3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Beck
“Sorry again about the scare with the llama,” I say as we walk slowly in the sand. Maybe if we start walking back to the boardwalk, I’ll find it easier to leave once I reach my truck.
The woman with the russet hair laughs. “I’ve never been spat on by an animal before. I need a shower.”
“Did he get you in the face?”
“No, thankfully.” She frowns. “My arm. I had my sports jacket off at the time.” She shudders, her eyes flashing with horror.
I force thoughts of seeing her without the jacket on out of my head and instead drop my head back in laughter. “I’ve heard that Prince Harry spits on people he likes. He’s odd that way.”
I know plenty about odd animals. I love my golden retriever, but he’s so unlike any animal I’ve ever known.
“I should be flattered then,” she says.
I laugh again. “On behalf of everyone in Willow Cove, I apologize about Prince Harry. His owner recently passed away and the guy’s nephew, my friend King, took him in. Sometimes King gets busy at the bakery or the surf shop and the llama escapes the yard.” I realize I’m still staring at her, so I shift my gaze to look above her. “A few stars are out.”
She turns to look. “Oooh. Do you know their names?”
“No. I should,” I say. Why am I suddenly wishing I’d brushed up on my astronomy knowledge? “Maybe I’ll learn them.”
“For nights your equipment doesn’t come in and you can’t keep working, you workaholic.”
“Sounds like you’re the workaholic at some mysterious job you can’t tell me about.” I regard her carefully, slowing my walk so I can take her in. “Let me guess. You’re a professional sleeper?”
This woman is cute, almost sprightly. She has more energy in her baby toe than a wind turbine. But right now, she’s fixing me with a stare down that makes me squirm, especially with her razor sharp smile. “Are you calling me a…lady of the night?”
“What? No. A professional sleeper . Someone hired by mattress companies to try out the beds. I could see why you wouldn’t want people to know about that.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Yeah. But since you thought I meant something else, I’m guessing you don’t do that.” I appraise her again, thinking hard. “You’re an odor judge, employed by deodorant companies to test their products.”
“Ha!” She laughs. “That would be my worst nightmare.”
She unbuttons her suit coat, moving the hem of it in and out to let in a breeze. It’s nice to see her relaxing a little.
“Just think of the greater good, though,” I insist. “You’d be helping to take care of BO, one sniff at a time. It’s noble, really.”
She laughs, stares past me, and her eyes widen. She shivers.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m in North Carolina. In a sports coat. Of course I’m not cold.”
We look at the sky again, and the silence feels nice, until she glances over my shoulder again and frowns. She shivers a second time.
“Come here,” I say quietly. “You are cold.”
“I’m not! I’m fine.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
She raises a brow. “Look at Billy quoting Bill Shakespeare.”
“I’ve learned a thing or two.” I laugh, which is nice. It’s been a while.
She sticks her chin out, the breeze catching her hair again, so that it whips her face. She tucks a lock behind one ear. “Oh, yeah? What else have you learned in your long life?”
“Twenty-eight isn’t long,” I say. “I’m still foolish. Foolish enough to fall prey to cute golden retriever puppies.”
She gives a fake gasp. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t fall prey to a puppy. That’s the oldest trick in the book.” She squeezes her fists tight next to her face. “They’re so cute with their warm bodies and their big doe eyes and then pretty soon, they’ve weaseled their way into your heart and you’re beholden to their every whim for the rest of their lives.”
“Wow. Did you follow me with a hidden camera five years ago? That’s exactly what happened.”
She drops her head back and giggles. “My assistant at work has a golden retriever.”
“And work is…?”
She pushes against my chest. “I’m not falling for that.” She tilts her head and tries to read me. “Tell me about your golden retriever. My mom’s allergic so we couldn’t have a dog growing up.”
I huff out a breath. “He’s the most dramatic dog you’ve ever seen. High maintenance. He’s got halitosis, something fierce. And he fakes injuries. I’ve taken him to the vet three times when there wasn’t anything actually wrong with him.”
“Sounds like he’s been good for you. Keeps you on your toes.”
“Something like that.” Even though he’s difficult sometimes, I owe Ace a lot. With Chloe leaving, my parents in Africa, and Elliott unavailable most of the time, he’s been my homie.
She wraps her arms around herself, her expression dissolving in concern.
“You don’t have to accept my very warm hug.” I hold out my hands but take a step back. Don’t want to be a creep. “Just letting you know it’s available.”
“That’s nice of you. But I sort of think my mom would kill me if she heard I was hugging a stranger on a beach in North Carolina.”
“That’s it!” I snap my fingers. “You’re a professional cuddler.”
