Chapter 3
I came to Oak Island for peace. Not competition. Not complications. And definitely not a six-foot-two reminder of my ex-husband’s professional circle of macho bullshit and misogyny.
Although Zach did call him a dick last night. And I never really lumped Zach in with Michael’s friends anyway. He’d always seemed like a solid guy. Sorta quiet. Maybe even sweet.
I’m barefoot where the surf laps at the sand, coffee cup in hand, hair whipped by the breeze.
I’m like a woman in an old Folgers commercial.
Or a Nancy Meyers movie. The wide expanse of beach is mostly empty this morning, with a pale blue haze hovering over the horizon.
In theory, this scene would inspire calm.
But my brain is too busy gnawing on a few new realities, like fighting Zach Draper for the house that should be mine.
I take a long sip of coffee and look down as the receding ocean bubbles between my toes.
It’s tugging little bits of shell and sand back out to sea.
Things are changing. All the time. It’s one of the frustrating truths of the world we live in.
I expected a few bumps in my plan to flip the house and start a new life—budget headaches, roof leaks, maybe an awkward first date if I ever decided to “get back out there”.
But running into Zach within the first hour and learning he’s my competition?
That feels like the universe creating a PowerPoint presentation titled: We See You, Jodie Marks. Good fucking luck.
Still, I promised myself no spiraling. I have been to a bullshit rodeo before.
I know how to handle this. And the whole point of coming here was to prove that I can build something on my own, without Michael’s shadow lurking overhead like a miserable storm cloud.
Proving something isn’t painless. The struggle is built in.
I spot Zach strolling up the beach from the direction of the pier.
He’s in board shorts and the same T-shirt as last night, hair damp, sunglasses shielding his eyes.
He spots me and immediately angles toward me like it’s the only obvious path to take.
Part of me is flattered, but only part, because the rest of me knows he can still ruin my dream.
“Morning,” he says, his voice easy and unbothered.
“Morning.”
For a second, we stand there, watching the gulls overhead. Then, because I can’t help myself, I blurt out the question that has been simmering since last night. “Why did you tell me I’m pretty?”
His brows rise above the edge of his sunglasses. “What?”
“Last night. You were leaving and you said—”
“I remember,” he says, smiling faintly.
“Is that your way of getting me to back down on wanting the house?” I ask. “Was that some kind of weird… negotiation tactic?”
Zach laughs—a warm, genuine sound that annoys me precisely because I’m not sure why I’m so damn hilarious. “No, Jodie. I said it because it’s true.”
Heat creeps up my neck, the kind that has nothing to do with the sun. “Oh.”
His expression softens, and for a moment, the teasing look drops away. “And because I have the distinct idea that your husband didn’t say that to you nearly enough. I always hated the way he treated you.”
To say I’m startled is an understatement. “What do you mean?”
He looks out toward the water. “You know exactly what I mean. I saw the way he talked over you. The way he acted like your opinions were a pain in the ass.”
I swallow hard. It’s true, but hearing it from someone else feels so… intimate. Like he saw something in my marriage that I didn’t. Or something that I ignored. “You didn’t have to say anything.”
“Maybe not,” he says. “But I wanted you to know I noticed.”
For a few beats, the only sound is the ocean, steady and endless.
I’m breathless, like my body can’t decide whether it should inhale or exhale, so it decides to do neither.
Zach has been nicer to me in the last three minutes than Michael was for the entirety of the last three years.
I admire Zach’s profile as he seems transfixed by the waves.
He has a bump in the middle of his nose.
There’s a tiny bald spot in his facial scruff.
But the imperfections are part of what makes him so handsome.
I noticed before, but now that I’m no longer married?
It’s putting a sharper point on his better attributes.
“What are you doing today?” I ask before I have a chance to think through the ramifications.
Zach turns back to me. “Are you asking me out?”
He has a real aptitude for making me feel like my face is on fire. “Slow down, buddy. Just being friendly.”
He kicks at the sand with his toes. “My daughter is blowing me off, so I think I’m going to go look at the house. Get in there. Poke around a little.”
“Today? The official showing is the day before the auction. And only for thirty minutes,” I say, prepared with my facts so he knows how serious I am.
“That showing is for amateurs.” He delivers a cocky half-smile that says the rules don’t apply to me. “But I’ve got a few connections. I can get in before then.”
I cross my arms. “You mean you’re cutting the line.”
“I mean,” he counters, “I was planning to. But now that we’re both after the house, I’d feel better if we were on equal footing. Come with me. We can look at it together.”
My first instinct is to say that I don’t need his help, only because I don’t need him reading my mind or my reaction to the property.
I certainly don’t need him offering unsolicited advice or trying to talk me out of what I am determined to do.
After all, I’m sure there are several more rules of flipping that I’m supposed to learn.
But another part of me—the pragmatic part—recognizes that if Zach has a way in before the auction, and he’s willing to share, I’d be foolish to turn it down. In all things, knowledge is power.
“You’d do that for me?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
I consider him for another long moment, the sea breeze further tangling my hair. “That’s really decent of you.”
“Yeah. I guess it is.”
“Just because you’re being nice, doesn’t mean I’m backing down. Or changing my mind. Or anything like that.”
He grins. “I expect nothing less. Also, you should know that I expect you to take me to lunch. Nothing fancy. We can grab some fried seafood. I know a place.”
I fight the smile that wants to cross my lips. This is turning into a full-on outing with Zach. It’s not like you have anything else to do. I take a final sip of coffee and start walking toward the beach access path. “Let me change and grab my keys.”
Behind me, Zach’s voice follows, full of amusement. “See? I knew we’d make a good team.”
I don’t honor that comment with a response. I’m not ready to be on a team. I’m just getting used to the idea of going it alone. “See you in fifteen.”