Beach Cottage Kisses (The Cottages on Ocean Breeze #2)

Chapter Six

T he realtor, Walt Wright, asked if he could sit with his clients, a young couple without pets, right there at the cottage to write the offer. Since Scott, as a lawyer, was acting agent for his twin, he granted them permission and then headed toward the back door, to the half-finished beer he’d left outside.

As many times as he’d been in and out of Sage’s house without knocking, it didn’t feel right, suddenly, to remain on the porch, even. In fifteen minutes’ time, the feeling of ownership had transferred.

Figuring Iris would have gone home to dinner, he told Walt as he was leaving that he’d be at his place. Told the realtor to call when they were ready.

And walked outside to see Iris still there. Sitting in the sand, a dog lying on each side of her. A light in the darkness that had fallen.

Both on the day, and in his life at the moment.

His sense that the life he’d loved so much was changing was ridiculous. Sage and Leigh, and now his best friend, were all going to be right there. Underfoot. Just a few cottages farther down. He wasn’t losing his family.

He’d gained a brother.

“Change sucks,” he said as, beer in hand, he plopped down beside Iris.

“Even good change,” she agreed, staring out at the waves, not studying or analyzing him. Something he’d always liked about her.

That had changed for a second or two there over the weekend. Thank God his friend was back, at least.

“I don’t know how long they’ll be,” he told her. “I should get back. Morgan needs to eat.”

As did he.

“I’ve got a large baked potato in the oven,” she said. “I only eat half. And there’s salad. If you’d like to eat down here rather than walking back and forth. Angel has food to share with Morgan.”

He’d rather. Not because of Iris, in particular, but because she understood the melancholy that had fallen over him. More, she shared it.

With Sage’s marriage, her move down the beach and a new baby on the way, life was changing for Iris, too. She was bound to see less of both Sage and Leigh.

And the new buyers, that night’s activity, they’d affect Iris most as they’d be living right next door to her.

Besides, he hadn’t yet had a chance to see all of Iris’s dolphin photos before Walt had interrupted them.

“Morgan, you want to eat with Angel tonight?” he asked the corgi contentedly lying in the sand. Hearing the word eat , the girl stood up, her short little legs doing her rendition of a dance as she stared up at him.

“I take that as a yes,” he said, watching as Iris stood, too. Resisting an inner nudge to offer her a hand up. He’d never even had the thought before.

Told himself not to have it again as he walked by her side to the lighted cottage he’d only been in once or twice. To help move in the new living room furniture she’d purchased a couple of years before. And once to add an electrical outlet to her workroom.

She was a friend. Just like Gray. Not a slender woman dressed in finery, dancing in his arms.

What a mistake the whole best-man, maid-of-honor thing had been. When Sage had announced the coupling, suggesting to Scott that he bring a date, telling them both that there were seats and meals for a plus one for each of them at the bridal table, Scott had politely declined. The last thing he’d wanted that night was a casual person by his side who had no idea who Sage was, or how big the day was for her.

Or him, as it had turned out.

He’d given his twin away, so to speak.

Sharing the evening with a good friend who’d get it, while expecting nothing from him, had presented itself as the perfect choice.

If anyone had told him that the night would end with a kiss that didn’t seem to fade, he’d have scoffed. Clued them in on his and Iris’s very solidly platonic relationship.

She’d been talking about salad dressing choices. And the turkey and ham she’d already cut up for that night’s meal.

While he’d been trespassing on off-limit territories.

If not for the awkwardness he’d create, the questions he’d have to answer, he’d back out of the dinner invite.

And he comforted himself with the reminder that nothing could happen between them with a realtor next door calling him at any minute.

He was just lonely without Leigh’s pudgy-legged run and boisterous laughter on the beach. Her four-year-old way of seeing straight through him and calling him on any inconsistency he might make.

Whether it was a missed excuse me after he burped. Or a look of sadness on his face.

Times of adjustment were hard.

For everyone.

Human beings were comfortable in their routines.

But with no change, there’d be no growth. And limits to their happiness.

None of which he wanted. For himself, or anyone else.

They’d all get through it together and be a bigger, happier family on the other side.

He’d managed to make the short walk without creating a scene but hadn’t said a word.

Iris stopped in the sand in front of the first step up to her porch. “You okay?” she asked. Studying him again.

Danger! Danger! He had a flash of an old sitcom his father used to watch when he was young, one that he’d introduced to his kids, about a family living in outer space. Their robot always called out the danger to the young boy, Will, if he remembered correctly.

