by Serena Bell
“I need a humble gesture.”
42
Auburn held a party at Beachcrest to celebrate its new ownership. Nothing big, but her siblings came, and several of her friends and acquaintances from town, and Brynn and Carl, of course, and the two romance writers who could make the trip—Deja and Aria. Auburn served champagne and lots and lots of homemade cookies, and the atmosphere was festive.
She stood on the sidelines. She was thrilled. Of course she was. But—
Chiara appeared at her side. “Great party,” she said. She threw her arms around her sister.
“Thanks.”
As she started to pull away, Chiara grabbed both her arms.
“Auburn.”
She tried to look away, before tears could fill her eyes.
“You don’t look like a woman who just got everything she ever wanted,” Chiara whispered.
Auburn didn’t bother trying to lie to her sister. It wasn’t worth it. “I’m happy. Of course I’m happy. I love this place. And I know I will always love this place. But—”
Chiara waited. Patiently.
“It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid—”
“I doubt it,” Chiara said.
“—but I wish he were here.”
“He could be here,” Chiara said quietly. “You could ask him to come.”
Startled, Auburn looked at her sister. “And then what? And then every time he needs to feel like a man, every time he wants to call the shots, I just knuckle under and let him?”
“Is that what you did? You knuckled under?”
“No. No, I fought him—but—”
“That’s right. You didn’t knuckle under.”
“But I did all those years with Patrick.”
“Yes. You did. For a while. But in the end, you walked then, too, and that’s what counts. Look what you’ve done. You’ve done exactly what you said you wanted to do, and you did it your way, in the best possible way, working with your community, bringing in all the people who cared to help you. You did it with so much strength and courage and—I’m so proud of you. They’re proud of you, too. And grateful, Auburn. They’re so grateful.”
She made a sweeping gesture of the room. It encompassed everyone there, and all the ones that weren’t, too. The friends who’d reunited and the lovers who’d found courage, the married couples who’d finally found the space and time to talk about what mattered.
Rick and Dewann.
Trey … and Auburn.
Because he wasn’t the only one Beachcrest had changed that week. It had changed her, too. It had proved to her that she was strong and brave and that no one, no one was going to take away what was hers.
“I got so angry,” Auburn said quietly. “I was so angry at him.”
“Of course you were,” Chiara said. “You were scared. You were scared of being controlled, treated like a child, made small. But no one is ever going to do that to you again, Auburn. You know why not? Because you’re never going to let them.”
Auburn was crying, openly. She could see that some of the other guests at the party were eyeing her curiously, but she didn’t care. She reached for a pile of cocktail napkins and mopped at her face, but it was a lost cause.
“I was never scared of him,” she said wetly.
Chiara shook her head—agreement.
“I was scared of myself. That I wasn’t strong enough to be with someone like him. Or maybe … someone at all.”
“But you don’t have to be scared of that. You never have to be. You’re the strongest person I know. Brave. Persistent. And look at you! You own your own inn.”
“I do,” Auburn said, a smile breaking through.
She just wished—
She wished he were here to celebrate it with her. Because maybe it was the stupidest thing she’d ever thought, but she believed there was at least a chance, a slim chance … that he was the one person who loved Beachcrest as much as she did.
Although maybe …
Maybe it wasn’t Beachcrest he loved.
Maybe—he’d loved her.
And maybe he still did.
Because she still loved him.
And when she loved something, when she wanted something …
She fucking did something about it.
43
“Beachcrest, Auburn speaking.”
On the other end of the line, the caller took a deep breath. “I’d like to make a reservation.”
Her heart pounded, because she knew that voice. Of course she did. She’d know it anywhere. It rumbled against her skin and ruffled the tiny hairs on her neck. It made her whole body sit up and take notice.
But she made herself be calm. And cool.
“Absolutely, sir. How can I help you?”
She hadn’t expected to hear from him. It had been five days since the party, and she’d been busy with her own plans—so this was unexpected. She didn’t know what it meant.
But she could hope.
“I’m taking some time off from business-building. To explore some other career options and just generally sort out my life. I’ve heard Beachcrest is a good place to do that.”
Her heart was pounding now. Lungs squeezed. He wouldn’t do this to tease. Couldn’t. He had to mean it the way it sounded. “‘Time off from business-building.’ That sounds serious.”
“It’s like a really big vacation. For now. And rumor has it that Beachcrest is the best place to take a vacation and figure things out.”
His voice was low, warm, and it vibrated in all the places he’d touched with his hands, his mouth, his ….
“Yes. I can attest to the fact that that’s true.”
“Do you have any vacancies?”
Now he was just messing with her, a teasing turn on the word. And she loved it.
“We—let me just get into the computer.” She opened the reservation screen, even though she knew. She knew the whole schedule by heart without looking, always.
“You’re in luck. We had a cancellation yesterday, and we have one room available, for a week. The guest house room. You can view the room online if you want to see the details, but it has a queen bed in a standalone structure, with its own bath and its own gas fireplace. It’s a lovely place for—figuring things out.”
