by Lindsey Hart
She couldn’t say that was the sole reason she’d joined Owen down at the beach. She sensed that he wouldn’t want to be there alone like the first time after the day he’d nearly drowned. The waters seemed so peaceful and serene that it was hard to believe anything bad could actually take place in their tranquil depths. It wasn’t just that though, that was making Owen hurt. She knew it was everything, the combined effects of Chelsea and his marriage imploding, being the one left behind, being the one to bear a broken heart. She wasn’t an expert, but she figured the best way to find healing was to talk about the things that hurt the most.
Maren finished off one of the triangles of her sandwich. She kept her face turned to the waves, but Owen was so near she imagined she could feel the heat of his arm, or maybe his thigh. The breeze was gentle, but it played tricks with her nose, one second heavy with a salty tang, the next, masculine, the deep woodsy scent of Owen.
“So… I decided to give the bed and breakfast an overhaul. She hadn’t seen a renovation in a while.” Her voice cut through the gentle stillness of the afternoon.
“Yes. I can tell. You did an excellent job.”
“Well, it wasn’t all me. I might have picked out the colors and the materials, but I had a good crew come and complete it. I’m useless at that stuff.”
“So am I,” Owen admitted, a gentle smile spreading over his face. Their eyes met, which set off a deep quaking in Maren’s stomach.
Men were all the same. At least she liked to think so. It was all Hettie’s fault that she felt nervous, that her palms were clamming up and sweating, that though her sandwich was delicious, and she was starving, she had trouble swallowing. She was aware, in all the wrong places, of the man sitting beside her. He made her body tingle, burn and shiver in alternate waves.
“Uh- yes… well, anyway, it’s done now. It’s been in my family for- well, I guess you could say three generations. Technically I’m the fourth, but my mom didn’t stick around so I don’t know if that counts or not.”
“I had no idea.” Owen finally picked up his sandwich. He ate with the ardor of a man who hadn’t eaten all day and she wondered why he’d held back at first, waiting for her to finish. Maybe he was just lost in thought. They’d sat out there for almost half an hour in silence, which she wasn’t at all disturbed by.
“My great grandfather built it for my great grandma. I guess you could call the house a great love story. It ended up being way bigger than anyone imagined, and they decided to take on boarders since they only had one child. My grandma. I’m sure they wanted more, but it was never in the cards. My grandma Jane was completely doted on all her life. She was very loved.”
“I’m an only child as well.”
“Really?” Maren reached into the wicker picnic basket she’d brought and produced an apple. She didn’t bother with the knife she’d thrown in, but bit into the crisp peel. The juices flooded her mouth and she nearly sighed in delight.
“Why? Don’t I seem like I’m the only child sort of person?”
“Not at all. What about me?” Maren waited, apple poised halfway to her mouth, the bite mark slowly turning brown. Owen frowned. The effect was absolutely devastating.
Maren would never have admitted it, but she’d always found Owen far too handsome, what some woman might have termed dashing, if that term could still be used. He was one of those men that walked like their feet didn’t touch the ground, and she meant that in a good way. His features were angular and chiseled, almost rugged, which was odd, considering he worked and lived in Seattle, in the heart of the city. He was fit, which made him look younger than he likely was. She pegged him to be around thirty-five, but she couldn’t quite remember if that was the base or not. He was tall as well, his body that of a man half his age. He had the physique of a man who worked out and ate well. Maybe even jogged every morning. His hair was jet black, not the brown black that some people had which oddly enough didn’t look at all arrogant when he oiled it back. Instead, it looked vintage, ageless, like he’d stepped out of another time. His eyes were deep brown, almost as black as his hair and his lashes were far too long and thick to belong on a man. His jaw bore the shadow of black stubble, but she thought that it probably always looked that way, even freshly shaved.
“I… I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you are an only child as well. Seeing as you’re alone here, at the bed and breakfast.”
