Chapter 33
thirty-three
CLAIRE
We lay on the sand like teenagers who didn’t want to go home yet, chip papers crackling between us. Far above, the late autumn sky sparkled like some godly child had kicked over a tub of glitter.
Otterleigh Bay murmured somewhere behind us, pub laughter, a sound of a TV mumbled somewhere.
Trevor.
I’d have expected him to be off roosting at night.
Do seagulls roost?
During my time at Rose Cottage, we’d come to somewhat of a truce. If he behaved himself while I ate outside, I’d allow him the corners of my toast. It was still a work in progress.
The acrid vinegar hit the back of my throat, making my eyes water. Not my favourite way to gag… that’s for sure. Owen ate another mouthful of chips before swallowing and rolling to face me.
‘I kind of like you with sand in your hair’, Owen said, reaching out with cold fingers to brush some off my face.
‘Only kind of?’ I teased, spearing a chunky, soggy chip that tried to escape.
‘Brat. I ache for you, you sand dappled goddess.’ Owen tried to suppress his laughter.
‘Better.’
We ate in comfortable silence, soaking in the sound of the gentle waves crashing on the shore. Fingers pressed to the chip paper, half because we were greedy buggers, and half to warm through our frozen hands.
When I finished eating, I flopped back onto the sand and soaked in the glorious view—both Owen and the sky beyond him.
‘So.’ Owen placed his wrapper aside and immediately lost a chip to Trevor. ‘Updates from the land of awful. My lawyer served a cease-and-desist to Becky, and a very blunt note about the legal definition of revenge porn. With any luck, that’s the last we hear from her.’
I relaxed against the sand, hoping she was gone for good. Fingers crossed, I wouldn’t see Becky’s face around Otterleigh Bay again. ‘Good riddance to bad eggs.’
‘Any news from Marty?’
‘Nothing at all, and long may it continue. If he resurfaces, I might need to borrow that lawyer.’
‘What’s mine is yours.’ Owen traced an icy finger over my collarbone, and I shivered.
‘I can’t believe it’s my last week in Rose Cottage, these two months have zipped by.’ I swallowed and rolled to face Owen, smiling as his fingers moved to my jaw. ‘It’s flown by.’
Stepping into the bare cottage, dust sheets obscuring nearly everything, felt like a million years ago.
I’d spent weeks perfecting its cottage-core vibe until it was pin-worthy.
The owner had already filled it through until Spring after my time was up.
I felt like I’d been renovated, too. Stripped back from all the things I thought I wanted, bared, and rebuilt from the ground up.
‘What happens after your last week? London?’ Owen kissed me sweetly before resting his forehead on mine. ‘And if it is… will I fit in your bag?’
My pulse quickened as I luxuriated in his scent. All wood and whisky and every so slightly vinegar that night.
‘No. You won’t. You’re a big hulking behemoth of a guy, and you’d burst my zips. But also because I don’t want London. I love it here. The thought of leaving makes me want to cry.’
The relief came off him in waves. ‘Move in with me. Inspector Meowrse will make room in my bed, and let’s face it, you already almost live there.’
‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think it’s soon enough, to be honest.’
I flushed and flattened a hand against his cheek. ‘You’re not sick of me yet?’
‘Never. Not even when I discover abandoned socks and have to watch reality TV.’
‘I want to open my own PR and marketing agency. Aimed at small businesses, like the ones in Otterleigh Bay. Where I can actually help people rather than fighting pop-up fires every day for massive corporations that don’t care about me, somewhere I’m not made to feel small.
Where if I cock up, it’s my cock-up, and if I win, it’s my win. ’
A ripple of pleasure filled Owen’s handsome face, melting my insides. ‘Good. Mum’s been dying for me to invite you for Christmas. Want to put her out of her misery?’
I grinned. I’d grown rather fond of the Harris clan. ‘Right now?’
‘She’ll need ample time to knit you a god awful monogrammed jumper.’
I raised my brows.
‘Oh yes, I lured you in before revealing that secret. I still have all thirty-odd of them stashed away.’
‘And Becky wanted to reveal your rope kink… amateur.’
Owen kissed me as I giggled, his tongue stroking need into me that was entirely indecent.
He fished his phone out and rang Jean. The pub appeared on screen, full-blown noise blasting out over the beach. Jean, Isla, Jeff and Jim hunched over a quiz sheet while Kenny called out questions in the background.
I’ve got great news,’ Owen said.
‘What?’ Jean asked.
‘Speak up!’ Jim added.
‘Oi, Kenny, shush a minute.’ Isla had the whole pub quiet in under a minute.
‘Awesome news. Claire is staying. And moving in with me.’
Jean gasped, hands to mouth and eyes shining.
‘And she’s definitely coming for Christmas.’ Jean clapped as Owen announced it.
‘You’ll need to get your needles out,’ Morag came over and put a hand on Jean’s shoulder.
‘Oh, my heart. Christmas at ours it is!’ Jean’s voice wobbled with glee. And it felt wonderful to see them happy that I was staying, like I belonged.
Jim leaned towards the phone. ‘Welcome home, lass.’
I blinked back tears. They may not have been my parents, but it didn’t make their warmth feel any less special.
Jeff yelled, ‘Hey Claire, what’s the capital of Canada? Toronto, right?’
A beer mat swiftly entered the picture, clipping him right on the forehead.
We promised to swing by after the quiz for a drink. Or three.
When Owen ended the call, he scooped me against him and cuddled me tight.
‘Well then,’ he said.
‘Well then,’ I repeated, leaning my head back against his shoulder and soaking in the moment.
A breeze tousled my hair, and rose goosepimples over my skin. Sand coated my clothing, and I smelled like vinegar and chips, but I didn’t care. My city self, who used to wear business attire as if it were armour, looked at the sea and the stars and the man and said, Fine. We’ll allow this.
‘I think I found my place,’ I said into his sleeve, surprised by how sure it sounded. ‘Untamed hair and all.’
‘Aye,’ he said, kissing the top of my head like a habit he intended to keep. ‘Looks like it found you back.’
I slid my hand into Owen’s, and he squeezed.