walls.

  It irritated her to see a wall half done. With a grunt, she picked up the brush, climbed the stepladder and got to work. After a few strokes, she had forgotten all about the painter and was lost in the work. Painting was such a calming pastime. Really no need to think, plan or strategise. Simply stroke the brush up, then down again.

  "You're good at that." Mick's voice startled her.

  She spun about, then awkwardly stepped down the ladder just as Oscar rushed in from the back deck. They reached Mick at almost the same time, Oscar's tail wagging along with his body in a frenzied welcome. In his headlong rush, he crossed Sarah's path. She tripped, fell over his back and landed on her hands and knees at Mick's feet.

  "Whoa! Are you okay?"

  He helped her to her feet. Sarah wanted to dig a hole directly through the floorboards and crawl into it. Her knees were raw, she'd jolted something in her left shoulder, and her pride had taken a definite hit.

  "Uh…yeah, thanks. Watch where you're wagging, Oscar."

  The dog licked her face, then shimmied against Mick's leg. It was hard to believe the transformation. His coat was no longer matted or patchy, but a healthy reddish brown. His ribs barely showed, and his eyes sparkled with health. He'd also taken to showing signs of affection with great enthusiasm, generally involving a long, wet tongue on her face or legs.

  "Ugh." She wiped the dog slobber from her cheek.

  "That was very graceful," he said.

  She laughed. "I'm nothing if not swan-like."

  "You know my occupational health and safety insurance doesn't cover you. You're not supposed to be painting. And where's my guy?" His brow furrowed, but a smile teased the corners of his lips.

  She shook her head. "I don't know what happened to him, but I saw that half-finished wall and couldn't help myself."

  "Tell you what, I'm going to have a quick chat with the painters, then how about we take a walk on the beach?"

  She dipped her head in agreement, considered changing, then realised all her clothes were dirty and stuffed in a box in the closet, and headed for the porch.

  A steep, winding path led from the top of the bluff where the cottage was perched down to a small, wild-looking, private beach. Black rocks were scattered in piles across the sa
nd like they'd been dumped there by the waves. Seagulls strutted and cawed along the sand, and small waves crashed against the shore.

  They walked side by side in silence for a few moments. Sarah wondered if he'd take her hand, then decided she didn't want him to. She wasn't ready to take that step; she still hadn't decided if she should ignore the professional boundary that existed between them.

  "Everything okay?" he asked.

  She pushed her hands into the pockets of her too-tight shorts. "Yeah, fine. Messy, but fine. I can't wait to get the cottage done and have my own personal space again. But otherwise all good. Work is better since I visited Sydney. I'll probably have to do that every now and then, so they don't forget my face."

  "Sounds like a good idea."

  She stopped, faced him. "I think we should talk about what happened on the beach…"

  He squinted against the bright sunlight. "Uh huh. You mean the kiss?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, it was a great kiss…" he began with a smirk.

  She sighed. "I didn't mean that…"

  "I know. Look, I'm not sure where this thing is going. But I like you. I wanted to kiss you…so I did."

  She inhaled a slow breath. Were things really that simple for him? They weren't for her. There was so much to think about, so many things to consider. "Okay, but I don't think it's a good idea."

  "Kissing?"

  "Us. A relationship."

  "Oh. Why not?"

  She shrugged. "I was engaged back in Sydney, I'm not sure if you know that. But I was, and I broke it off before I moved here. It wasn't very long ago, the wound is still pretty raw… I'm not ready to start something new. And besides, you're my contractor. It wouldn't be…professional."