Hailee
I wake up to my ears popping. I look out the window first and see a white strip of beach off in the distance. Below us is dark-blue water dimpled with white caps.
Alex hasn’t looked up from his computer. Maybe he’s being polite, or maybe he’s too engrossed in his work to notice I woke up. He squints at his screen as if he’s in pain. I’m not sure how much of an escape this little trip is going to be for him.
He doesn’t seem like the type to disconnect and turn it off.
I widen my eyes and pinch sleep out from their corners by acting like I’m rubbing the bridge of my nose. A radio hum comes through the headset for a few seconds before the pilot speaks.
“We’ll be landing in five.”
“What’d we do, Charles?”
“We’ll be looking at an hour and eight minutes. Breaking the record by a cool six.”
“Nice flying.”
“Thank the wind. It saved you a grand on gas.”
“I’ll buy you something nice.”
“Scotch’ll do.”
“Is that what’s responsible for the record time today?”
“No comment, sir.”
I frown a little. I don’t think Alex was serious about our pilot being drunk on scotch at the moment, but the man did seem like the type—long white mustache, too ornery and old to care about the rules anymore.
We descend another few hundred feet, and I can see the sparse prairie of beach grass blowing in the wind. We circle a slate-gray cottage, cedar shingled from the looks of it. I realize we’re skipping the heliport this time and landing on the front lawn.
I think the size of the structure is actually in line with a cottage.
It’s no castle or mansion by any means. The place sincerely looks like a house. Two-thousand square feet, max.
We land so the view out my window is sand dune and ocean, and once we bounce down gently, we wait for the rotors to completely stop spinning before exiting.
Alex takes off his headset. I forgot mine was even on and mimic him.
“Is it dangerous to step out when the blades are spinning?” I ask.
“It’s because of the sand.”
That’s all Alex offers for conversation. Bruce gets out first and opens our door, and I step out into the wind and sun. What I’m surprised by first is the silence. I guess silence is the wrong word. Lack of city noise is the term I’m looking for.
There’s the cry of gulls and whoosh of wind and a little rattle as the pods of the beach grass sway, but other than that… nothing.
“Where’s your nearest neighbor?” I ask Alex. I realize the question could come off a little strange. But I’m not asking how alone are we? I’m genuinely curious.
“A mile south. I own the cove.”
I look around at all the land in sight. There are oak trees farther inland. Rolling hills of sand and a thousand feet of pristine beachfront.
I’m done with the money doesn’t buy happiness hypothesis. I think the problem is the wrong people have money. People who always want more and more and more. You give me this land and one one-thousandth of Alex’s cash, and I’ll wake up like its Christmas morning every damn day.
I look at the house. The grass we landed on is as manicured and short as a putting green. I have the urge to kick off my shoes and run to the beach. Instead, I follow Bruce up the white wooden steps of the porch as he brings my bag to the door.
Alex opens the front door, and we step in.
I can tell he has a certain taste. Old architecture. Modern amenities. The place has dinged wood floors. Original. All the scars and divots crisscrossing the boards make me imagine the generations of New England kids and family dogs who spent their summers here.
The theme isn’t overly nautical, but you can tell by looking at the paint color and décor that this is a beach house.
“Bruce, take her bag to the east room,” says Alex. “The ocean view is all yours. Although it does get quite bright in the mornings.”
I don’t think Alex would be able to relate to my glee at the prospect of waking with the rising sun, putting on a pot of coffee, and opening a paperback. “That works fine,” I say indifferently. “Are we on different floors again?” I ask, somewhat teasing.
“Yes, actually. There’s only two bedrooms. One on the first floor and another on the second. But it turns out I was a little ambitious getting away so soon. I’ve got to work. But feel free to make yourself at home. The shed is unlocked, and there are bikes if you want to go to town. Mann’s Harbor is about a twenty-minute ride each way. The road will take you there. No turns.”
“Is it safe for me to go alone?”
Alex sighs. “More than safe. I don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about. Your brother is paranoid more than anything. Keeping you around is more of a favor to his sanity.”
“Why don’t you tell him that?”
“Do you know your own brother?”
I bite my lip. He’s right. There is no way Lucas would be okay with me living by myself right now. It’s ironic that I’m the one taking care of my brother and his feelings by agreeing to stay with Alex.
“Fair point,” I say.
“He wouldn’t even let me leave you in New York with security.”
It takes a moment for this statement to register, and when it does, the wind is taken out of my sails.
Alex wanted to come up here alone. I’m just baggage. And the first thing he suggests is sending me off to town on a bicycle. I suddenly feel like a child intruding on the bigger kid’s space, but our parents are forcing us to play.
“That sounds like Lucas,” I try to say normally. But I suddenly feel like a burden and the words are heavy. “I’ll go to town. Enjoy your workday.”
I walk past him and go to the first-floor bedroom. I smile at Bruce as he walks past me after having dropped off my suitcase. The bed here is also a queen, but the room is much smaller. Its walls are white-painted wood. I can hear the cottage creak in the sea breeze, and the view out the eastern windows that the bed faces is amazing.
It’s all shining sea to the horizon. I have to make sure I’m awake to see the sunrise.
I change into army green athletic pants and a white T-shirt. I complete the look with a baseball cap to keep the sea breeze from blinding me with my own hair. When I go back downstairs, I see neither Alex nor Bruce.
The pilot is drinking a glass of water on the front porch. I avoid everybody and go through the kitchen and out a side door.