“Fine,” he told Iris, smiling at the memory as he answered her. “It’s just…”

“Sage’s place,” she filled in when he might have made a critical miss-turn into something more. “Having strangers in it, soon to own it, is just…weird.”

With a roll of his eyes, he said, “You got that right,” and, taking a sip of warm beer, followed her and the girls up the three steps and into the house.

* * *

As hungry as Iris had been, she wasn’t feeling it all that much as she took her first bite.

They’d just sat down to dinner at the wooden kitchen table Iris had eaten on as a kid when Walt Wright called to let Scott know that he’d just sent over the offer. The couple, Liza and Burt, needed to get to the airport, and Walt was rushing to get them there.

Scott had read the offer as he’d consumed the other half of her baked potato and two bowls brimming with chef salad with barbecue sauce and ranch dressing mixed together.

How it could be that they’d been friends for three years and she’d never known he preferred the combined dressing she didn’t know.

Didn’t really like the fact.

It was just more of the way that he was changing, morphing into a guy other than the friend she’d known.

With their status quo gone, it was no wonder she’d been heading toward a bit of a relapse into the emotionally crippled young woman she’d once been.

He’d sent a text to Sage when he’d completed his read through, telling Iris that he was certain his sister would have him accept. Iris didn’t ask for details. He didn’t offer them.

And then he did. “They want to take possession next week. I’ll need to get the rest of Sage’s stuff moved out.”

“I’ll help,” Iris said, glad to have a part in things—and something concrete to do with herself—as she stood up to clear the table.

Scott typed on his phone. And by the time she came back for the salad dressings and plates of fixings on the table, he was grinning and said, “She appreciates the offer.” And then added, “I’m sure she’d rather have you packing boxes than me.”

She remembered a time he’d had to move stuff out of his spare bedroom to have the floor redone due to a bathroom plumbing fiasco. She and Sage had offered to help him pack, but he’d said he’d already taken care of it.

Turned out he’d thrown everything in suitcases and random boxes, without any kind of protective wrap. And hadn’t labeled anything, either. She knew that because he’d groused later about wasting an hour looking for something he’d needed.

Not that she told him so. While she and Sage had been amused, he had not been. Instead, she left him on his phone at the table and headed into the galley cooking area, happy to have had him over.

And to have dinner done, too.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she called from around the corner. “We should probably do it then. You’ll be in trial all week, and I have a wedding to shoot next Saturday.” She was backing up from bending over in the refrigerator, to drop meat in the temperature-controlled drawer where she stored it, as she spoke.

And shoved her butt right into a hard male thigh.

Jerking, she moved quickly, turning, intending to step farther into the kitchen to let Scott pass, and he’d done so as well. Both of them moving forward in tandem, as they turned.

The hardness that touched her hip that time was not a thigh.

It was an unmistakable body part.

And not at all in a platonic state.

* * *

“I was just coming in to throw the napkins away,” Scott blurted, holding up their used paper products. And then, backing out of the galley, he shoved them in his pants pocket saying, “I’m going to head out so I can set this up for electronic signature and get it sent to Sage tonight. Thanks for dinner, it was great. Morgan, let’s go, girl.”

He was still talking as he shooed the girl out her back door. Giving her no chance to make anything out of what must have been a purely instinctive bodily reaction due to a part of the body being touched .

She hadn’t been going to. No need.

Guys got hard randomly.

Without conscious thought involved.

A common bodily function. Like breathing.

No way she was going to embarrass Scott, or make a problem where they didn’t need one, over something completely innocuous.

She gave him time to get home, and then texted him.

what time tomorrow later in the day works for me

And breathed her first good slug of air when he texted right back.

Four?

They’d faced another, brief, potential friendship-threatening storm. But they’d done what they’d said they were going to do. They’d kept their hands off each other.

All was fine.

She slept well.

And was fully on track when she presented herself at Sage’s door just before four o’clock the next afternoon. Scott had been on textile duty, packing clothes into suitcases, towels, linens and blankets in boxes, and would be taking them all down to Sage’s new home, rather than putting them into storage.

Armed with the professional moving boxes Iris had picked up, along with a ream of packing paper lodged under her arm, tape over her wrist and a black marker in her jeans pocket, she called out, “I’m here!” and started in the kitchen, wrapping glasses.

Sage had taken her everyday dishes with her, but there was a set of Christmas china with matching crystal, wineglasses and various other random pieces in the back of the first cupboard she tackled.