“Maybe my siblings just weren’t interested. Monterey isn’t exactly the hot spot of the world.”
“Oh.” Owen blinked those long, amazing lashes and Maren’s mouth dried out a little. She quickly took another bite of her apple and chewed thoughtfully before she spoke again.
“I’m an only child,” she admitted. “You’re right about that. My mom- she- uh- well she was a little troubled growing up. She had a great childhood. I mean, my grandma and grandpa were good people. Her dad died when she was seventeen though, suddenly of a heart attack. That was really hard on her. My grandma said she really went down the wrong path after that. She disappeared, left Monterey for three years and then all of a sudden came back, pregnant. She stayed long enough to give birth to me and then she left again. My grandma and I never saw her again. I’ve never met her, to this day.”
“I’m- I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s alright. I mean, I had the best grandma in the world. She was the best mom anyone could ask for. My mom used drugs during her pregnancy, so I was actually born an addict as well, I guess you could say. I went through all the withdrawals, as a newborn. My grandma says it was the hardest thing she ever had to watch.”
“Jesus.”
“Yah. Well, she was tough. She was tough and amazing. She ran this place all on her own after my grandpa died. She missed him, every single day. She loved him very much, but she got on with it. She never expected to have to raise another baby, but her heart was one of the best on this planet and I was so loved.”
“You don’t hate your mom for just- leaving you here?”
“Never. She couldn’t save herself. I think she knew that, but she could save me. She came back here to give me a chance to be loved. She knew I would never have that anywhere else, not in any kind of system, in a home being raised by strangers. At least, most kids don’t get that, though some are lucky and wind up with a loving family. She did the best she could, and that was to leave me with my grandma.”
Owen ran a hand through his hair. He raised his forgotten sandwich to his mouth and finished it off in a few bites. The air between them was tense, strained, but not because of what she’d shared. She could tell that Owen was working on a confession of his own. She’d shared, and in doing so, she gave him the opportunity to open up. It wasn’t a game with her. She’d never minded sharing things that other people considered quite personal. Maybe it was why some people said she was so easy to talk to.
“I imagine Chelsea was a little like your mom. She never wanted to come back. It wasn’t natural. She never talked about her past. I knew I’d made a mistake almost as soon as we were married. Right from the start, it wasn’t truly me she wanted. It was a better life.”
Wow. The undercurrent of loss in Owen’s tone cut Maren to the core. He truly loved her and she played him. Maren sighed. “There is something you should know about Chelsea. Maybe then you can understand why she did what she did. She was raised by her dad. Her mom took off when she was ten. Her dad was abusive as hell. He was always out of work and I think he was really ashamed of that. He was mean normally but when he was on the drink, it was so much worse. He used to hit her. I knew about it. Everyone did, but no one did anything. She was my best friend. She was so beautiful and vibrant and smart. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how. She put up with that until she was sixteen, then she moved out with her boyfriend at the time. That didn’t last long. She bounced around, going from couch to couch, house to house. Most people were okay with having her crash with them for a little while. I think they felt sorry for her. Anyway, she finally moved
in with me at the bed and breakfast. I needed some help around here, though she wasn’t very helpful. My grandma didn’t mind her, though she was flighty and wild at best. I liked having her here, especially after my grandma died. I don’t know, I guess we were just always friends because deep down, we were two broken little birds and we just meshed well. I didn’t mind her craziness. I didn’t mind that she bounced around. I didn’t mind any of it. I kind of felt like she made me whole.”
Owen laughed. Maren started. She hadn’t expected it. She turned to look at him, but he was looking out at the endless water. “You know, I felt kind of the same way. I’d never met anyone who I just… loved. It was instant. From the first moment I opened my eyes on this beach, after she saved me. I looked up into her eyes and I was just lost, but I felt like I’d been found. I never saw myself getting married. I thought I was past all that. I liked being single, but one look at her and I was finished.”
“I think that Chelsea loved you, in her own way.”