“A what?”
“People get paid to give hugs to people in need. It’s actually a thing,” I insist. “Non-sexual hugs. Just for a person’s general well-being.”
“How do you even know all this?”
“My neighbor had to make a poster for school about the weirdest jobs in America. He gave me the speech and everything.”
“That’s kind of cute.” She looks past me again, so I turn my head to see what she’s so worried about.
“Don’t look!” she hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer to her. A waft of her fruity scent makes me think of Georgian peaches and pi?a coladas.
“Why? Is a mama sea turtle about to attack?” I tease.
“It’s just…” She sighs, her gaze narrowing. “Look. I used to date this guy, okay?” She’s whispering now. “And then suddenly I wasn’t but my cousin was, you know? It’s complicated.” She chews on her thumbnail, hesitating. “And they’re right over there.”
Oh wow. Complicated is right. “I take it you didn’t know they’d be here in town?”
She swallows hard. “I didn’t have a clue until I saw them eating at the diner. I’m just surprised, is all. I should have known it was a possibility since he’s been here a lot with his family.” She’s trying to act casual about it, but I can tell it’s more than just a simple surprise. Her eyes are hollow, like maybe he didn’t treat her well. And I guess if he started dating her cousin right away, he didn’t.
“That sounds rough,” I offer.
She blanches and rolls her eyes. “It’s not like he and I had dated very long. Trust me, it’s better this way.” She shivers again, looks away, and wraps her arms more tightly around herself. “I just wish McKenna had told me about it from the beginning. We used to tell each other everything.”
After a moment, I widen my stance, do a fake stretch, and toss a glance as I rotate around. Sure enough, there is a couple a few yards away and they are all over each other. Like attached at the hip—both hips. I feel uncomfortable and I don’t even know them.
“And she’s your cousin?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” She cringes and then laughs. “It’s a little awkward.”
“It wouldn’t hurt for me to sort of know, for sure, if you’re actually a professional cuddler. I’m guessing you could be good at it.” It’s true. For all her feistiness, there’s a warmth about her.
She laughs and waves me away. Is she not getting what I’m implying?
What am I even implying? I’m not sure. All I know is, there’s a beautiful woman who’s obviously having a rough night getting spat on by Prince Harry and then seeing her ex with her cousin, and she seems either cold or sad, or both. So what would it hurt to give her a hug? Besides, maybe it would somehow stick it to the couple behind us.
She starts to walk away, the heel of her foot slipping in the sand, when she suddenly wheels around. “So, do you actually want to know if I’m a professional cuddler?”
Her look is daring me. And Heaven help me, I want to. I’d love to hug her. In a platonic way, of course.
“I’m dying to know.” I hold up my hands. “But no pressure.”
She twists her mouth to one side and steps towards me. “You know eight-second hugs are very therapeutic,” she says.
“Did you learn that from Brené Brown?” I ask.
She shoots me a look, takes another step, and wraps her arms around my waist.
She’d pushed up her sports coat sleeves near her elbows and she really is cold, with goosebumps and everything. I rub her arms and settle in. The smell of her shampoo—peachy with a hint of coconut. Her softness—part of that elixir I was trying to avoid earlier.
“Are you timing this?” I ask, only to distract myself.
Her breath is warm through my T-shirt. “We’re at five seconds. Milk the last three, buddy.”
I resist the urge to rub circles on her back. “Oh, I am. Except for the benefit of our audience back there, maybe we should go longer.”
“They’re probably not paying any attention.” She swallows and exhales sharply. “They’re a little busy.”
I take a couple of side steps and rotate around, with her still in my arms, so that she’s now directly in their line of sight. Go big or go home, right?
I gaze down at her head resting squarely on my chest. My lower chest. “You’re short.”
“And your point is?”
I laugh. “No point. Just trying to make conversation.”
She settles even closer to me. “Why do we need conversation?” An undercurrent of frisson slices between us.
I take in a breath. I’m enjoying this more than I expected. “Because I promised a friendly, non-sexual hug,” I say.
“Which, by the way, has gone on a lot longer than eight seconds.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to step away. But she doesn’t. And I’m sure not going to until I know she’s done.
Because I’m not done. The woman is tiny. Fiery. Cute. I was not expecting her to fit in my arms so perfectly.
She drops her head back but continues to hold me around my middle. “The stars are like flecks of flaky salt across a black marble slab.” Her voice catches.
Rotating her head again, she rests it against me once more, this time tilted up so she can still see where the sky meets the ocean.
This hug, the best one I’ve had in recent memory, is definitely going on longer than eight seconds.