Chapter 19
I NEED TO GET A HOLD OF MY UNRELENTING DICK.
DARCY
Three days after the beach incident I never want to speak of again, I have another meeting with Beth. Thank goodness Leo assumed I didn’t know the water would be so cold because I usually wear a wetsuit for the surfing lessons I haven’t started yet.
As much as I was embarrassed by the whole thing, I’d do it all again to hear Beth laugh like that. I’d do it all again just to get to wrap her up in my arms again for those short few seconds.
I wasn’t thinking when I chased after her, but when my frozen, shriveled-up dick took note of how close her ass was, I let go before he could make a quick comeback and alert the entire beach about how excited he was to be there.
I was ready to chastise myself for my behavior, but chasing a friend is a normal, playful reaction. I probably would have done the same with Leo, so it was easy enough to play it off as a friendly joke. Or, at least, I hope that’s how it came off.
I sure didn’t miss her nipples trying to poke out of her bathing suit top afterward, though.
But that was probably because she was cold.
Or… Fuck. I can’t think about that, or I’m not gonna be able to stand once she gets here.
I might as well be a horny teenage virgin all over again with how pathetic I am around this woman.
I need to get a hold of myself. No. I need to get a hold of my unrelenting dick.
Using the breathing exercises my therapist taught me, I imagine myself sitting in a grassy field, meditating.
Thinking about the fifty-year old, balding man who is helping me through this new reality where I have panic attacks is enough to get my cock good and flaccid.
Perfect timing, too, as the tall blonde stumbles into the room looking like summertime in wide-legged, flowy pants, a fitted T-shirt, and sandals.
Her always straight hair falls in her face, and she blows at it unsuccessfully, unable to reach for the unruly strands as she holds her laptop, a notebook, and a water bottle, her car keys dangling on her fingers and a small purse in the other.
I stand to help her, and in the moment, my hand decides the best course of action is to tuck her hair behind her ear.
It’s logical, sure, because she needs to see, but it’s also stupid.
Touching her is stupid. Because once I do, it’s all I can think about doing.
She’s literally been in the room for three seconds, and I’ve already screwed myself over.
“Um, hi. Thanks. Sorry I’m late.” Her keys clatter on the table as she sets her things down.
“You’re fine. Need a hand with anything?” I clear my throat and sit my ass back down, thankful she chose the chair across from me and not next to me.
“No, sorry, we can get started.” She moves so quickly, she’s practically a blur, arranging her water bottle, her purse, putting keys away, opening her laptop, flipping the notebook to a blank page.
“How did things go this week? Did you get a chance to talk to anyone about the marina?” Without stopping or looking up at me, she continues asking me whether I got the blueprint she emailed me.
“Beth, take your time getting settled first.” I move her water bottle before she can knock it over when she opens her laptop to unlock it.
“Billie. And it’s fine. We can get started while I do this. I don’t want to waste your time.” Her clipped words are even more unsettling than her frantic motions, and the way she corrects my use of her name… Fuck, I hate that a lot.
“You’re not wasting my time. You’re making me a little anxious, actually, because you haven’t even taken a full breath since you walked in here. Slow down.” I swallow hard before reaching across the small table and placing a tentative hand on her forearm.
Her eyes finally meet mine, shining with the unshed tears she blinks away a few times.
With a quick nod, she sniffles, looking down at the table.
I remove my hand after a gentle squeeze, and she takes a deep breath, eyes closed tightly.
I busy myself with my own laptop, not wanting to be a creep and watch her go through whatever this is.
After a couple of minutes, she takes a sip of water and clears her throat.
“Thank you, Darcy.” The use of my last name doesn’t grate as much when she says it so sweetly.
“It’s… been a day. And then my mom called me for the first time in weeks, and only because she needed a favor, and it made the day worse, so… yeah. Thanks.”
“No need to thank me. And if today isn’t good, we can do this another time—”
“No.” Her interruption seems to startle both of us. “I mean, I’ve been looking forward to talking about this, so it’s fine. I’m fine. Sorry, I needed a minute, so th—”
“I swear, if you apologize or thank me again, I’m gonna walk around this table and tickle you until you can’t breathe.
” The instant the words are out of my mouth, her cheeks turn pink, no doubt remembering the same moment running through my mind of our last morning together.
Whatever. It works to get her to stop saying sorry and thank you, and I know I’m not making up the hint of a smile on her face, even if she is doing her best to hide it.
