Chapter 20Rafe
Chapter 20
Rafe
W e’d be shaking the grit out of our clothes and shoes till kingdom come—and I didn’t give one fuck.
The dogs’ tennis balls and Frisbees, already caked with sand, were stuffed in one of my jacket pockets. The other one was reserved for the beach “finds” Rose kept handing to me—fragile seashells in iridescent colors, driftwood sticks worn smooth, and shiny, odd-shaped rocks. After I dusted each one off the best I could, I’d slipped it into the designated pocket.
“You’ve got a mission here, Rafe,” she claimed, walking backward and pointing both index fingers at my chest.
“Should I choose to accept it,” I stated.
“It’s not possible to turn it down,” she countered.
“Let me hear it before I decide,” I warned.
“Your mission,” she paused, “ if you choose to accept it, is to keep each of my treasures safe and uncrushed until we get home.”
Now, in all fairness, her pockets were smaller and crammed too, with her phone—she was snapping a ton of pics—a water bottle, leftover scones and loose dog biscuits. In those circumstances, the only thing a man could do was accept the mission .
I gave her a brisk nod. She grinned and flipped forward to continue her amble down the beach, dogs running circles around her. Me following.
Not long after that, Rose tugged off her sneakers and socks to dig her toes into the hard-packed sand at the shoreline. Dangling the sock-stuffed shoes from her fingertips, she waded into the shallow edge.
“Rafe, come on—you know you want to get your feet wet,” she called. “Think of the little fishies tickling your toes!”
I was not a barefoot kind of guy—at least not outside.
“Aren’t your feet freezing?” I called to her. They must be turning blue by this time.
“Sure, but it’s worth every moment.” She flung her arms wide and started jogging toward Haystack Rock, the piercing squawks of the seagulls filling the air as they scattered around her.
Princess and Pirate, fur ruffled up from rolling on their backs, raced after her like a pair of loons—the rarely seen beach loons. I followed.
So, yeah, gritty, cold sand was everywhere—and I didn’t fucking care, since I got playful Rose, laughing Rose, carefree Rose.
I got Rose all to myself for a day.
Sure, the grocery store project would be waiting when we got back. Sure, the clock was ticking on our time together. Sure, we had things…personal things…we wanted to talk about.
But that was for tomorrow. Today, I got you all to myself.
“A dollar for your thoughts?”
I jumped and reached out for the sand dollar she offered me.
It was a perfect circle—a rarity when most were chipped or broken after being washed up on the rocky shore. A delicate, five-pointed star appeared engraved on its surface. I pulled off my knit beanie, inserted the shell carefully and put it in my treasure pocket for safekeeping.
Rose nodded and smiled up at me. “You looked lost in thought,” she prodded gently. “Anything to share?”
“No,” I said. “No, not really. Other than that I remember another place north of Cannon Beach I used to visit when I was training with Pete. A park with trails, beautiful views and secluded beaches…more isolated than here, with fewer people around and no houses overlooking us.”
She nodded again and leaned close to whisper, “I like your thinking. How about we head there after lunch?”
This time, I nodded. And because her face was so close in that moment, I reached down with my right hand to brush back her wind-blown honey hair and pressed a kiss to her soft lips. When I leaned back, her eyes were still closed. She opened them slowly and teased, “Thanks, Rafe. I appreciate the pretty innocent PDA for such a public place.”
I laughed and baited back, “Let’s see what happens this afternoon.”
We called Princess and Pirate so we could hook up their leashes—in vain, as it turned out. They were having such a good time with their other dog buddies that they decided to play “keep away.” Only when we turned our backs and started to slog through the deep, dry sand toward the stairs up to town did they surrender and follow us. A treat or two got them closer where we could grab their collars and snap on the leashes.
Rose sat on a log to brush the sand from her feet and put on her shoes. The socks went into her pocket. Up the stairs we went and down the side street to my pickup. We offloaded our beach finds, Frisbees and tennis balls, then dried the dogs with old towels Rose’d brought. After they slurped their water bowls dry, we walked over to the main drag and down to the Driftwood.
There were two seats left around the firepit on their outside deck, and we snared ’em. A notice on the railing read Licensed for 21 and over, except dogs . Princess and Pirate settled under our feet, worn out and ready for naps. After ordering Dungeness Crab rolls, onion rings and beers, we settled down too.
When our lunch arrived, we fell on it like ravenous…dogs (sorry, Princess). The third time we tried to talk with our mouths full, we both laughed and finished up silently.
After I paid the bill—promising slash lying that Rose could get lunch next time—and after stopping at Bruce’s for house-made taffy and chocolates—provisions, she called them—we drove north through Cannon Beach to the entrance of Ecola State Park. I paid the five bucks for the day-use permit, and we parked in the area closest to Indian Beach. We walked the dogs a short way down the trail so they could do their business and locked them back inside the pickup. There were tidepools to explore, plus we wanted a little…private time without chasing the pair of beach loons.
Less than an hour later, I had Rose right where I wanted her. Pressed close to me from shoulder to hip, arms encircling my waist, head tilted up at just the right angle.
We’d been kissing—deep, wet, open-mouthed kisses—for the last fifteen minutes, and neither of us were willing to come up for air. It’d been her idea. I’d unzipped my jacket so she could step close to me ( to get warm, she’d said), and I’d wrapped it around us both. Leaving my arms free to reach up and weave my fingers through her thick honey hair. And I started kissing her as I’d wanted to do all day long.
Sure, first thing, we’d checked out the tidepools. I’d held Rose so she wouldn’t tumble in trying to get the best shots of the starfish and anemones. Next, she’d caught pics of the coast looking south toward rock stacks and an abandoned lighthouse. Then, we’d found our own secret huddle of rocks at the foot of the looming cliff.
That briny smell coming off the cool breeze from the ocean was stronger here, too, away from the crowds. This stretch of the beach was almost deserted at this time of year, aside from a couple of surfers riding the rough waves.
Deserted, secluded, just our secret…all was fine with us.
Rose pulled her mouth back and peppered my jaw with short, sweet kisses. We took mutual breaths and leaned in to press our foreheads together for just a moment…and stepped back.
All good things must come to an end. At least, temporarily.
“Rafe,” she said and stopped. She took in a full breath and started again. “Rafe, pull up a log. We need to talk.”
Shit. The words no guy wants to hear.
But this was Rose. And there were things that needed to be said, things we needed to talk about, before this went any further. Above all else, Rose got to set the ground rules, the parameters, for whatever this thing was we had going on.
We found a driftwood log a bit back from the shoreline, a little sheltered from the now-brisk breeze. Sitting down side by side, we gazed out at the ocean. On our nightly dog walks, we’d found we could talk more freely when we were looking straight ahead. Figured Rose felt this way about whatever she wanted to say.
When she paused, I glanced down. She’d clenched her hands tightly together on her lap, the knuckles almost white. I pulled my gaze back up, and Rose began to talk.