Owen snorted. “That’s very kind, considering she never even contacted you after she left.”
“I don’t think it’s because Chelsea used me or forgot about our friendship,” Maren said slowly. “I think it was because she just didn’t know how. She was trapped in a cycle that she didn’t know how to break. She was looking for love, but she didn’t know how to heal herself and I don’t think she could ever truly learn to love and be with another person until she did.”
“That’s very perceptive.” Owen paused and the silence settled in around them, thick again. It was much later when he spoke again. “I guess it helps a little, to hear those things, given what happened. I did feel used and I did feel betrayed.”
“What she did wasn’t right. I don’t really know anything about it.” Maren dropped her eyes as her face heated.
“It does help, really, what you said. It’s very compassionate.”
This time it was her turn to stare out at the water. The sun glistened off the surface, stinging her eyes just a little. She got lost in that point where the sky met the water. She traveled back, as though time reached out and gripped her. She went back to that day, the morning when Owen almost died. He’d been crazy, to go swimming when the water was that rough. Though, she supposed, someone unfamiliar with it, wouldn’t have known just by looking at it, that it wasn’t quite calm enough, that the undertow could be deadly.
When she finally tore her eyes away and looked back at Owen, she could tell he was thinking about that day as well.
“Do you think you’ll ever go back in? After what happened?”
He smiled, just the corners of his mouth turning up, but it was glorious. It lit up his dark, expressive eyes. “If I do, it will be up to the waist and that’s it.”
Maren laughed easily. “I’ve been swimming in these waters for as long as I can remember. No one taught me how, I guess I just learned it on my own. My grandma used to joke that I was part fish.” Owen didn’t say anything, and Maren, sensing she’d said too much, stood abruptly. She brushed crumbs off her thin maxi dress. “I have some cleaning to get to. I can make dinner for seven since it’s late already. Is that alright?”
“Yes, yes that’s fine.” Owen’s voice was soft, strangely intimate, as though their sharing bound them together in an inexplicable way.
Maren turned and started the walk up to the back deck. It was huge, brand new, like the rest of the exterior, and led right up to the kitchen. She entered through the large sliding door and shut it firmly behind her. She knew it was unlikely that Owen could see her down from the beach even if he had turned around, so she braced her back against the warm glass and took a deep breath.
She thought back to what Hettie had said about connection. She felt it, the invisible thread that sewed her and Owen together. It had, in truth, ever since that fateful morning when her breath entered his lungs and gave him life.
Sometimes she dreamed about that morning. Sometimes she just dreamed about Owen.
She didn’t want to deceive him. She didn’t want him to feel that what they’d just shared out there on the beach wasn’t real. She decided as she walked through the kitchen, that there was no way she could ask him. It just wasn’t right, but when she thought about losing her house, the house that had meant so much to her grandma and her great grandparents before that, tears coursed down her cheeks and she wasn’t as firm in her stance as she wanted to be.
CHAPTER 5
Owen
He woke sweating, gasping for breath. The last vestiges of the nightmare faded. He sat ramrod straight in the queen-sized bed, back against the headboard, pulling in large gulps of air. As it always did, his breathing eventually calmed. His heartbeats went from hammering against his ribs to a more even rate.
He’d been drowning again. It wasn’t surprising, given that the dream returned almost nightly, even when he lived in Seattle. Being back in Monterey, in the exact location where he’d almost died five years ago, was likely enough to trigger more than the average response.
This time it had been different. He was drowning, sinking, floundering in the water, his lungs filling up, his mouth and nose flooded with it. It was painful, always so damn painful. And then, just as he was about to fall, to sink into oblivion, he felt her arms wrap around him, pull him up, up towards the surface.
Her hair swirled around him, her sure strokes brought them closer and closer to shore. He hadn’t blacked out in the dream like he had in real life. When he’d opened his eyes, it was not Chelsea’s face staring down at him. It wasn’t Maren’s either, but an odd mix of the two, a new woman created from both their features.
