“We’d be underwater when the tide comes in, silly.” She points out their location.
“Fine, we’ll steal a boat or a raft, and head out to sea.” He glances around as if looking for a boat.
“We can go to sea another day. Come on, you’ll love Ryan.” She grabs his hand and turns to head back to the house.
As they walk toward the beach, Biscuit jumps around, biting water from any clams or geoducks that squirt at him. When they get closer to the cabin’s beach, Maggie drops Gil’s hand.
He gives her a questioning look. “What’s up?”
“Do you mind if we keep this between us? Just for now? I don’t want Quinn to tease or Selah to smirk. I’d like to keep whatever this is ours for now.”
“Sure,” Gil agrees, but shakes his head. “No problem.” He squeezes her hand before letting it go. “I’ll follow your lead.”
He waves his arm to follow her back to the cabin.
“Thank you. You’re so good to me.” She smiles at him and strokes his arm.
“I could be so good for you too,” he whispers, so softly she barely hears him.
Twenty-one
Maggie introduces Gil to Ryan. In flat-front khakis and tucked-in white linen shirt and lobster decorated canvas belt, Ryan looks every bit the successful East Coast doctor. His brown hair is buzzed short to disguise his impending baldness. Warm brown eyes behind wireless glasses are framed by deep laugh lines. He’s about the same height as Quinn but heavier.
“I’m surprised you aren’t wearing your Nantucket reds, Dr. Gooding.” She teases him after kissing both his cheeks.
“Didn’t think you Left Coasters would get the historical meaning of pink pants.” He teases back.
“Pink pants?” Gil asks. “On guys? This is a thing?”
“You buy them red and let them fade to pink. The more pink they are, the cooler you are.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Or something like that.”
“East Coasters are strange,” Gil comments.
“We are a rare breed. Was it Fitzgerald who said, “Go West, young man?”
“No idea, but his narrator in The Great Gatsby did make a speedy exit back west after the shit hit the fan,” Quinn answers.
“Can’t say that I blame him.” Maggie sighs.
“You always were a Left Coast girl even when you lived back East,” Selah says from her lounger next to Jo. “You can try to take the girl out of the Pacific Northwest, but you can’t take the… you know…” she fades out with a wave of her hand.
“Ryan, how was your flight? Do you want a shower? A nap? Food? Coffee?” Maggie slips into hostess mode.
“I’d love a giant glass of water and maybe some coffee,” Ryan says.
“Done,” Maggie says, as she heads into the house where Ben is pacing by the windows, still on his phone.
When she comes back with a large glass of water and a full carafe of coffee, the guys are sitting around the table.
“We never decided on lunch plans.” She mentions to the group. “We got distracted by the sun and our hangovers from last night.”
“Hangovers, huh? Sounds like I missed all the fun,” Ryan says.
“Oh, you did, my husband, you did. We solved the age old mystery of whether or not Maggie and Gil slept together in college. The answer is yes. I’d say it was a very productive evening.”
Ryan glances between Maggie and Gil. “I’m guessing Quinn suggested a game of I Never. It’s his favorite way to create drama and expose secrets at dinner parties.”
“Remember when Dr. and Mrs. Fishcakes drank on ‘I’ve never been to a key party?’ That was the best!” Quinn claps his hands.
“Q, they were in their sixties. The probability that they went to a key party in the ‘70s was pretty high.”
“Oh, I know, but it was so like the movie Ice Storm.” Quinn looks delighted at the memory.
Maggie and Gil exchange glances. “At least there wasn’t a key party involved,” he says.
“Nope, no keys.” Holding Gil’s gaze, she blushes.
“Why Maggie, I forgot you could still blush. It’s that fair Irish skin of yours,” Ryan says, looking over his shoulder at Jo and Selah lying on their chaises in the sun.
“I see you looking over here, Dr. Judgey,” Selah says without turning their direction. “I’m getting vitamin D, so I don’t get scurvy.”
“I think you mean rickets. Scurvy is what sailors got,” Ryan corrects.
