Love is a Beach: a romantic comedy

by Lilliana Anderson

  Martha pouts and pushes her coarse white hair from her eyes. “You at least like him though, right? A man like that doesn’t come along every day.”

  “And we’re all too old to chase him. So, it’d really help us to live vicariously through you,” Carla adds, her voice as mousey as her looks.

  “And they’d be so great together,” Helen says.

  Lots of nodding and ah-huh-ing happens around the table.

  “There is nothing going on between me and Leo,” I insist. “He’s way out of my league, so don’t even go there.”

  “Oh pish,” Nana says. “You’re never out of any man’s league, my girl.”

  I roll my eyes a little and sigh, shaking my head as I wave the sounds of agreement away.

  “I think you should go for it,” Betsy says. “He needs a good woman in his life. And you’re an excellent woman.”

  “No. I don’t think…” I hold my hand up, my head spinning from all the voices and the prodding.

  “All right, ladies. That’s enough,” Nana says over the top of everyone. “Darcy can find her own man in her own time. She doesn’t need us pushing her into anything.”

  “Thank you, Nana,” I say, grateful she came to my rescue.

  “Although,” she goes on, leaning in close. “If I was your age and single, he’d be the first horse I’d choose to break in my new saddle.”

  “What does that even mean?” I say, frowning while everyone else cackles with laughter.

  SIXTEEN

  LEO

  Friends at best.

  I honestly wasn’t eavesdropping, I just happened to arrive home a few moments before. The apartment felt a bit stuffy, so I opened the deck door to let the breeze in. It also carried the rather loud conversation happening next door. And since my name was mentioned, I listened.

  Sue me.

  I know Darcy is avoiding me. She’s been here for over a week and while we’ve both been busy with the holidays—I spent an uncomfortable day with Tash and her family in the Toorak home we once shared at Christmas then Niall and I spent New Year’s Eve in the city alone—it’s as if she’s pretending I don’t exist. Friends at best. What am I supposed to do with that?

  To be honest, I’ve never faced this kind of a conundrum with a woman I’ve been interested in. It may sound conceited, but normally, I smile, flirt a little, then she’s in my bed until she’s not anymore. They don’t tend to sleep with me then hide behind telegraph poles just so they don’t have to speak to me. This is new.

  I guess I could back off completely and wait until she comes to me. But that’s not how I operate. When I want something, I go for it. Maybe it’s the competitive sportsperson in me, I don’t know, but I’ve never been good at sitting back and waiting. I need an active role in pursuing my goals.

  Shit. That sounds terrible. Darcy isn’t a goal. But she is a want, a desire. For whatever the reason, Darcy is the first woman I’ve met in a very long time who ticks all the right boxes, and I feel as though I won’t be able to move on until we explore whatever our connection is. Maybe it turns out that I really like the idea of her, and all we’re meant to be is friends and neighbours, but maybe, just maybe, there’s something more for us. Something with substance.

  I sound like a sap, don’t I? My advanced years are mellowing me out big time. You never would have caught me talking like this in my twenties, or even my thirties. But my forties, well, they’re a different story. Maybe this is my mid-life crisis, or maybe I’m just finally growing up and realising that there needs to be more to a relationship than lust. I’m looking for my best friend and lover all wrapped up in one.

  See what I mean? I’m sappy as fuck. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I don’t normally act like this.

  Anyway, Darcy has been back in Bayside for nine, maybe ten days, and she doesn’t want to see me if the telephone pole incident is anything to go by. It was a ridiculous move. She’s a full-grown woman and a telegraph pole can barely hide a child. And Archer was with her so he was excited and called out to me. I’m not a dick, so I said hi back, but I kept it all brief since Darcy was hissing at him to come stand by her. My ego took a major hit. Was she hiding because she didn’t want to see me? Was it because she hadn’t washed her hair or something? I know women worry about that stuff. Or is she so regretful over having sex that she can’t stand to look at me anymore?

