The Bachelor Beach: The Love Connection Series - Villa One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “With regards to that rule ...”

  Can we step out of the stairwell before we continue this conversation? I want to ask.

  “Yes,” I urge him to continue.

  “Did you find it uncomfortable that I offered to take you on a tour of the area?”

  “No, of course not.” Why would I find that uncomfortable? I thought it was very polite of him to offer to show me around downtown. Clearly, there is a lot of ground to cover by the looks of it. I think we might be thinking of two different types of a downtown area, however.

  “You sure now? You looked a bit unsettled.”

  “Not at all. In fact, I’m free after work tonight. I’d love to see the area.”

  “Really?” he asks, seeming surprised by the response to his offer. “I mean, I’m free tonight too, actually. Would it be too forward to suggest a bite to eat first?”

  Yes, possibly, but we’re living by your rules, Noah James. I can’t think of a better way to get in good with the boss than a nice business dinner. I’m sure that’s what this will be.

  “I would love to grab dinner first.” Is this a trap? What if he’s trying to see if I fall for this plan so that he can tell me I’m breaking a rule. Oh, God, this was all some kind of test, and I just failed.

  “Well, terrific. You just gave me something to look forward to tonight,” Noah says.

  “Well, okay then,” I tell him. My cheeks are hot as we walk into his office. He takes a seat behind his desk and crosses one leg over the other.

  Maybe I should have said no. I’m so weak. I’m not going to survive adulthood. I’m a train wreck.

  “I—I don’t really have anything work-related to discuss with you,” he says, trying to hide the grin across his cheeks. “Oh, how about I give you your schedule for the rest of the week?” He pulls out a pen and a piece of paper, then jots down a few things without looking at a schedule. Noah hands me the paper and smiles shyly. “I’m glad you came in looking for a job, Ashley. I love when things just work out. I like to think we’re just playing pieces in life’s game, you know?”

  “No, I get it. Life doesn’t hand us millions of chances. Sometimes we just have to test our luck. I’m glad I asked for an application,” I say, trying to return the kind sentiment.

  I glance down at the note he handed me, which says:

  * * *

  This is real. I promise you. 555-243-3490 - Noah

  * * *

  I don’t understand the meaning behind the words on his note, but they seem sweet, regardless. I slip the note into my back pocket and smile before seeing myself out of his office. “Tonight,” I tell him.

  It takes everything I have not to fall down the stairs again, but it’s nice to have a good day with good feelings after the last few here.

  The shift sped up and flew by, leaving me at the four o'clock crawl before the dinner crowd supposedly arrives.

  I sent a message to Noah’s phone, telling him I’d meet him out on the beach when he’s ready. I don’t want to make it known to anyone else that I’m meeting up with him after work.

  I plop down in the sand and lean back into my hands, welcoming the late afternoon hot rays to warm my skin. I’ve been living on a beach, but avoiding the beach. I saw this going very differently.

  It takes Noah about fifteen minutes to show up, which I expected. I can’t imagine how hard it is to walk away from a restaurant he single-handedly runs.

  As I spot him, I stand and brush the sand off my backside. A smile tugs at his cheeks. “Are you ready for a tour? Or would you like to eat first?”

  “Let’s eat first,” I tell him.

  “You got it. I know a place,” Noah says.

  We set off walking down the shore, farther away from the villas, thankfully. Noah becomes quieter as the moments pass, and I wonder what’s going through his head. “So, how long have you been living here in Tybee?”

  “Not long. About a year now. I moved here for a few reasons; the new restaurant location is one of them.”

  “What brings you here?” he asks.

  I snicker at the thought. “Well, my brother offered me free rent if I wanted to stay in his villa down the street.”

  “Oh yeah, how’s the property?”

  I cup my hand over my eyes, shielding my view from the blinding glare. “The property is beautiful, but there are some oddities surrounding my villa—like the fact that my villa is the only one to house females in the entire development.”