She heard his sharp inhale. “Sounds perfect for me.”
“I’ll put you in the computer, then. What—what will you be doing on your trip? Do you need us to make any dinner reservations for you? Or—we can do boat rentals, that kind of thing.”
“I’m thinking about a very long beach walk,” he said. “I don’t suppose—no—I guess that wouldn’t make any sense, would it? I don’t suppose you do beach tours.”
“You mean, have someone accompany you on this long beach walk? Point things out to you? Show you the sights?”
“Yes. That’s what I was thinking. Maybe there could be a picnic. I’ve heard Tierney Bay Diner does really great takeout. I could order something, if the inn has a small cooler I could borrow…”
“Well,” she said. “We aim to be a full-service operation. I don’t see why we couldn’t custom build that experience for you. A long beach walk. Did you know you can walk all the way from Tierney Bay to Hipsalu on the beach at low tide? And as luck would have it, there’ll be a particularly low tide tomorrow. I could find someone to accompany you on your walk. It would take several hours, and that’s without stopping for a picnic. If you took a picnic break, though, there’s a spot I can recommend that’s secluded. There’s a little cave. If you brought a blanket to spread out …”
He made a low sound at the other end of the phone, which vibrated in her belly.
“So,” she said. “You’re all set, then. When will you be checking in?”
She heard the front door open, and then he stepped into the front office, holding his cell phone. And she smiled. She couldn’t have helped it if her life had depended on it. Because he was wearing board shorts and a Tierney Bay t-shirt and flipflops, and he had a towel sl
ung over one arm and a bucket with a plastic shovel in it in his other hand. He saw her smile, and his own lit up his face.
“Auburn,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”
“Yes. You were an overassertive, presumptuous macho dipshit with a fix-it complex. But I also know you had your reasons.”
He came up to the desk and set down his towel and shovel and pail. Leaned over the desk, rested his elbows on it. “You are the strongest woman I have ever met. And the most beautiful. I love the way you see the world. I love that you saw through me. I love—”
She couldn’t catch her breath. The way he was looking at her made it impossible.
“I love you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She had to brush them back and find her ability to form words. “That’s a pretty good speech.”
“It’s not a speech. It’s the truth. I did have a whole speech, but I forgot it when I looked at you.”
“Oh.”
“It had something to do with—Brynn and I had a talk. About my mom. And how—”
His eyes were shiny.
“I’m not crying,” he said. “Okay, maybe I’m sort of crying.”
“I would be good with you crying,” Auburn said. “I’ve heard this rumor that men do that now. It’s not just for women anymore.”
That made Trey laugh.
“Brynn says that I blame myself for my mom’s death. I convinced myself that if I’d worked harder she wouldn’t have had to work so hard … I’m definitely crying,” he said. “Shit, Auburn, I am not sure I can do this. It’s so—wet and gooey.”
She giggled. She reached under the desk and handed a tissue to him. He took it, looked down at it in mock confusion, then swept it across his brow and tried to stick it in his non-existent breast-pocket, handkerchief-style. She pulled it out again and gently dabbed at his eyes. He caught her hand, pulled her close, and kissed her until they were both breathless and panting.
“Stupid counter,” Trey said to the obstacle between them. “Anyway, Brynn says—I should stop saying that, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“At some point, maybe it was when my mom died, I don’t really know, I decided no one was ever going to suffer again because of a man’s inadequacies,” he said. “Karina. Carl. Brynn. You. I was going to take care of all of them. Everyone. With money. My way. And if there was someone I couldn’t take care of properly, it meant I didn’t deserve her.” He took a deep breath. “I wish I could promise never to do it again, but you know how hard bad habits die.”
“I do. Like my bad habit of assuming that if a man has a will as strong as mine—okay, almost as strong as mine—” she smirked at him “—he probably also wants to control me?”
“Like that.”
“We could maybe make a pact. To not run away the next time we get scared or frustrated or feel like we aren’t what the other person needs or the other person isn’t what we need. We could just talk about it.”
“Yes. That sounds like an excellent plan. And that’s a damn good thing, because I hated not being with you.”
Now she was the one crying. “I hated not being with you, too.”
“Can you—come out from behind that fucking desk?”
“Yes,” she said, and did. And this time, when he kissed her, there was nothing between them.
44
When they broke apart, she said, “I need to show you something.”
“Yeah,” he said, dropping his gaze to where his board shorts revealed all. “Me too.”
She swatted at him. “No. Seriously. Come with me. Wait, hang on.”
She went behind the desk, fumbled for a moment, and came back around again. “This way.”
He followed her out to the guest cottage. She unlocked the door and let him in.
“You put in a new desk!” he said. “With a built-in charging station.”
“And I upgraded the Wi-Fi.”
“Did you do this—?”
“I did it because you were right. It’s time for a change, and it has been for a while. People want to sit down and answer emails and charge their devices, even when they’re on vacation. But I also did it because …”
She stopped, and looked up at him, all big blue eyes, wide and … worried.