  I’m going crazy trying to figure this shit out.

  Later that day, I found Archer’s most prized possession, his John Cena action figure, on my side of the deck. It had a little note rolled up, tucked under its plastic arm. ‘I’m not allowed to play on your side anymore. Here’s John Cena so you don’t miss me.’ I thought that was fucking cute. Cute, and a little sad. Despite being a bit gung-ho, he’s a good kid, and I never minded it when he climbed over to my deck and talked my ear off. I bought him a brand-new John Cena doll and left a note with that saying, ‘Thanks, kid. This one’s so you don’t miss me.’ I don’t even care if that’s weird.

  So, I’m planning on having a conversation with Darcy. I’ve given her space over the holidays to focus on her kids and get used to the idea of me living close by. But it’s time for us to have a chat and clear the air. And I’m not going into this without a plan. She’s in a bad place right now and the last thing she needs is me chasing after her. I need to take a big step back and prove to her that I’m here as a friend more than anything. She’ll need time to heal after the shit her husband put her through. It’s going to be hard not to touch her, but I think that’s the best play—show her I’m here, and be the guy she needs when she needs me. Keep my damn hands to myself. I can do that. I’m sure I can.

  SEVENTEEN

  DARCY

  “John Cena and me have the same birthday.” Archer’s voice travels down the hall. I lie in bed, staring at a ceiling that’s painted to look like Van Gough’s The Starry Night. This ceiling wasn’t even painted when we came here the first time. Nana is always redesigning and rearranging things. She says boredom is the murderer of free spirits. I wonder how she managed this in only two weeks? It’s quite wonderful.

  Although, I think I’ve spent more time staring at this thing overnight than I’ve spent sleeping of late. I’ve examined the intricate brushstrokes as if the answers to all life’s questions might be within them. They’re not. But it helps pass the time. I’m not used to sleeping alone yet. I wonder if I ever will be. Twenty years of sharing a bed with another person is a comfort you don’t easily forget, no matter how angry you are. The presence of a warm body, even the familiar snores, it’s like a security blanket I’ll never get back, and I do admit I miss that.

  “The same birthday. Wow. What do you think you like most about John Cena?” Wait. I know that voice.

  “I just told you. We have the same birthday.”

  The man chuckles. Is that? “You don’t think any of his wrestling moves are cool?”

  Oh my God. It is.

  Curiosity draws me from my room. I creep down the hall, standing out of sight as I listen to Archer talk. I want to confirm who it is, but it’s also rare that a mother gets to listen to her child converse with another adult. They’re always so different when they know Mum is around and listening.

  “I don’t really know any of his wrestling moves,” Archer says, in his matter-of-fact manner. “Mum says the WWE is too violent for a kid my age.”

  “You’re only eight, right?” I peek around the corner and my suspicions are confirmed, Archer is talking to Leo. My heart starts galloping in my chest. What is he doing here?

  “Yeah. But I’m a mature eight, you know? I’m more of a ten or a twelve in my head.”

  “I’m not sure that’s much better to be honest.” I can hear the smile in Leo’s voice.

  Leaning against the wall, one arm folded across my middle, I press the thumb of my other hand against my lips, trying to keep quiet as I listen and try to decide how I’m supposed to be around Leo again. Do I hide here and wait till he goes? O
r do I bite the bullet and walk out there like everything is normal?

  “Whatever, man,” Archer says, his voice taking on this quality that tells me he’s acting tough now. “I don’t think I get enough credit for how grown-up I really am. I know heaps of stuff. Stuff they don’t even teach in school.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “For starters, I know that there are so many stars in the sky that you can’t even count them in your lifetime.”

  There’s a pause and I imagine Leo is lifting his eyebrows or nodding, something most adults do when listening to kids.

  “I also know that it takes so long for the light to reach Earth that a lot of the stars we look at are already dead.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Dead like your dreams.”