  Noah releases a long sigh. “Yeah, about that ... I—“

  “Please don’t tell me you live in one of the villas,” I plead.

  “So, what do you think is up with the community you’re living within? Do you think it was all a coincidence? The men, I mean.”

  I shake my head, “No, it is no coincidence that ten good-looking, single men live within one community. I know there is some social study they have all entered. The study seems a little off to me, hence my concern if you were to live among the villas too.”

  He isn’t directly agreeing or disagreeing with occupying one of the villas. “Everyone has a reason for the decisions they make in life, right?”

  “Of course, but that doesn’t equate to what I’ve been witnessing in the development.”

  “Sure, but not everything is what it seems.”

  “This is also true. Things could be much worse than it seems,” I counter. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to admit to living in one of the villas, but with all due respect, I’m a bit freaked out by my current situation, and I was hoping you weren’t a part of all that mess.”

  “I’m not a part of any mess,” he says with assurance.

  “That’s good to know,” I say with hesitation, raising a brow at his confident remark.

  “We’re almost there.” He’s good at changing the subject and jumping from topic to topic.

  “Tell me something else about you,” I command while shuffling through the loose sand.

  Noah snatches a smooth rock from the sand and tosses it into the ocean before speaking. “Don’t judge me, okay?”

  “I’m not one to judge,” I confirm.

  Noah places his hands into his pockets and continues forward, holding his focus on the horizon, or past the horizon, it seems. “Well, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. My parents are worth a couple billion each, and they basically told me I had nothing to worry about for the rest of my life. So, I did what any idiot would do and ran away, joined the Marines, then served for eight years. I wanted nothing to do with their money, and I have been determined to find a way to be just as successful on my own. My entire life has felt like a competition full of proving my self-worth to myself. It’s a bit of an obsession, I guess.”

  His parents have everything, and he wanted nothing.

  “That’s commendable,” I tell him.

  “The easy way isn’t always the right way, you know?”

  In theory, what he’s saying makes sense. However, if someone offered me a billion dollars, I’d do what they asked without question. Maybe that’s why my drive in life isn’t all that great. “So, did you end up accomplishing this goal, or are you in a place where you feel accomplished? What made you leave the Marines to open up a bunch of restaurants?”

  “Hell yeah, I feel accomplished,” he says with a soft laugh. “At twenty-six years old, I was starting to have some joint pain from some minor injuries I endured during my time in the service. The pains were getting worse by the day, so that’s when I knew it was my time to separate from the Marine Corps. I wasn’t ready to find a rocking chair or anything,” he says with laughter. “So, within the last four years, I have grown my business into an enterprise. Therefore, I believe I’m heading in the right direction. The Marines gave me structure, drive, and focus. I came out of the eight years thankful to still have all my limbs after three tours to the Middle East, and I decided there is no time like the present to dive in head first toward my life goal.”

  He’s a brilliant hero
... working daily at a restaurant. “But you work all day and ... You must not have much time to enjoy your beautiful villa.”

  “First off, I didn’t say I lived in the villas. You’re assuming. Where I live doesn’t bother me. Hell, I’d be happy sleeping in a hole on the beach.”

  I feel like I’ve learned a lot about Noah in a very short period, and I’m not sure why he has chosen me to share his history. We hardly know each other, and I just accepted a job at his restaurant. It seems like … a lot. “Noah, why are you telling me all this?” It all seems so sudden. He has to be one of the men from the villas. The way he’s presenting himself feels forced.

  He shakes his head and chuckles, dropping his gaze to the sand. “Sorry, I’ve spent a lot of time alone in recent years. I can be a talker and don’t always know when to shut it off. I’ve said too much, though, since I just hired you. So, I’m sorry about that. You’re probably wondering how I’ve managed to open so many restaurants while having a big mouth.”

