Claiming Holly (Holiday Cove 1)

If I had any hope for a nice, relaxing soak, I needed to wear him out first. That was the only bright spot in puppy life. They tired easily and took frequent naps. Which, I already could see, was going to be my salvation if I was to get any downtime on my trip.

By the time Hunter and I had wandered up the beach a mile and a half and back again, we’d both earned a nap. He’d done surprisingly well, and although we’d taken frequent breaks for him to sniff random sea debris, he’d kept a pretty good pace, and on the way back, his lagging pace ensured I’d get at least an hour to myself, without having the constant worry of what he was getting into. He was one tired puppy!

I brushed the sand off of him with a towel when we reached the back door. He hardly put up a protest as I grabbed for each chubby paw and I pressed a kiss to the top of his head and gave him the go-ahead as I opened the door. He trotted inside and after getting a drink of water, hunkered down on the woven rug in front of the couch.

With Hunter asleep, I crossed to the kitchen and began to bring my vision for dinner to life. I wasn’t much of a chef, mostly because I’d never had the time to learn, but I had a few staple dishes that I could brag about and served whenever I hosted a dinner. In celebration of my first night of vacation, I made homemade lasagna with extra layers of cheese and garlic. Normally, I monitored every morsel that went into my mouth, to avoid the weight gain that often went hand in hand with spending most of my days in my office chair. However, I was on vacation and I’d decided—ahead of time—to ditch the diet and live a little.

“Besides,” I said to myself, lowering the heavy pan to the oven. “It’s not like I have anyone to impress.”

I set the timer and went to work on a fresh salad to tide me over until dinner was ready. It was getting late, and I hadn’t eaten anything since my lunch at a diner off the 101 that had suckered me into stopping with the promise of fresh strawberry milkshakes on the roadside sign. I licked my lips, just thinking about the milkshake made me salivate. I tossed two more handfuls of spinach into my salad bowl. A vegetable penance.

Some habits die hard.

Only when I sat down at the reclaimed wood table, did the overwhelming silence hit me. The house was too quiet, even with the windows open to let in the ocean breeze and the sound of the crashing waves. The gentle noise faded to the background all too easily. I set my fork down and went to the media console in the living room. My phone fit the attachment for the sound system and within seconds, I figured out how to get my play list to pipe through the speakers that were scattered throughout the entire house.

“That’s better.” I went back to the table and retrieved my fork. A few bites in, and I became uninspired with my overly ambitious salad. I craned back to look in the kitchen, wondering how long it had been since I’d put the lasagna in the oven to bake.

I abandoned my salad and went to check, sighing deeply at the discovery that less than five minutes had passed. I leaned against the opposite counter, watching the timer count down, which only made it move slower. “Maybe some TV would help?”

Hunter was curled on the rug in front of the TV, and I slid down to the floor to join him, remote in hand. I rested an arm around his warm body, and flicked the music off, and the TV on. The rental was loaded down with channels, thanks to the satellite I’d seen on the roof when I’d been walking back from the beach. However, as I scanned—and re-scanned—through the available shows and TV movies, nothing struck my interest. I tossed the remote aside with a huff.

“This is ridiculous,” I scolded myself, pushing my hair back. “You just need to relax. That’s what this is all about, remember?”

The lasagna still had another hour to go before it would be ready. I pushed off the floor and went to get my phone off of the dock. Rachel should be home from work, and I was sure she’d want to know that I’d made it safely. Maybe we could even do a video chat, and I could give her a tour of the house. I dialed her number and paced the living room while it rang. After a few minutes, her chirpy voice came on, instructing me to leave a voicemail. I hung up before the greeting ended and sent a text instead, letting her know I’d arrived and I missed her.