I see the shed right away. It has gray shingles like the house and is shaped like a mini barn. I open the door. It’s mostly lawn care stuff, but there are a pair of bicycles leaning against the wall.
His-and-her cruisers. One peach with a basket on the handlebars and one black without. I smile to myself, trying to picture Alex on the black bicycle. I simply can’t.
I take the peach one and set off down the gravel road towards the oak trees.
I haven’t ridden a bike in years and forgot how fun it can be to just cruise with the wind at my back. I try to let the beauty of this place make me forget about my forced invitation, but pretty as it is, my mind won’t shut up.
What am I doing with my life? I should be interviewing for that job position with the forestry company this week, not riding a bicycle around my billionaire boss’s coastal estate.
I feel ridiculous. Why’d I take his suggestion?
I should’ve at least walked just so it doesn’t feel like I chased the bone he threw for me. Bike to town. Good girl. Those words aren’t so sexy when he’s getting rid of me. I stop biking and brake by digging my heel into the gravel.
I straddle the seat and watch the helicopter take off. It sounds like its own little storm. Ripping and pounding the air. It swoops out towards the water and rises in a swift arc on its way back to New York.
I should’ve hitched a ride. Alex doesn’t control me. If I knew I was an unwelcome addition to his retreat, I never would have agreed to come.
I need to turn my thoughts off. I keep biking and pick up the pace, and pretty soon my idea works because I’m too winded to think.
I get to Mann’s Harbor, and I’m almost pissed at how cute it is. It’s all tiny storefronts and brightly colored houses. I see the masts of sailboats rising up from the harbor and can smell the summery scent of frying fish.
There’s a long line of antique stores, and one shop at the corner of the block has a black board on the sidewalk advertising in chalk, Antiques & Books .
Perfect.
I lean my bike on the wall of the place. Alex didn’t mention a bike lock, and it doesn’t look like the kind of place where you’d need one. The streets are all mostly empty. There are no cars and just a handful of retirees out and about.
I need to change my attitude. If I’m stuck in a cute coastal town for the next few days, I need to learn how to have a good date with the person I’m forever trapped with: me.
I buy an armful of books and fill half the bike’s basket, and then I cross the street to the walk-up ice cream shop.
“Hello?” I say aloud when I get to the window. There’s no one in sight, but the window is open and the soft serve machines hum.
“Hey!” A young man appears. He’s my age, with a strong jaw, slight stubble, and light-brown eyes that shine amber in the sunlight. He smiles. “How can I help you?”
“Could I have a vanilla cone please?”
“Sure thing. Dipped?”
“What’s that?”
“You want it dipped in chocolate?”
“Oh. No, thanks.”
“Coming right up.” He takes a cone from a stack of them and holds the lever on the ice cream machine. It makes a mean growl, and the vanilla slithers out into the cone slowly and turd-like. I’m glad I didn’t order chocolate.
“What brings you to Mann’s Harbor?” the young man asks. I suppose this machine is so slow, it would be awkward to not make small talk.
“I’m here for a long weekend.”
“You picked a good time if you don’t like people. These streets were shoulder-to-shoulder last weekend.”
This guy is cute. I won’t deny that. I could probably ask him if he could show me around town once he gets off work. I don’t care that he works at an ice cream stand. I’m not shallow.
“I prefer it quiet,” I say. “What’s the best restaurant around here?”
“Seaside.” He points up the block and hands me my cone. “It’s on the marina. Get the lobster anything.”
“I will. Thank you,” I say as I pay.
“Have a good time here. Maybe I’ll see you for seconds.”
“Maybe.” I smile, and he smiles back before I turn from this Hallmark movie interaction.
Sweet as they are, the love in those flicks makes me think of sex under the covers, lights off and missionary only.
Essentially as vanilla as my damn cone. I want to get fucked. Sue me. Slut shame me. Whatever. Even on my wedding night, I’d prefer it rough. It’s still making love if I get my hair pulled. Right?
This guy didn’t radiate sex, but maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t need to hook up with some guy who’s convinced he’s Casanova.
A date might be cute. The sex might be solid. And Alex didn’t say no dates, after all. Hell, this seems like the stars aligning. I don’t have to be bored all weekend. I make a mental note of the ice cream shop’s hours and keep walking down the block.
I go to the marina to look at the sailboats in their slits. I mean slips, damn it.
A couple of them catch my eye. One has a navy-blue hull that contrasts beautifully with a teak wood deck. And there are a couple of sleeker catamarans docked next to it that look like they belong in the Caribbean.
There’s one older man spraying the side of his boat with a hose and a couple of empty slips suggesting a boat or two has been taken out to sea, but other than that the place is a ghost town.
The September sun beats down on me. When it’s not windy, the heat is enough to make me sweat. The town has a strange feeling to it, being so empty while the weather is still lovely.
Abandoned. Like a storm is coming that we know nothing about. Funnily enough, my anxiety is gone, though. I’ve enjoyed spending this time by myself. I’m looking forward to finding a tree to lean against and read for the afternoon.
I think I can have a fun day out by myself until I see the restaurant Seaside. It’s closed until dinnertime, presumably. There’s a cute little deck that overlooks the ocean.
I stop walking.
This is the part I can’t do while single—a nice dinner out followed by an evening in bed. The empty restaurant makes me feel lonely, and it doesn’t help that there’s not a sound to be heard in this little town other than the cool Atlantic wind.
I go back to my bike and start back towards the cottage, not feeling that much better than when I left after all.