Chapter four
After checking in with Georgina last night, Georgina had reluctantly confirmed to Marcus she was still feeling too poorly to come in to work, that meant today was going to be a rinse and repeat of yesterday.
Looking down at his chosen outfit for the day, Marcus realised he’d subconsciously put on his best casual shirt and slacks, and not his usual work attire. Did the reason have something to do with his early morning meeting with Rowan? He knew the answer, yet he was still reluctant to admit it.
Marcus stepped out of his cottage and paused on the quiet lane, letting the morning settle around him. It was still early, too early for his neighbours to begin their day. But before the madness of another day could begin, Marcus wanted time to appreciate the quietness surrounding him.
From this height above Seagull Bay, the whole coastline unfurled in a sweep of colour—the sea shifting between slate blue and soft turquoise, the rooftops below catching the first hints of gold.
A salty breeze curled up the hill, carrying the tang of seaweed and the faint sweetness of someone’s early-morning baking.
Closing his eyes, he let another sense take over.
Gulls wheeled and cried above the water, their calls echoing against the cliffs, and the rhythmic hush of waves drifted up to him like a familiar greeting.
Opening his eyes again, he simply stood there, breathing it all in, grateful for the view he’d taken for granted far too often.
The seagulls were on peak this morning, their shrill squawks heard way before Marcus had even reached the end of his road, their cries travelling with him all the way down to the beachfront.
There, in exactly the same spot as yesterday, the same position, awaited Rowan and Atlas.
When he was within feet of them, Marcus offered a toothy grin. ‘Déjà vu,’ he said quietly, not wanting to spook Atlas.
‘Huh?’
‘Us being here again today,’ he shrugged, suddenly feeling a little foolish by his comment.
Rowan made him feel a little too much. He was suddenly self-conscious.
Was he too much? ‘Anyway, good morning, he beamed, before turning his attention to Atlas. Going down to Atlas’s level, he slowly reached out the back of his hand, offering it to Atlas.
Atlas was in his usual stance, his front legs wide, large body stiff, his senses on high alert.
He regarded Marcus’s hand for a long moment, before taking a step forward, bringing his snout within a few inches of Marcus’s hand, barely making an effort to smell him, because his eyes were everywhere but in the moment.
Rowan watched Atlas intently. ‘I’m not sure what to make of that. He did better the first time he sniffed your scent.’
Marcus dipped his head towards Ben, who was placing the fish he’d purchased from the fisherman onto the ice in his cart. ‘I think it’s because he’s got one eye on Ben, and the other on the flock of gulls Ben’s trying to ward off.’
Rowan followed Marcus’s eyes. ‘Hmm, maybe. Although we’ve already been here for ten minutes now.’
‘Are you trying to point out I’m late?’ laughed Marcus, trying to bring a smile to Rowan’s mouth, something he was yet to witness.
‘No. Merely that Atlas hasn’t been bothered by them as yet.’
Marcus looked at Atlas’s stance. Was he missing something? Or was Rowan’s way of reading canine’s body language different to his? Rowan was the animal behaviourist after all, and not him.
The conversation seemed stilted, and not at all how Marcus had envisioned.
He really wanted to make a good impression, but so far he was going down in flames.
He gestured towards the steps leading down onto the beach.
‘Shall we? The part of the beach I was contemplating using for the competition is just a couple of minutes away.’
They walked side by side, Atlas on the outside of Rowan. Marcus hoped he’d at least try to walk him in between them, so that Atlas would get used to Marcus quicker.
As they walked past Ben, Ben looked from Rowan to Atlas and then to Marcus. ‘Morning, Marcus. Who do we ‘ave ‘ere then?’ his voice just a decibel or two lower than the voice he usually used to advertise his wares.
Atlas immediately stopped and backed up into Rowan’s legs. Rowan’s hand lowered onto Atlas’s chest, patting him lovingly. ‘It’s okay, boy. Settle down, settle down.’
Ben’s face froze, mortified with himself. ‘Sorry, lad. It’s all right. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ His face creased into an apologetic grimace as he looked up at Rowan. ‘I’m sorry, mate. Me an’ my big old mouth. I’ve already got my sales head on, yer see.’
‘He’s not good with noise at the moment,’ said Rowan, but his attention was focused more on Atlas than Ben.
Marcus held up a hand to Ben. ‘No worries, Ben. No harm done.’
Ben dipped his head, and then returned to what he was doing.
‘Is Atlas all right?’ Marcus’s voice was laced with concern.
