Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEREMY
We crawl through the little town, which is largely empty this time of year, except for locals clad in dark raincoats, a stark contrast to the colorful crowds of tourists during the summer months.
I direct Marcus up the main road until we pass the last shop and turn right on a little side street that dead ends at a beach house perched over the ocean.
Like many places around here, the house has white trim and is slatted with wooden planks that have been weathered by the elements to look like driftwood.
A hand-painted sign, visible from the gravel driveway, hangs near the door and reads, Otter Limits.
Pictured on it are two sea otters holding hands.
“This is it?” Marcus asks.
“Yeah.” I wait for a hint of judgment to color his tone like when he visited my apartment. But it never comes, and I’m grateful. The beach house doesn’t look like much, but it means a lot to me.
He cuts the engine. “Is it a rental?”
I shake my head. “My aunt’s ex-boyfriend, Mike, owns it. They dated for most of my childhood, and he was the closest thing to a father figure I had after my dad died. They stayed friends after the breakup, and he lets us use it whenever we want.”
“That’s really nice of him. I can’t say any of my exes would be that kind.”
“You have a lot of exes?”
His shoulders stiffen defensively. “Not a lot.”
“You seem like a heartbreaker,” I say with a knowing hum.
“My high school girlfriend, Lizzy, would probably agree with you.”
I give him a hard look, though I’m half joking. “What did you do to poor Lizzy?”
“Nice try, but that’s a conversation that requires a lot of alcohol.”
“Oh!” I clap my hands together. “Noted.”
Marcus rolls his eyes, unbuckles his seatbelt, and exits the truck.
I do the same, then grab my bag and approach the house while Marcus gets my suitcase and his duffel.
I enter a number code in a lockbox by the door and fish out a brass key, fitting it into the lock with a jerky turn.
I glance around as I enter. Everything looks pretty much the same as when I visited last fall: dark hardwood floors that lead from the foyer to a well-stocked, albeit small, kitchen and an open living room with a gray sofa and a leather armchair facing a TV, flanked by impressive bookshelves.
The west-facing wall is all large windows and a sliding glass door that leads out to a small patch of grass with a rickety staircase winding directly to the beach.
The windows are open, so the space smells like sea salt and old books.
I hear Marcus enter and turn to find him hauling my suitcase into the living room with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and my bag of car snacks clutched in his other hand.
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you to bring in my stuff, Marcus.” He drops his bag dramatically and glares at me. “But thank you all the same.”
His expression softens, and he offers me the suitcase handle. “You’re welcome.” He looks around, taking in the space, and an expression I can’t read crosses his face when his gaze catches on the ocean view.
“What is it?”
“It just reminds me of the pub’s view of Elliott Bay, and I have a similar view of English Bay at my apartment in Vancouver.”
“You must have a thing for ocean views.”
He nods absently and approaches the sliding glass door. To the left, you can barely see Haystack Rock nestled in the marine fog, but on a clear day, it rises from the turbulent waters like a sleeping giant. “I like being close to the water. It’s comforting.”
I walk over to stand next to him and point at a section of rocks jutting out to the right. “Sometimes, the sea otters sun themselves there.”
“This place is really cool,” Marcus rumbles, and his deep voice goes straight through me. He turns, surveying the rest of the house. “What’s the sleeping situation, anyway?”
“Yeah, about that. There’s literally one bed.” I wave my hand at the gray sofa. “So you can take the couch. I used to sleep on it when I stayed here with my aunt.”
He studies it skeptically. “No offense, but I’m a little bigger than you.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I quip. “But as I mentioned before we left Seattle, I wasn’t planning on bringing a burly six-foot-two man along with me for this trip.”
“I’m actually six-three.”
I roll my eyes, and I consider letting him have the queen-sized bed, but honestly? I don’t think he’s earned it. “Marcus, you’re welcome to get a room in town.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he grumbles and brings his duffel to the armchair. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
I roll my suitcase down the hallway to the bedroom and unpack.
It’s only a short trip, but I hate living out of a suitcase.
When Marion first started traveling with me, she used to make fun of my immediate need to unpack, even if it was just an overnight trip.
I blame my childhood trauma. When I was living with my foster family, they never gave me any furniture other than a mattress.