  “On the contrary, you probably need a big mouth to make big moves, but I was just curious as to why you were sharing this all with me.” Surely, there has to be a more significant reason. If talking is a sales technique, I’m not buying or selling anything, so I’m not sure what gives.

  Even though I don’t think he has to walk around like an open book, I find his reason to be sincere and respectable. A little sad too.

  “Well, I figured since you told me about you yesterday, I should be open and honest too. It’s healthy to have that,” he explains.

  “Someone of your stature doesn’t need to explain himself. You’ve earned that right, haven’t you?” I counter.

  He nods his head with what seems to be disagreement. “It’s just the opposite. I don’t want people to think I was handed what I have. I feel like it’s important for people to know it’s possible to achieve dreams.”

  “I get it,” I tell him. I do. “You’re a good guy, Noah.”

  “Well, Thank you, but I wonder what you’ll think of me after I tell you we’re going on the zip-coaster down there.”

  “Zip-coaster?”

  Noah takes my hand and pulls me a hundred yards or so into a clearing where a massive beach carnival unfolds before us. “See that thing going toward the clouds?” It looks like a half-parted zipper with carts flying between it.

  “I see it,” I tell him, feeling excited.

  “We’re going on it.”

  “You like insane rides?”

  “I live for them,” he says.

  “I do too.” I pull him this time, moving faster toward the carnival because my excitement is raging through me.

  What an adequately placed distraction this carnival is … it’s almost as if this is a total coincidence.

  Almost.

  Chapter 13

  In hindsight is the worst saying in the world. Basically, if we could put ourselves back in time, we would have done something differently. Like, I would have read the fine print on those damn papers Bradley sent me.

  I have a suspicion that I will be saying the words “In hindsight” again. I should have been more intuitive when it comes to the desire Noah seems to have to be my friend. He doesn’t know a whole lot about me, certainly not enough to risk his reputation at the restaurant. He has a way with his words, and I was smoothed over quickly enough to get excited about a carnival of all things, but as we walk closer to the entrance gates, I replay his response about possibly living in one of the villas.

  “Noah,” I say, stopping him before we purchase tickets. “I need to know if you live in one of those villas.”

  “Why does it matter?” he asks, giving me an endearing glance.

  “It matters to me. I’ve been living there just a few days, and I—” Tenants are prohibited from discussing any part of the social research occurring within the community. “I think it’s too soon to be spending time like this with a neighbor. I still need to figure things out with the men living in the community.” But, not too soon to be getting dinner and a tour from my new boss. I totally sound like an idiot.

  “I want to level with you,” Noah says, gently tugging me to the side of the gate. “I’m a firm believer in connecting with like-minded people. Therefore, I don’t see the harm in wanting to learn more about you.” I’m not sure how we’re like-minded, but I’ll take that as a compliment since he’s twenty times more successful than I am. However, I can’t forget why I’m apprehensive about this situation.

  “I’m currently undergoing some trust issues, and on top of that, I’m starting over down here in Georgia.”

  “How about this ... I have no expectations. If I bore you, you can end the tour early. Fair?”

  “I wasn’t insinuating that you might bore me,” I correct him.

  “Just putting it out there,” he says, smirking for good measure. “Let me be a friend. Friends can go on rides together, right?”

  “Is this really how a friendship starts?” I question him.

  “Only the best kind, Miss Ashley.”

  I’m not surprised when Noah assumes my mind is at ease. I might be good at hiding what I’m feeling inside. However, I’m not exactly sure what I’m feeling. There are so many things occurring at once, and I feel overwhelmed.

  Before I can gather any more thoughts on the situation, Noah is pulling me through the gates and toward the roller coaster. “You’re not going to chicken out on me now, are you?” he asks.

  “No way, let’s do it.” This ride looks monstrous, and I haven’t been to an amusement park or a carnival in years.

  The line is short, but as we wait between the metal rails, Noah leans back, resting his elbows along the side. “Favorite hobby?” he asks.