‘Yes, he’s fine. Can we hurry up and get on with this, I think I’ll take him back for some quiet time soon.’
Marcus nodded, ‘Yes, of course... This way.’
He led the way down the steps, giving Rowan enough time to cajole Atlas in his own time.
He was curious to find out the backstory about Atlas, but he didn’t want to pry.
If Rowan wanted him to know, he was sure he would tell him in his own time, especially if it was going to be an important factor in gaining a better understanding of Atlas to be able to groom him.
They fell silently into step, side by side again. Marcus wasn’t sure whether to broach what just happened with Ben. He didn’t want Rowan to get the wrong impression of Ben—he was certainly no Mrs Calloway.
‘He wasn’t being nosey you know, Ben... Just curious.’
‘I know. I could sense he was upset with himself for spooking Atlas. I appreciated the kind way he spoke to him.’
Rowan’s words soothed Marcus’s tight shoulders, he hadn’t realised they’d been so tense, and they visibly lowered.
He was still trying to work out how he should be around Rowan.
Rowan was quiet and reserved, Marcus was still being his usual merry self, although he was refraining from joking the way he usually did, in case it offended his new client.
Not that it should matter—he should be able to be himself around anyone—no matter how gorgeous they were.
Waves rushed onto the sand, just missing his feet, before quickly retreating.
Marcus looked at Atlas still walking subdued by Rowan’s side.
He was surprised Atlas didn’t show the same enthusiasm for frolicking in the frothy surf as other dogs he’d seen on the beach.
He didn’t even sniff at clumps of seaweed, or dip his nose into rockpools.
As they approached the place Marcus thought would be perfect for the dog competition, Marcus mulled over the episode with Ben, an idea coming to mind.
He pointed at a flat area. ‘That is where I was thinking of placing the stalls.’ Rowan nodded.
‘And that part there, is where the owners can walk around with their pets to showcase them.’ He walked over to a different part of the beach.
’ How about this area for the quiet zone? ’
Rowan shook his head. ‘It’s too close to the water’s edge, and if you intend to showcase the dogs right next to it, there will be too much going on. The nervous dogs won’t be able to fully relax.’
Marcus nibbled his bottom lip. Rowan had a good point.
Rowan strode over to the back wall, Atlas dutifully trailing behind him on his lead.
The seafront was directly above it, a handrail guarding pedestrians from the six-foot drop onto the beach below.
‘I suggest you put a marquee here. It’s in a quieter position, far enough away from too much noise, but not far enough away to segregate them. ’
A beaming smile lit up Marcus’s face. He nodded enthusiastically.
‘Yes, yes... You’re right. That’s a fantastic idea.
’ He walked towards Rowan, his arms opening wide with enthusiasm, as he excitedly delivered the idea he just thought up.
‘And there can also be another marquee next to it, for a rescue-rehab category, for dogs like Atlas.’
Rowan stiffened. ‘You don’t think I’d be entering Atlas, do you?’
‘Well... yes.’ Marcus was miffed. Why had Rowan already decided Atlas shouldn’t be celebrated?
Marcus blinked, the excitement still sitting on his face like a smile that had forgotten how to leave.
For a second, he couldn’t quite work out what he’d said wrong. The idea had felt perfect in his head. Kind, even. A category for dogs who had been through something. Dogs who needed gentler applause. Dogs who deserved to be seen for more than glossy coats and wagging tails.
But Rowan was no longer looking at the stretch of sand Marcus had indicated. His gaze had dropped to Atlas, and the hand holding the lead had tightened just enough for Marcus to notice.
The morning breeze shifted between them, carrying the sharp tang of seaweed and the distant call of Ben advertising fresh mackerel behind them.
‘I didn’t mean—’ Marcus began.
‘He isn’t a project,’ Rowan said.
The words landed harder than Marcus expected.
‘I know that.’
Rowan looked up then, and Marcus wished he hadn’t. There was no anger blazing in his eyes. Anger would have been easier. This was something colder. Quieter. Something that had been locked away so long it had learned not to make a sound.
‘Do you?’ Rowan asked.
Marcus’s mouth opened, but no clever answer came. No light joke. No bright little comment to smooth the awkward edges. He looked at Atlas instead.
Atlas stood close to Rowan’s leg, his body still too rigid, his ears twitching with every gull cry, every splash of water, every distant shout from the seafront above.
His eyes were not frightened exactly. Not in the simple way Marcus understood frightened dogs.
They were watchful. Working. Searching for threats nobody else could see.