Summer Ever After

When I can’t take anymore, I grab her hand, impulsively sticking her thumb in my mouth and giving it a long, pulling suck between my lips. My teeth graze her thumb gently and her nipples pebble through her thin-as-hell shirt. I draw deeper and stroke my tongue around her thumb, watching her mouth make a small O and her eyes flutter closed.

Let her think about that while I drag her through town sightseeing, letting the rest of the locals know she’s mine inadvertently. I kind of want to tell her to pull a sweater on with her perky tits straining under her shirt. It’s stupid and totally a dickhead caveman move, but after seeing a few of the men at Jake’s bar eyeing her up last night, I’m not in the mood for the slightest bit of competition, even from the mysteriously absent ‘boyfriend.’ If Abby decides she’s not interested, that’s fine, but I don’t need every damn eligible male sniffing around my thawed ice princess. Considering the investment I’ve made, shouldn’t I get the return if there is one?

“Uh, um, I t-think the coffee is ready,” Abby mutters and walks away. Turning around to pour steaming coffee into mugs, she gives me a chance to admire her jean-clad behind. The fit is perfect and the pockets in the back cup her sweetly rounded ass. I’d love to walk down the street with my hand in her back pocket, though if I try that today, she might ninja chop my arm off. That’s okay, there’s always tomorrow.

I give her a minute to compose herself while I eat my own doughnut and look out the window, watching seagulls swoop down into the water and back up again with fish. “It’s beautiful.” She parts the lacy curtains, inviting summer into the kitchen. Sunlight is dancing off the waves and shines through the window, making her blonde hair more gold and her skin creamy.

“Yeah, it really is,” I tell her, but what I really mean is her, not the ocean or the beach or whatever the heck she’s referring too. The sun’s glare stings my eyes, but it’s her beauty that’s captivated me. She’s skittish, and I don’t know if she’s read her phone yet with d-bag Lucas’ message. I’m hoping today will take her mind off things back in LA or help her make up her mind all together. I don’t have any rights here with Abby. I’m crazy if I think I do.

I should have just tossed her over my shoulder on day one and avoided all this angst, but Maddie’s been telling me for years it builds character to have patience.

Fuck character.

Screw Patience.

I want this woman… and maybe another doughnut. I rub my hungry stomach.

“So what’s on our agenda today?” Ducking her eyes downward, Abby shyly sips her coffee, avoiding eye contact with me. Her cheeks have that flushed pink tinge high on her cheekbones. Crossing to her, I stand nearby, but not quite touching her.

“Well… I was thinking we could go fishing on one of… on my boat first and catch something for lunch. Then we can check out the farmer’s market for whatever else we need and grill it up. After lunch, we can walk the beach and see if we find one of those roped glass balls the visitor’s center is always planting on the beach for tourists.”

I’m an idiot, yammering on as I watch her eyes become owlishly big, but I love my hometown. Finally, I have her undivided attention. Smiling and biting her bottom lip, she looks excited about my plan. Most women I know would hate the idea of all day on a fishing boat… Abby surprises me, and I feel relieved.

“Do you think we’ll find one?” Her eyes brighten and I love she’s down for my kind of day. Did she think we’d find one? Lucky for me, Abby doesn’t know I sit on the committee in town in charge of dispensing them. It’s one of my many jack-of-all-trade responsibilities, and I probably know where every damn roped glass ball is along the three-mile stretch of beach we use, and then some.

“I suppose if we’re lucky and diligent.” My wink makes Abby laugh and playfully poke me in my side. “Really?” Teasing her, I grab her hand and pull her close, our bodies flush against each other. She looks up, eyes wide and blinking. The feel of her soft body pressed against mine pushes the button on trouble. Her heart is beating fast and our breathing goes unsteady.

“Yeah, really.” Her voice is barely audible and I let her go to step back, safely clutching her arms over her chest. All this touching is, hopefully, leading somewhere. Pushing her hair back, she looks around for her small purse and the damn phone. “Let’s go, sailor.”

Biting back a smile, I shake my head. The brat doesn’t realize I’m captain of this ship. I like this Abigail Holliday. She is real and sexy, holding nothing back—so unlike the woman I met that first day.