Owen swiped a hand over his face. His fingers burned as they hit the fresh growth of stubble on his jawline. It’s just everything that’s happened lately. Chelsea. The divorce. Now Maren. It was all in my dream.
He could tell himself that it was just a dream, just his subconscious playing tricks on him, but he couldn’t fully deny the strange pull he felt towards Maren.
That afternoon, sitting on the beach with her, she’d opened up about the darkest, most painful parts of her life. She told him as though she was talking to an old friend who just didn’t know. She told him as though she trusted him, even though she had no reason to. He fell into it like one falls into an old t-shirt or a comfortable pair of shoes. You just knew that it would fit just right long before you pulled them on.
Restless, his energy bundled up inside of him, ready to burst, Owen slid out of bed. He happily stripped off his soaking wet t-shirt and damp boxers and exchanged them for a fresh pair out of the suitcase he’d set on the antique settee in the far corner of the room.
His room overlooked the backyard and the beach. There were no blinds on the windows, just gauzy curtains. The window was closed, and he decided to give it a yank. It went without resistance and he was surprised until he realized that it was new. The tangy saltwater air assaulted his nose immediately. The breeze wasn’t strong or lax, it fell somewhere in the middle. The curtains fluttered prettily at the window, like gauzy ghosts.
The moon was nearly full. It danced and shimmered over the water, creating silvery streaks and an ever-moving trail.
He stayed that way at the window, transfixed, staring out at the dark waters, almost unseeing, for so long that he nearly started when the waters moved and a lithe figure crested the surface. Was she there all along? Did I miss her?
Even in the dark, with the water changing her hair color, darkening it, he could tell that the figure was Maren. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as she stroked through the gentle waves. She swam without purpose or care, with no specific pattern.
My grandma used to say I was half fish.
Her earlier words rang through his head. She was like a fish. She swam with effortless grace. She never seemed to tire or flag. Sometimes her head dipped below the surface and he was astounded at how long she could hold her breath.
It felt like hours that he watched her. It might have been, or it might have bee
n minutes. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t move. She was spellbinding, magical, utterly captivating and enchanting, as though she truly had been born from the sea itself.
When Maren finally stood in the black, inky waters, the moonlight hit her, illuminating her hair. It curved over the tender outlines of her pixie-like face and dappled her alabaster shoulders.
He wasn’t proud that when she started walking through that black water, parting it easily, he didn’t look away. Even when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything at all.
Of course, she’d swim nude, without the encumbrance of anything on. It made the most sense, given that he felt like he was witnessing the birth or magic of some sea sprite and not a human woman at all.
The waters parted and swirled, receding to her waist and then to her knees, her ankles. She stepped out onto the sand.
Owen waited, breath caught somewhere between throat and lungs. Droplets of water sluiced off her hair, off her shoulders, her breasts. Her pink nipples stood out in the moonlight as the chill of the night breeze blew over her damp skin. Thankfully, she turned, lifting her arms over her head, raising them as though saluting the moon or some unseen force, before they dropped back to her sides. The slope of her hips and the round swells of her bottom were hidden by her wet hair. Damp, it was far longer than waist length.
He finally tore his eyes away, aware that he’d been rudely gawking. He hadn’t appreciated her body sexually. No, it had been far too otherworldly a sight for that exactly
When he looked back a moment later, Maren had already donned her maxi dress from earlier. She was bent slightly to the side, her hair gathered up in both hands, twisting it to get the water out of the long red strands.
Now that she was dressed, covered, protected from his gaze, his body reacted viscerally, as any male would. His blood surged, pounding in his ears. His cock stiffened, punching at his tight boxers. God, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. He and Chelsea hadn’t had a proper marriage even for the year before she cheated on him. He wasn’t even sure, exactly, how long it had been since he felt truly connected to another person in a physical way. Had he ever felt that way with Chelsea?