  The way he looks at me makes me feel like he’s genuinely interested to hear what I have to say. Most of the men I’ve dated or hung around with have made me feel like they’re asking questions just to set up their turn to talk about themselves after I finish responding. Noah isn’t the same way.

  “Running. I suck at it, so I keep trying to challenge myself,” I tell Noah.

  He seems surprised by the way his dark eyebrows knit together. “How can you suck at running?”

  I flap my hand into the air. “Eh, I’ve had asthma my whole life. It kept me from participating in activities when I was a kid, so I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to combat it.”

  “That’s incredible. How fast are your miles?” Maybe he runs too. Usually, only runners will ask that question, although he’s a Marine, so he probably has spent time running miles.

  “For the most part, I hover between seven and seven-and-a-half minutes.”

  “Damn, that’s pretty good. Run any marathons?”

  “I did a half last year,” I tell him.

  “I did one a few years ago, and I’ve been meaning to start training again, but you know how life gets in the way sometimes.”

  Noah starts moving ahead as the line begins to fill the ride. My stomach flops around a bit as the ride attendant waves us through. Up close, it looks a little more daunting than it did from the beach.

  “I won’t ask you to hold my hand. Don’t worry,” Noah says.

  “Good because that’s against friendship rules,” I tell him.

  We’re locked and loaded on the ride. The only thing separating the seats is the rubber padding around our necks and torsos. God, I hope this thing is safe.

  It’s the last thought I have before we’re sling-shot into what feels like space. My stomach is sitting pretty in my throat right now as I try to scream, but air won’t come out.

  A wave of nausea rolls through me, and my only fear becomes the thought of yacking up the salad I had for lunch.

  We drop down the open zipper, and gravity has its way with me. Sound finally rips from my lungs in the form of a shriek. Instinct kicks in, and I reach for Noah’s hand as we’re swooping our way back up toward the sky. He holds on tight, and the teeny bit of comfort he offers me is nice.

  It sucks t
o think that I’m going to have to knock on every damn door of the development tonight to find out whether Noah lives in one of the villas. I don’t recall seeing him within the lineup of men standing in my living room last night, but I also blurred over them all.

  The ride ends, and my legs feel like Jell-O as we step away from the constraints. I realize I’m still holding Noah’s hand, needing it for support now, so I don’t flop to the ground.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Starving.”

  “I figured it was best to eat after the ride.”

  “Smart man.”

  “Hot dog, corn dog, pizza, nachos, or a massive helping of fried dough?”

  “Is this a pre-planned date?” I question. If it’s not, I look like an asshole—probably a fired asshole.

  “No, ma’am. We’re not on a date, remember? This is what friends do. They eat shitty carnival food and enjoy the hell out of it.”

  “Fried dough and a beer then,” I tell him.

  Noah seems surprised. “I was just kidding. We can go down the street to a small Italian restaurant that I had in mind.”

  “I don’t want Italian,” I tell him. “I want shitty carnival food and beer.”

  “God, you’re making this hard,” he says, slipping his hand away from mine and placing it on my back.

  “How so?”

  “As I said, prissy girls aren’t my thing,” he reminds me.

  “Sure, but someday, you might need a woman who knows how to dress-up to be by your side when you have to act the part you play, right?” I don’t know if that sounds totally rude or not, but I haven’t forgotten the mention of his extraordinary entrepreneurial success.

  “All I care about is finding a woman who can be herself. I don’t dress to impress, Miss Ashley. Life’s too short to kiss ass, you know?”

  “Trust me, I know.” Hence the reason I couldn’t find a job up north.

  As we’re walking over to the concessions, there’s a little girl, maybe four or five, walking toward us with a giant blue balloon in one hand and an overfilled ice cream cone in the other. She’s alone, and I look around to see where she’s heading, focusing so intently on the balloon’s string and the cone. I see a mother placing napkins down on a small picnic table behind us, glancing up to check on who I assume to be her daughter.