“You wouldn’t,” she quips with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, I think we both know I absolutely would.” Our gazes lock for a few loaded seconds before she shakes the tension off, straightening her shoulders.
“Okay, let’s get started. Did the blueprint make sense? I know it’s a lot of detail, but I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed to run your numbers.”
“Yep. Made perfect sense.” I pull out the folder on the chair next to me, which contains physical copies of everything. “I’ve been doing some research.”
“Research?” Her brows lift to her hairline.
I ignore her shock. “I’ve spoken to about fifteen people so far. Marina operators, boat owners, a few business owners on Main Street, and—” I let out an embarrassed laugh, knowing she’s going to give me shit for this, “I went to the library to look for old town-planning documents.”
She stares at me, unblinkingly, for so long, I wonder if she’s glitching.
I shrug a little defensively. “I wanted to understand what’s been tried in the past. As it turns out, there was a similar proposal in the late 1970s that died because they didn’t account for storm surge protection.”
Licking her lips slowly, she leans in. “You went to… the library. And you found documents from the seventies.”
“Margie, the librarian, was super helpful. She remembers when your dad worked on some of those projects, back in the day.” At my mention of her father, her features go from surprised to something more complex.
“Yeah. He did.” After rubbing her forehead as if to clear whatever thought was bothering her, she continues, “Anyway, what did people have to say about making changes to the existing layout?”
“Most people love it, but they’re concerned about parking since there isn’t much available on Main Street as it is. And the marina parking is too small, plus it should be prioritized for patrons.” As I speak, she pulls her laptop closer, typing furiously and clicking through something.
“Way ahead of you.” She turns the laptop so we can both look at the screen.
“See this lot here? It’s town-owned, but it’s a mess of potholes, and people avoid using it at all costs.
If we tidy it up, maybe even pave it and add some lighting…
boom. Overflow parking. It’s a ten-minute walk to the marina, but if we connect it with the boardwalk extension—”
“People would prefer to park there and walk along the water’s edge. That’s genius.” I interrupt her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
We’re both leaning in to see her screen, but neither of us makes a move to pull away. “It’s logical,” she says while mindlessly running a finger on the trackpad.
“No, it’s smart. And here.” I reach across to point at something on the screen, my arm brushing hers in the process. “Sorry. Um, if we do the parking lot, we could add a small information kiosk here for tourists. Maps, a local business directory, calendar of events, that sort of thing.”
There’s no response, but her eyes have an extra sparkle to them as they roam over the plans on the screen.
“Margie mentioned the historical society has been wanting to add some signage about the town’s fishing history. They could easily be incorporated into the boardwalk design, and I bet they’d even help pay for those by raising funds.”
Her head turns, and we’re suddenly face-to-face. “You did your homework.” We’re so close, I can count the freckles on her nose.
“I wanted to impress you,” I admit quietly, realizing my mistake. “I mean, impress the committee. Leave no stone unturned.”
Pulling back, she nods. “Right. The committee. So anyway, permitting. We need—oh, God, we need so many permits. There’s the waterfront development permit, which will take at least six months.
And then we need an environmental assessment because of the marine habitat, and then—oh shit, we need to check if there are any protected areas or species in the area, and if there are, we are so screwed.
Well, not screwed screwed, but delayed at the very least. And then we’ll need a—”
“Beth—Billie. Breathe.” Fuck, it’s hard to call her by the right name.
“Sor—Uh, yeah.” She stops herself from apologizing when I raise a brow at her. “My brain does this thing where it sees all the steps at once and—” She makes an explosion gesture with her hands, adding sound effects. It’s so her, the entire thing, that I wish I could store this moment away forever.
“I see that. So, how about we make a list? Break it all down in order of operations? You tell me everything that comes to your mind, and I’ll start typing.
I’ll ask questions as we go. Okay?” With my own laptop in front of me, I open up a blank document in our shared drive and add the date.
When she doesn’t say anything, I look up to find soft brown eyes watching me.
“That’s perfect, yeah.”
For the next thirty minutes, she spits out everything she knows we need to do. It’s amazing how she can hold this much in her head. She gives me names of people we should contact and even helpful information about the business owners we’ll be speaking to.
We make a plan to meet back here, at Victoria Hall, in two days. And that’s when I start my mental countdown, knowing I likely won’t see her between now and then.