Claiming Holly (Holiday Cove 1)

Aaron’s gaze circled back to me and he smiled slightly. “Sure. I got a six pack chilling back at my place, and a couple of steaks for the grill.”

“Let’s get to it, then!”

Aaron led the way back to his house, and we immediately rolled up our sleeves and went to work at the grill on the expansive deck, with incredible views of the Pacific. The house was built up on a bluff, overlooking the ocean below.

“So, what’s your game plan for the next couple of weeks?” Aaron asked, over a couple of beers, as we stood watch by the BBQ as the steaks sizzled. “I’m up for whatever.”

I shrugged. “There’s been so much going on, that I haven’t thought about it much. I’m cool with as little planning as possible. I’m gonna have a shit ton of decisions to make over this next cruise. I need these two weeks to not think.”

Aaron grinned and leaned in, conspiratorial. “I think we can manage that. We’ll find you a nice little beach bunny to keep you busy.”

“Not a bad plan,” I replied, tipping my beer toward him.

“I’ll drink to that,” Aaron said, clicking our bottles together.

5

Holly

“So, this is what Heaven looks like?” I said to Hunter as we took the exit off the 101 for Holiday Cove. The two lane road curved up a slight hill, winding and weaving, offering spectacular views of the gleaming ocean and beach down below. I tore my eyes off the view and swerved around the next curve. There was a steep drop-off to the left that would get me directly to the beach, but not in the ideal condition. Hunter was in the passenger seat, his head out the window, lapping up the salty air as it whizzed by.

Only once we were descending down to the actual town did I start to relax, no longer distracted by the cliff-side drive. I followed the lead of my GPS system and quickly found my beach rental. There were three bungalow style houses at the end of a dead end street. Quiet. Secluded. And, most importantly, beach front. There were driftwood signs in front of three parking spaces, and I whipped into the one with my temporary address carved into it.

“This is home,” I told Hunter, double-checking the address on my phone, making sure it matched to the house in the center that was painted a rich navy blue, with off-white shutters and trim. It was perfect. Exactly as I’d imagined from viewing the pictures online when I’d made the reservation.

Hunter gave me a confused look, probably wondering why the car had stopped. “Come on, goofy.” I let myself out and held the driver’s side door open so Hunter could stumble against the dash and jump out. I made a grab for his leash before he hit the ground, knowing it would be a disastrous first day of my vacation if he were to get loose.

The inside of the house was even better than I’d pictured. The French doors off the living room flooded the whole space with natural light, and I could hardly wait to sit out on the back deck, drinking coffee, Kindle in hand, listening to the sounds of the tide.

I sighed deeply, unloading the remainder of the stress that clung to me, and pried myself away from the view long enough to explore the rest of what the house had to offer. There was a fully stocked kitchen, complete with the groceries I’d ordered ahead of time with the concierge service through the property management team.

“God, this is better than my pantry at home.” I marveled at how every detail had been taken care of.

The next stop was the master suite, which was so beautiful I wanted to burst into tears. Fresh white linens, a vintage, shabby chic flavor, with select beach themed accessories that brought the beauty of the ocean into the room, but not in a heavy handed, or kitschy way.

It was sheer perfection.

The bathroom was white tiled with a spa tub underneath a picture window, and I seriously considered stripping down and taking advantage of it right away. Hunter bounded in as I was trying to decide what to do first and within seconds, he’d knocked over the bamboo laundry hamper and sent a container of bath salts flying with the flick of his tail.

“Hunter! Out!” I pointed at the door and stuffed down the tug at my heart when he flashed me his big, blue eyes. “We’ll go for a walk in a minute. I have to clean this up first.”

He scampered back in, lunging for me, and scattered the bath salts even further. I picked him up and deposited him in the hallway before shutting the door long enough to clean up the mess with a damp towel. “Heavens, dog,” I mumbled to myself, polishing the floor for any last specks.