“Right, right. Rickets. Sailors and pirates got scurvy. Poor scurvy ravished pirates.” Selah sighs.
“So as I was saying, lunch?” Maggie repeats, ignoring Selah and her pirates.
“Before I can decide on lunch, I need to know the menu for dinner,” Quinn says. “I don’t want to repeat.”
Ben walks out through the door, the phone still in his hand, but apparently his conversation is over for now. “I was thinking of getting some steaks and grilling them. I’m a little seafooded out to be honest,” he says as he sits down at the table.
“Grilling is easy. I have veggies from the farmers’ market we can grill, too. Salad, bread, done. Sound good?” Maggie looks around the group, and gets consensus from everyone.
“Okay, now that’s settled, lunch?” She feels like a broken record.
“Why don’t we head into Langley and grab some sandwiches or something? They have that sort of thing here, don’t they? Food not involving fish, mussels or crabs, right?” Quinn asks.
“I’m sure we can find you something that had hooves or feathers, Q.” Maggie gets up from the table. “Whoever wants to come, let’s leave in a half hour. If you want to stay, we can bring you something back.”
“I’ll stay here,” Jo says without lifting her head from the chaise. “It’s rare I can lie around and not do anything. I might even nap.” She turns her head and sighs.
“I’ll come with you. I want to check out that funky antique store by the pizza place,” Selah says, putting down her iPad, and dragging herself off the chaise.
“I’m in,” Gil says.
“Ben?”
“Yeah, sure. When do I get to hang out with you guys?” He stares down at his phone, typing away.
After getting ready, everyone meets up in the kitchen to head out.
Maggie notices Jo appears to be asleep already on her lounge chair. “Wow, she passed out fast,” she observes.
“She’s been run ragged by summer break. I think she’s counting the days until the kids are back in school,” Ben says.
Selah visibly shudders. “Ugh, I can’t imagine.”
Ben laughs at her obvious horror. “You really don’t have the mother gene.”
“I don’t ‘hate’ kids. I just have no desire to ‘raise’ one.” She frowns.
“We could always send ours to visit Aunt Selah next summer, and you can examine the half-formed minds of human adolescents.”
Selah gives him a blank stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Ben is still laughing as they follow Maggie outside and pile into his SUV.
* * *
Langley is busier on Saturday afternoon than it was late Thursday night. Ben makes a loop around the block before finding a place to park in the public lot on Second.
Hopping out of the car with the help of Gil’s hand, Maggie lists the options for lunch. Everyone votes for Village Pizzeria and sitting outside.
“As long as we don’t get the pesto or anything with fresh garlic,” Maggie agrees. “Those combinations are deadly.”
“Only if you plan on kissing someone.” Selah teases. “You’ll be fine if Gil eats it, too,” she says more quietly so only Maggie can hear.
“Hush.” Maggie pinches her arm lightly.
“Ouch! Woman, quit pinching my arm!” Selah causes a stir.
“Why are you pinching Selah?” Gil eyes them both.
“No other reason than she probably deserved it for something.” Maggie smirks at Selah.
&nb
sp; Selah huffs and rubs her arm as they enter the garden of the pizzeria. Located at the edge of the bluff, it has a fantastic view of Saratoga Passage and Camano Island beyond. The smell of garlic and baking dough wafts out from the open kitchen windows.
Despite the crowded garden, they grab a table being vacated by a family. Pizza and salads are ordered along with a pitcher of beer and two white wine spritzers.
“This is a gorgeous place to live, Maggie,” Ryan says. “I can understand why you ran away here, never to return. You seem lighter now. Dare I say, happier?”
“I didn’t exactly run away. But thank you, I do love it here.” Smiling at his observation about her mood, she admits, “And I am feeling happier this weekend.”
“It doesn’t quite feel real. I didn’t see a single familiar sign or business on the drive from the ferry to the cabin, except the Dairy Queen,” Ryan continues.
“That’s because there aren’t any chains or franchises on the south end of the island,” Maggie explains. “There’s a Walmart and all the chain fast food places up in Oak Harbor, but down here, we keep things local as much as we can.”