  Oh God. I cover my mouth with my hand, trying not to laugh. He’s so cheeky.

  “I guess you’re right there.” Leo laughs out loud, a hearty sound that’s nice to listen to. A sudden pang hits me in the chest as I realise that I’ve missed our afternoon drinks and chats. We had a good thing going before I messed it all up by getting freaky on him.

  “I know other stuff too,” Archer continues.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. I know that my dad isn’t coming back.” Oh my God. What?

  My heart stops beating.

  He knows. How? Did Abigail tell him?

  “That’s gotta suck,” Leo says, not giving anything away.

  “It does. And it doesn’t. He never liked it when I made noise, and I like making noise so it’s more fun when he isn’t around. Nana said she’ll teach me to play the ukulele. It means ‘jumping flea’. Did you know that?” My knees wobble and my stomach drops. I didn’t know he felt that way about Kevin. I’m his mother. I should have known this. Swallowing hard, I press my hand against my chest.

  “Ukulele means jumping flea? No. I didn’t know that at all. I wonder why they called it that.”

  “I don’t know that part. I can’t know everything, Leo. Sometimes you’re gonna have to look things up yourself.” I smile again, biting my lip, because I’m also trying not to cry. I’m a bit of an emotional mess here. Meanwhile, my eight-year-old is out there being an absolute champion about me uprooting his life with little explanation. My fourteen-year-old daughter is the angry one. Between the three of us, we seem to have the five stages of grief covered.

  “OK, Archie, I’ll do that.” Archie? They’re doing nicknames? “You’re a very smart kid, you know.”

  “It’s good of you to notice, Leo. But, I do have one more question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you like nuts?” What? Oh no. Not this joke.

  “Sure, I like nuts,” Leo replies, unsuspecting. Oh no. Oh no.

  I jump out of my hiding place just in time to see Archer grabbing himself on the crotch and yelling, “Then how do you like deez nuts?”

  “Archer,” I yell, as he runs off giggling and disappears outside where I can see Nana working in her herb garden. “I’m so sorry about that, Leo. I—” Oh. He’s even better looking than I remember.

  Leo’s grinning broadly, his shoulders shaking from laughter as he sits at the counter, coffee in hand, wearing a red checked shirt, cotton drill work pants, and lace-up boots. Even dressed as a lumberjack, he’s beautiful without trying. I think he’s even more gorgeous than he was at the beginning of his rugby career—I should know, I’ve googled him a lot lately. I focused on his pictures since the rest was mainly football and nasty divorce stuff, that I didn’t need in my head, so I’ve become somewhat an expert on his face over the years. This one is definitely my favourite. I really like his laughter lines and the tiny bit of grey that shows through in his stubble. It’s hot.

  “It’s good to see you, Darcy,” he says, turning that mega-watt smile on me, causing something in my stomach to flip about. This isn’t good. I’m reacting like a teen girl when the cool guy notices me. My cheeks feel really hot.

  I force myself to remember I’m a grown woman, who, if my life was chronicled on Google images like Leo’s, wouldn’t fair so hot in the ageing game. I’ve had to put a hell of a lot of work into looking semi decent ever since I hit my thirties. Having children and sacrificing sleep gave me dark shadows under my eyes for days, an arse that sags if I don’t work out for five minutes, and don’t even get me started on the random hairs that sprout from my chin. Men always seem to age better than women. I don’t think it’s fair since we’re the ones who need our youth more; chasing kids is not easy.

  “How have you been?” I want to keep our conversation as light as possible, otherwise I’m likely to start picturing him naked. Shit. Too late. I see it. And if I close my eyes it’s worse.

  Boy, it’s getting really warm in here.

  “I’m good. Just here to measure up the room for the bunks. Esme said you knew about it.”

  “The bunks? You’re her carpenter friend?”

  He reaches for the tape measure on his belt, pulling the tape out and letting it go again as a demonstration.