“I wanted you to be able to come here and work whenever you want.” She took a deep breath. “If you want.”
“You did this … for me.” He was filled with a bright, unfamiliar wonder. Of course, she was marvelous. He’d known all along. But this was different. This was for him.
When was the last time anyone had done anything for him?
When was the last time he’d wanted anyone to?
She reached into her pocket. “I made you a marketing postcard. I was going to send it. But I didn’t get a chance.”
It was a collage—a photo of Beachcrest, one of Breaker Rock, one of the whole beach. And the text said, “Come for the newly upgraded Wi-Fi, stay for the owner, who loves you.”
He stared at it, warmth filling him up. Chasing away all the cold and numb spots.
“You—”
“I love you,” she affirmed.
“Even though I wanted to tear down your inn? And even though I almost made you lose it? And even though I acted like an ass after I almost did?”
“And even though you have terrible taste in breakfast foods. And refuse the good things in life like hot dogs and marshmallows. And even though you spend way, way too much money on cologne.”
“I got a new one. Because the old one seemed like it had some bad memories attached to it.”
She stepped close, put her nose against his shirt, and inhaled deeply. “Ohhhhh,” she said. “I’m a fan.”
He couldn’t help himself, he dipped his head and kissed her. Her mouth opened on a moan and her hands came up to clutch his head.
He was about to scoop her up and carry her to bed when she asked, “Are you really taking time off?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I want to do something different for a while. Build physical things instead of businesses. There’s nothing wrong with moving money around, if it brings you pleasure. But I don’t do it because it brings me pleasure, I do it because I’m afraid of the alternative. And—that’s not a good reason. What I loved most—when I was happiest—was when I was building things. Fixing things. Making things more beautiful. I stopped because I didn’t believe I could be that man and also be the man Karina needed—”
Auburn was shaking her head. “You know you are already the man I need, right?” she asked. “I don’t care what you do. You can move money or build and fix things. You can live in San Francisco or here. You can wear Armani and Versace or you can shop at Sea Stuff. None of that has any bearing on how I feel about you. Besides,” she said. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”
He grinned at that. “No. You definitely don’t.” Then his expression grew serious. “Will you let me, though? Sometimes?”
She smiled. “Of course.” She got up on tiptoes and whispered into his ear, her breath a thrill of sensation against his skin. “You could take care of me right now.”
He growled. Scooped her up. Carried her across the room and deposited her on the bed. Climbed over her, bracing himself up on his arms and lowering his body so he could feel the whole length of hers. The softness of her curves and the heat between her legs—even through her leggings and his shorts.
“God, I missed you.” He took her sweet, hot mouth, loving her taste, the little sounds she made as he swept his tongue in, the way she clutched at his clothing.
He paused only long enough to strip off her clothes, and his, and to find a condom. Then he knelt over her and did what he’d promised—he took care of her—of both of them, his blood rising like the highest of high tides, swelling his veins, his cock, his whole fucking universe. He guided himself to where her body was slick and ready for him. He slid home, watching his own progress on her face, the pink rising in her cheeks, the flare of her pupils, and then, as he pressed
deep, the shadow of her lashes as her eyes fell closed and her lips parted.
She was alive and eager under him, bucking under the weight of his hips, meeting every one of his strokes with her own. Her tongue strained against his. She nipped his lower lip and he bit back, which made her cry out and fuck him harder. And at the end they raced each other over the edge, gazes locked. She wouldn’t let him look away. He couldn’t look away. He saw everything in her eyes. He watched the pink flood up her chest, over her throat, and when it reached her face, he watched her mouth fall open in surprise and pleasure. Nothing came out except a whisper. “Oh, fuck, Trey. Oh, fuck.”
Then he lost himself completely in the intensity of his own climax. It was like getting pulled under by the surf, the waves so close together and each more potent than the last, until consciousness drowned in a sea of sensation.
They lay in each other’s arms a long time afterwards. Until it was time to head down onto the beach to watch the sun set over the Pacific.
As dark fell, a few fireworks brightened the purpling sky. Auburn started to laugh.
“What?”
“Well. You may have spoken some bullshit in the course of our negotiations, but you can stand by at least one claim.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“You are good with giving the fireworks.”
“Better than that?” He gestured at the one currently spilling gold shards over the Pacific.
When he turned to look at her, she was smiling, and by the light of the fading sparkles, he could see the heat banked in her gaze.
“Oh, yeah. So much better.”
Epilogue
Three Months Later
* * *
The Romance Experience weekend was a blast. In the end, twelve guests met the threshold to win the experience, the four romance writers returned to host them, and almost everything went off without a hitch. The authors decided there should be two “tracks” in the experience weekend, one for guests who saw themselves purely as readers, and one for those who were aspiring writers—and the group split perfectly down the middle. The readers spent hours talking about their favorite books and characters, biking, hiking, and eating, while the writers spent those same hours in workshops—and everyone joined together for afternoon cookies and tea, evening campfires, and, of course, breakfast.