“Wow. I knew there was something odd about not passing at least one Starbucks,” Ryan says.
“Speaking of coffee, they have these coffee huts here manned by hot guys instead,” Quinn excitedly tells Ryan. “Maggie was telling me all about Jack and his hut the other day.”
She laughs at Quinn’s exuberance. “First, his name is Jonah. Second, not sure he’s hot or your type. Third, we can stop on our way home and get a coffee so everyone can experience the joy of the hut.”
“Jonah, Jack. Same thing. Maggie was trying to throw us together, but I told her I only have eyes for you.” Quinn grabs Ryan’s forearm.
“Q, I’ve met you before.” Ryan squeezes Quinn’s hand on his arm. “You have eyes. We’re married, not dead. And, maybe Jonah is my type.”
“You two seem really good together. It’s a little weird to think of crazy Quinn as married, but I can see this relationship works. It’s nice to see Quinn settled down and happy,” Gil says, smiling at the men.
“Thanks, G. I’m glad you’re finally getting to meet each other.” Quinn returns Gil’s smile.
Their drinks arrive and after pouring the beers, Gil raises his glass in a toast. “To Q and Ryan.”
“To happiness,” Ryan adds.
“To old friends.” Quinn raises his glass
“To good friends.” Maggie toasts, looking at Gil, who winks at her.
“To good sex.” Selah finishes the round of toasts.
“To good sex,” they repeat as Maggie keeps her eyes locked with Gil’s.
* * *
Bellies full of pizza and beer, the guys head into the Star Store to buy steak and other supplies for the night’s dinner. Waving them off, Selah and Maggie wander toward the antique store.
Inside the store, Selah points to a stuffed squirrel on a high shelf. “You should get that for your desk to keep you company.”
“A stuffed squirrel? Are you out of your mind?” Maggie snickers. “First, Biscuit would probably eat it, and second, yuck. Dead animal.”
“But he is so charming and lifelike.” Selah teases as she wanders further into the narrow aisles of the shop.
“Keyword being the like after life. No and no.” Maggie shakes her head.
Selah finds a box of old, yellowed, frayed laces. “Remind you of our conversation from earlier?” She laughs, holding up a particularly old looking piece of lace in front of her waist.
Maggie laughs with her. “Such a lovely image. Miss Havisham would be an excellent, yet tragically sad, Halloween costume for me.”
“Perfect for you. I usually go as Frida Kahlo, as you know.” Selah puts the lace back in its box.
“Yes, I love the variations and accessories you wear. Rib cage or monkey this year?”
“I thought I might mix it up and go as something Victorian. Is steampunk passé?” Selah holds up a top hat.
“If I know about it, it probably has reached mass market status.” Maggie puts the top hat back on its shelf.
“True. Like mustaches. I saw a toddler in a coffeehouse with a mustache and a monocle last week.” Selah rolls her eyes.
“You do live in Portland.”
“At least I think it was a fake mustache. Maybe he was a very short man.” Selah taps her fingers on her chin.
“Like I said, you do live in Portland. You could always go as a pirate wench—a classic.”
“True. Such a cliché. An author of pirate smut going as a smutty pirate is very meta.” Selah seems pleased by this idea.
“You academics with your meta this and that. The rest of the world dresses as a sexy pirate, sexy nurse or a sexy cat.”
“The sexualization of Halloween is fascinating, that’s for sure. Think about it. What is scarier than women taking charge of their sexuality and sexual desires?” Selah steeples her fingers and taps them together like an evil mastermind.
Maggie shakes her head at her friend. “For some men, nothing scarier. Let’s be thankful we don’t have those men in our lives. Speaking of men in our lives, we should probably go meet the guys before they buy half a cow and ten pounds of bacon.”
“Men do love bacon,” Selah follows her out of the store.
“Who doesn’t love bacon?” Maggie asks as they cross the street.
“Orthodox Jews? Vegans? Pig worshipers?”
“It was a rhetorical question. Pig worshipers?” Maggie chuckles.
“Sure, if the Hindu honor the cow as sacred, odds are there is probably some culture that worships the pig.”