Gray had owned a huge, lovely home, including a kitchen with state-of-the-art everything, and a lot of what they were using had come from there.

The rest was going into storage until they got all their permits and were able to build on to the cottage at the end of the beach.

Another couple, also married since Iris and Sage and Scott had moved to Ocean Breeze, Cassie and Dennis, a pediatrician and a college professor, lived in the cottage at the other end of the beach, over a mile away from Gray’s. They were planning on a major addition as well. They’d already been through paperwork and had told Sage and Gray just before their wedding that they were certain the Bartholomews’ cottage renovations would be approved.

Iris was just diving into the second cupboard, a half-empty one, holding a plethora of pink depression glass, and turned to see Scott standing there, watching her.

He was in jeans and a black T-shirt. All long legs topped with solid muscle…

“You need something?” she asked, turning back around so quickly she dislodged a creamer and would have broken it if she hadn’t shoved forward against the cupboard, effectively catching the vintage glass against her chest.

Of course he wasn’t in the dress pants, or beach shorts in which she normally saw him, Iris berated herself, praying he hadn’t seen her giveaway gaffe.

“A beer.” Scott’s response sounded a tad bit desperate.

Praying it was only her ears making up the nuance. Packing wasn’t his thing. And though Sage had moved out, there was a somewhat daunting amount of stuff left behind.

They had a long night ahead of them.

“There’s some at my place if you want to make a run for it,” she said into the cupboard. No more turning around. She’d learned her lesson.

Scott in jeans was a rare enough sight that she’d do well to avoid a second encounter for the moment.

“There’s some right here.” His voice came from just behind her right as she heard the refrigerator open. “I stocked it this afternoon. Help yourself when you’re ready.”

Right. She would. Gladly. As soon as he’d disappeared back to the other side of the cottage.

And left her to prepare herself for the next view of him. One in which she knew what was coming and therefore wouldn’t feel as though shock had done her dirty, leaving her dripping with unwanted desire for a man she didn’t ever want to touch.

* * *

Scott left Sage’s bedroom for Iris to handle. He tackled his sister’s office and Leigh’s room instead. He had movers scheduled for the next day. Everything going into storage, including what furniture was left in the place—Sage’s bed and dresser, a couch and the kitchen table and chairs—had to be ready to go.

Bathroom stuff he could handle himself later, if they didn’t get to it.

Same for the laundry area cupboards.

Sage had figured she’d have time to pack up the place after she got back. To go through things. But she’d already taken out much of the stuff that meant the most to her.

Scott found some photos, though. On the bottom of her file drawer, underneath the hanging files. Mostly of her and Scott, taken at various times through their early years, all when their mother was alive.

Back when failure had been a natural part of the learning process. Not a sin.

So what was his latent, persistent and momentarily intense attraction to his good friend there to teach him?

Not to fail. He answered the mental question with an immediate and strongly felt response. Put the photos in a manila envelope to take home until he could personally hand them to Sage, and moved on with the job at hand.

Rejecting thoughts right and left as he went.

Those hips.

Stop . File folders in file folder boxes. He might need more boxes. Started stacking folders along the wall so the cabinet in which they were held could be moved.

They smelled musty.

Iris smelled like lilacs, fresh sea air and… Stop .

The hour went on. His packing progressed. The mental workout continued.

And the office was done.

Passing Sage’s door on his way to Leigh’s room, Scott caught a glimpse of movement in his sister’s bedroom. Thought Iris was still in the kitchen.

Figuring the shadow was from one of the dogs, he glanced in.

To see his platonic friend standing in her leggings and long-sleeved tee, with a cloth bag in one hand and what could only be described as a still-packaged sex toy in her hand. No other way to see that one.

As he paused, Iris glanced up at him. And continued to look. As she had the previous weekend.

Not staring. More like searching. Definitely crossing a line from friendly to…more.

Until she blinked.

And he looked away.

He meant to move down the hall. His feet remained in place. His gaze resting on the package in Iris’s hand.

Seeing not his twin sister, at all—the package wasn’t opened—but Iris…as though she’d brought the thing into the house with her.

“She got it as a gag gift from a law clerk a couple of years ago,” the gorgeous woman said, her amber hair like a fire around her, over her shoulders and down her body.

The kind of flame that burned a man with pleasure. Not pain.

“I just found it on the top closet shelf, back in the corner. Looks like it fell out of that thing of plastic storage drawers she kept there…”

She seemed to be rambling.

Not at all Iris-like.

“I’m off to Leigh’s room,” he said.

And with a nod, he took off.