I just had the suitcase I arrived with, and that’s where I kept everything for an entire year.
Total downer, right?
After I mentioned the reason to Marion, she stopped teasing me, and now she just gives me pitying looks when I unpack on vacation. Which is why I don’t tell people about it.
“What now?” Marcus asks when I return to the kitchen.
I pick up a couple of reusable bags and toss them at him. “We need groceries.”
“Can’t we just eat out?”
I give him a tolerant look. “We’re not all made of money, hun.”
He flushes. “How much can a burger cost?”
“Cannon Beach rivals Seattle prices, my friend.”
“I never realized.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My parents always paid for stuff when we came here.”
His statement gives me pause. “You came here more than once?”
“Yeah, all the time. It was my stepmom’s favorite spot.”
Interesting. I wonder how often we were here together and never knew it.
“Anyway, groceries. It’s just a quick walk into town.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving,” Marcus protests. “Is the grocery store open?”
“The general store is. They have shortened morning hours. I checked.”
We step outside, and I lock the door behind us. Marcus eyes the dark, thick clouds as he tugs on his black rain slicker.
“Well, would you look at that? He does own a raincoat,” I murmur.
Marcus scowls. “We can take my truck if you want.”
I put on a similar coat, but mine is a bright yellow. I may love the gloom, but as my aunt always says, sometimes we need a little color in our lives. “I’m okay walking.”
“Yeah, okay,” Marcus responds, eyeing the clouds distrustfully.
I give him an amused smile. “You don’t melt in the rain, do you?”
His only response is a noncommittal grunt and an eyeroll.
Classic Marcus.
We start our walk into town, and for once, the silence between us doesn’t feel awkward, at least not until we reach South Hemlock Street and the narrow sidewalk forces us to walk close enough to touch.
Even through layers of clothing, I’m hyperaware of Marcus’s body heat, and it makes my heart pound painfully hard.
I glance over at him, and when he looks back, he trips over a crack in the sidewalk. I grab his elbow to steady him, but he flinches like I burned him. I huff in annoyance, the reaction souring my mood.
I try to remind myself that he’s not doing it on purpose, but in the back of my mind, I wonder if bringing him here was worth disrupting my peace.
But I consider his vulnerable expression when he told me that he needed to leave Seattle, and I soften a bit.
He seemed so alone. Working with him over the past few weeks has made me realize that when Marcus isn’t guarded, he’s actually a lot of fun.
He may be a prickly bastard, but maybe he’s worth it. Well, the jury’s still out on that one.
We reach the market, and before we enter, I turn to him and cross my arms over my chest. “Look, we’re not here for a romantic getaway, so I don’t think we should plan meals together or whatever.
It’s three nights, so just buy whatever you want to eat and I’ll do the same.
Sound good?” He nods, his face neutral, and it annoys me even more. “Great,” I snip and walk inside.
It only takes about fifteen minutes for me to get my groceries, and when I walk outside, Marcus is already sitting on one of the wooden benches, frowning at his phone. He glances up when I approach and stuffs the device in his pocket.
“Is everything okay?”
He looks around quickly, his eyes catching on a black SUV in the parking lot. “Uh, yeah, all good.”
His tone is clipped, like my concern is unwanted, and I glower at him, dropping my groceries on the ground with a little growl. And I do not growl.
Marcus stares up at me, surprised. “What’s wrong, Jeremy?”
“You.” I wave my hands in his general direction. “You’re what’s wrong. Your hot-and-cold bullshit is driving me crazy. If you don’t want to be here with me, then why did you come?”
He places his forearms on his knees and studies me. I hate how calm he seems. “I needed someplace to go, remember?”
“Well, you could’ve gone anywhere else. Why here with me? I came here to get away from the city and destress.”
“I thought you came for a meeting.”
“That was an added bonus. But this place is my happy place.” I press my hands together and give him a pleading look. “Don’t ruin it.”
He sighs, running a large hand through the longer strands of his hair. “I’m sorry. As much as you probably don’t believe me, it’s not you—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say it’s me.”
He grins sheepishly and raises his hands in surrender. Some of the tension leaves my body because seeing him smile does stupid things to my stomach. I pick up my bags, and we make the trek back to the beach house.