* * * * * * *

It figures that Abby catches a bigger fish than I do. It wouldn’t have been so emasculating if mine weren’t so small I had to throw most of them back. For an LA girl who never even went to summer camp, her fishing skills are excellent. I threaten to throw her in the water for ribbing me, but she assures me she learned to swim at the local Y as a kid. So much for asserting my manliness by saving her ass from drowning.

She asks about my boat and fishing, which surprises me. I’m used to the manicured, whining social-climbers. Those ladies are much easier to bed, but Abby is my fresh air, and for the first time, I feel lighter than ever on this returned to Gold Beach.

Walking past craft stalls and vendors at the market, Abby looks over everything and chats with some of the locals, promising to return and purchase some trinkets. I catch her eyeing up a particularly lovely blue and green sea glass necklace. Small silver nautical charms and pearls adorn it, and the price tag is definitely a tourist trap for the pretty piece. Abby kindly walks away and I nod to Andrea, who is a relative of the mayor, asking her to box it up for me. I’ll pick it up later, not because I think giving it to Abby will make her suddenly fall into my arms, but because I think it’ll be a nice token of our lovely first day together.

Eventually, we get around to picking up some veggies to grill and fresh local fruit for later. She washes and peels everything while I grill our fish on a campfire near the cottage. As we relax on blankets and make small talk about our interests and goals, I learn Abby is a real spit-fire for real winning all her debate matches growing up, but is unsure about her career as a lawyer. She always wanted to be a journalist, but feels pushed into doing what the rest of her family pursued. For the longest time she felt like a glorified secretary at her dad’s law firm struggling to find her place.

She tells me about her mother who died from breast cancer when Abby was only fifteen. Now she’s scared someday it will be her fate too. One would think we’d avoid the heavy conversation, but we share happy stories about our parents as well. We have the common experiencing of losing a parent young, which is kind of hard to avoid discussing.

My own mother died when I was seventeen in a car wreck on Highway 101 just outside of town during a rainstorm. The drunk driver who hit her was never caught. My dad died just last spring from a heart attack while pruning the rose bushes my mother loved so dearly. He loved my mother so much,

his heart gave out after all the years without her. When things get too morose, I stand up and offer Abby my hand to take a walk. I figure if we can find one of the many hidden glass balls on the beach, we will have redeemed our day.

A solid hour later, I’m convinced we are never going to find a fucking glass ball. I’m wondering if all the tourists before us snagged them. We must have trekked a good mile of the beach, combing it and looking around patches of sea grass and dunes only to find nothing. If these damn balls had a GPS tracker on them, I would have cheated forty-five minutes ago as the afternoon sun shone intensely above us.

“Are you sure they planted them on this beach, Roman? I know Maddie said it’s done every year but… maybe all the tourists got them already?” Abby holds my hand as we climb up the dunes. I was certain we’d get one here, on one of the out-of-the-way trails along the beach. I’m frustrated after being this close to Abby all day, wanting to touch her, to be with her. Our conversations are easier, and I like her even more. She distracts me from my other problems both here and back in Seattle—ones I really don’t want to deal with.

“They have to be here, Abby. They do this every year. There are only so many spots a glass ball can hide on the beach.” Agitated, I pace back and forth. I’m wasting time on this when I should be focusing solely on Abby.

“All right, but can we sit for just a minute? All this walking in the sand is wearing me out. It’s not my regular city girl barre class, you know.” Teasing me, Abby walks toward an abandoned boat hull turned upside down on the beach. She sits on top of it, patting a spot next to her for me to join.

I hesitate as my stomach fills with dread. I hadn’t realized we’d walked so far down the beach to this spot I usually avoid. I try to block out the unhappiness surrounding this boat hull as best I can. I thought Maddie had called to get rid of it when I asked her about it over the winter like I asked her too, but here it still sits among the other washed up debris.

Reluctantly, I join Abby, sitting on the opposite end of the boat. We sit back to back, warm skin and stretched out. Well, all right. I breathe in the scent belonging to Abby—a strange combination of oranges and vanilla.