“Okay,” Maggie agrees, pulling open the door to the market.
They find Gil and Ben with several steaks, and sure enough, bacon. Ryan and Quinn come over with another cart containing bottles of wine and a box of cling wrap.
“We have meat for the whole beach.” Maggie looks at Gil and Ben behind their cart o’meat.
“We’re growing men,” Ben declares, rubbing his stomach.
“Wine for everyone,” Quinn explains with a flourish, pointing at his cart.
“And growing alcoholics.” Selah rifles through the mix of red and white wines. “Nice selection of Washington wines there, Doc.”
“Can’t find most of these back home, so I thought it would be fun to taste several.”
“Speaking of not having things back home, I found Fat Tire.” Quinn holds up a six pack decorated with a red bicycle.
“That’s a Colorado beer, Q,” Gil comments.
“I know, but it’s still one of my faves, and you can’t get it in the Northeast, or some nonsense like that.”
“Weird. I don’t know how you think you’re the more civilized side of the country.” Gil frowns.
“We have rotaries,” Ryan says, as if rotaries explain everything.
Maggie eyes the cling wrap, and then Quinn. “What’s with the cling wrap?”
“I noticed you were out. Thought I’d pick up more, being a good guest and all.”
Gil picks up the box. “This is staying in the kitchen this time, right? I still don’t want to know why you had cling wrap in your bedroom in Olympia.”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Quinn tosses the box back in the cart.
Maggie leaves the guys in line for a few minutes before returning with her arms full with bags of marshmallows and a box of graham crackers. A jar of Nutella is wedged under her arm along with several bars of dark chocolate.
“S’mores,” she explains when she sees Gil arch his brow.
“With Nutella?” He takes the jar and the chocolate from her.
“Yes, you haven’t lived until you eat them with Nutella. The chocolate goes with a raspberry puree.”
“I’ll have to trust you on this one for now.” Gil sounds doubtful.
“What doesn’t go with Nutella?” She pokes Gil with her elbow.
“Bacon?” He ho
lds up a pack from the cart.
Maggie thinks it over. “Nah. I bet Nutella and bacon sandwiches on brioche would be delicious for breakfast. Maybe done in a panini press so the bread is all toasty and the Nutella kind of melts.”
“Earth to Maggie.” Gil waves his hand in front of her face.
“Sorry. Got lost in some food porn there for a second.” She sighs.
“Don’t you ever get sick of thinking, writing, and talking about food?” Ryan asks.
Maggie gapes at him for a moment.
“Never. I love my job. I love food.”
“I can appreciate good food, but I’m more of a fuel to survive kind of guy.” Ryan shrugs.
“Men are weird about food,” Selah comments.
Gil bags up their groceries as Ryan reaches for his wallet. Maggie tries to block him by insisting she’s the host. Ryan wrestles his card free from her flailing hand blocks and hands it to the teenage cashier, who is watching them like they’re crazy senior citizens on day release from the home.
“Hey now.” Maggie pouts.
“Maggie, you are letting us take over your home for the weekend. Least we can do is pay for some supplies.”
“He makes about a gazillion dollars a year, let the good doctor pay,” Quinn says, as he loads the cart with the case of wine. “I married very well.”
“I’m the one who married well.” Ryan gazes at him.
Quinn gives Ryan a quick peck on the mouth.
The cashier’s eyes widen in surprise. His ‘have a good day’ comes out as a cough.
“Guess they don’t get a lot of mister and misters around here,” Selah comments as they head out the back door to the parking lot.
“Not many, but times they are a changing. We’re pretty open minded for redneck, country folk.” Maggie jokes.
“I wonder how open-minded the lumberjack is,” Selah says.
“Oh, do you think he’s ‘open-minded’?” Quinn winks.
“No, Q. Plus, I’m calling dibs.” Selah reminds him.
“Fine. I still have Jack.”
“Speaking of Jonah, let’s grab a coffee before we head back to the beach. Jonah’s hut is on the way,” Maggie suggests.
Geoducks are for Lovers Page 17