  “You’re a carpenter?” I’m struggling to believe this.

  “Sure am, certified and everything.”

  “I thought you did commentating, or something?”

  “In the winter, yeah. But I don’t enjoy being idle for the rest of the year, so I take a few odd jobs to keep me busy. I do a fair bit of restoration work.”

  “I still can’t wrap my head around you being a carpenter.”

  He laughs a little. “I was raised by a single mother who believed in backup plans. Football can’t be forever, she always said, so I also learned a trade as well.”

  “Wow, your mum sounds like a smart woman.”

  “She really was.”

  “Was?”

  He nods. “Passed a few years back.”

  I scrunch my nose a little and lean against the door frame, my fingers playing mindlessly with the ribbon on my sleep shorts. “My dad passed a few years ago too. Stroke.”

  “Cancer for me. Lung.”

  “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your dad.”

  We take a moment, silent, eyes locked. Then I pull up one side of my mouth and break contact.

  “Well, I should probably get dressed and let you get back to work,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder.

  His eyes drop from mine, taking a moment to travel downward before they flick back up. “Don’t hurry on my account.”

  I look down, realising I’m standing here in a camisole and frilly boxers set. They’re more like really short shorts that show off a lot of leg, and the silky camisole isn’t hiding much either. Plus, it’s all pink silk and white lace, far too girly for a forty-year-old woman to be wearing with my saggy boobs and spider veins.

  “Oh crap.” I clap my hands over myself and reverse back into the hallway, spinning around so fast that I trip, fall forward, and land on my hands and knees, my hair falling in my face. I scramble to get back up, my feet skidding comically on the floor, squeaking against the tiles and making a right noise.

  “Need some help there?”

  “Ahhh…”

  Hands, warm and strong, grip my waist to steady me and help me back up. They remind me what it’s like to be touched by him, and every nerve inside me starts dancing about excitedly, my mind throwing up images of our one and only coupling. It’s so incredibly hot in here. Needing to break the connection of his hands on my skin, I stand too fast, crick my back and yelp with pain.

  “Oh God. Oh God.”

  “Whoa there,” Leo says, his fingers digging a little deeper into my flesh. I close my eyes, my face burning so hot that I’m sure I’m bright red.

  “I’m OK,” I force out, trying not to lean back against him and let out a tiny moan, because well, that would be inappropriate when my daughter is still asleep in the room only a few feet away from us.

  “Are you sure? I feel like you’re gonna land like a sack of potatoes if I let g
o.”

  “I promise I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice merely breath. “I need to get Abby up anyway, otherwise you won’t be able to do your job.”

  “OK,” he whispers, releasing me slowly and stepping back. “Come and see me later?”

  His greenish eyes lock with mine and I don’t know whether to refuse or nod. But I don’t get the chance to do either when Abigail shuffles out of the bedroom. “Mum? What are you doing?”

  I spin around to face her, wide eyes. “I’m uh, this is Leo. He’s measuring your room for the bed,” I explain in a rush.

  “I know who Leo is, Mum.” She looks me up and down the way Leo did, but her version is horrified. I’m feeling practically naked right now. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I’m going to get them now,” I say, pointing to my room then basically power-walking my way there. I lock myself in and drop my head against the closed door. I am so fucked up right now. My marriage has ended, my daughter hates me, my son is happy his dad is gone, and I’m making eyes at the neighbour I’ve already fallen into bed with. Does it get much more complicated than that?

  EIGHTEEN

  DARCY

  Tucking Archer into bed that night, I take the opportunity to talk to him about what I overheard him saying to Leo. He’s been so busy tagging along with Nana all day (something I loved doing as a kid) that I haven’t been able to sit down with him until now. He never complains about being bored here.

  “Do you want to talk to me about your dad? I heard you tell Leo this morning that you don’t think he’s coming back.”

  He rubs the back of his hand across his nose. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “How would you feel if you were?”