by Cara Dee
Out
Cara Dee
Contents
Out
Dedication
Camassia Cove
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Out for the Holidays
More from Cara Dee
About Cara
Out
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2017 by Cara Dee
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be reproduced in any way without documented permission of the author, not including brief quotes with links and/or credit to the source. References to ancient or historical events, persons living or dead, locations, and places are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work.
Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.
Formatting by Eliza Rae Services.
Proofreading by M.H.
Dedication
Lisa, Los Angeles, lipsticks, and loves.
Camassia Cove
Camassia Cove is a town in northern Washington created to be the home of some exciting love stories. Each novel taking place here is a standalone, and they will vary in genre and pairing. What they all have in common is the town in which they live. Some are friends and family. Others are complete strangers. Some have vastly different backgrounds. Some grew up together. It's a small world, and many characters will cross over and pay a visit or two in several books. But, again, each novel stands on its own, and spoilers will be avoided as much as possible.
Out is a novel taking place in Camassia Cove. If you're interested in keeping up with the characters, the town, the timeline, and future novels, check out Camassia Cove's own page at Cara's website.
www.caradeewrites.com
One
I have a list
Zach Coleman
Quit stalling. You’re here for a reason.
Two reasons, actually. I had a list. This was the first item on that list, the priority.
Topaz Pages. What an awful name for a bookstore.
I scratched the side of my head and squinted at the sign above the quaint shop. What color topaz did that even refer to? The sign was black on white, the cursive letters hand-painted on the wood. My mom used to say I had topaz eyes. I called them blue, some called them green. But then there was yellow topaz, so merely saying something was the color topaz was like deliberately screwing with someone. Being all vague and crap.
Gravel crunched under my Chucks as I turned and took in my surroundings, nothing making sense to me. Everything I had read about Malibu seemed wrong, because this wasn’t fancy. On the side of the Pacific Coast Highway that slithered up along the coastline, I’d found Topaz Pages sitting here all alone. Actually, there was a pastry shop too. That was it, though. The two businesses shared a two-story building and a small parking lot. Expansive hills were their backdrop, and the ocean was across the road—well, down a cliffside.
It was hot as hell, and cars whooshed by, upsetting the yellow dust. Mansions and beaches weren’t far away, maybe a minute or two in each direction, yet this…this looked like a place God had forgotten.
Topaz Pages. I scoffed quietly and walked toward the building. My pale ass needed to get out of the scorching sun before I turned into a poster child for skin cancer. Or an item on the Red Lobster menu.
I gave my armpit a test whiff, satisfied I still smelled the deodorant. Perhaps wearing black jeans and an equally black tee hadn’t been the wisest choice, but I was from northern Washington, a place where the sun wasn’t outright chasing you or starting wildfires all over.
Why did stars pay millions to live in these mountains?
So far, Malibu wasn’t very impressive.
There was a ground-level porch that snaked around the two shops, and someone cared about this place. The stucco building with a flat roof didn’t look like much on its own, but with the fresh coat of white paint and all the potted flowers, at least the joint was taken care of. Two Parisian tables and four chairs stood outside the pastry shop. Outside the bookstore was a welcome mat that read “Shhh, I’m reading.”
The old-fashioned sign inside the door said, “We’re open sometimes.”
My mouth quirked up.
A bell clanged as I opened the door. A sigh of contentment escaped me at the first gust of the air conditioner, and I glanced around the modest space, taking in the sight of all the books. Quaint really fucking was the right word for this store. Shelves lined the walls, as well as creating six narrow aisles with books from floor to ceiling.
I ran a hand through my hair and breathed in deep. Old books had a distinctive smell, and it was almost soothing. I wasn’t even big on reading, yet it calmed some of my nerves.
I had to wonder, though…how the fuck did a place like this make a profit? A bookstore barely survived in my lumberjack town a couple hours north of Seattle; we had one left, if I wasn’t mistaken. And we didn’t have Malibu rents.
“I’ll be right out,” a voice called. A warm, soulful voice. Would this be Henry Bennington, the man I was here for? He was my little brother’s best friend’s estranged uncle and guardian, and all I had to go on was this address, a phone number I couldn’t use, and his name. I also knew Henry had been—at some point—an investment banker.
“No worries,” I replied, clearing my throat.
My stomach flipped, and one of the narrow aisles called to me. I’d say it was for the books, but it was only a hiding spot. The nerves were back. Totally unrelated to Mr. Bennington and all about my other reason for being in this state.
Item number two on the list.
I fingered the spines of a few old books. Stop thinking about that party. Do something about it instead. I was fucking trying, wasn’t I? Los Angeles had a big gay community. Before I left, I’d go to a gay bar and see if I really was into guys. Back home, that wasn’t an option the way it was here.
Half the time, I still convinced myself it was in my head. Then I’d pass a guy on the street and find him sexy. Time would fly by, and I’d forget him. Gay porn held no interest whatsoever. Straight porn did, while dating an actual woman didn’t—anymore—so one could say I was confused and frustrated.
It summed up the past two years of my life. It all started on my twenty-fifth birthday, when a friend of a friend showed up at my little party, and I couldn’t form a word. I hadn’t seen him since then. Out-of-towner.
A scowl took over when I suddenly saw the book I was holding in my hands. I instantly put it back and noticed this whole section was about same-sex history, politics, and culture.
Moving on to another aisle, I breathed a sigh of relief. American classics. I could deal with those.
I was right in the beginning of the aisle, so I had a good view of the counter by the door when a man appeared from a back office. I kinda froze, aside from a gulp that tightened my throat. Don’t swallow your tongue. The man was flipping through the pages of a thick book, and he was fucking gorgeous. In some rugged, strange way. I wasn’t sure. Did I find him beautiful? Maybe that was
the wrong word. My mouth ran dry.
He looks like how a sucker punch feels.
He looked…charismatic, was the word that came to me.
How tall was he? He probably had a few inches on my six feet. His frame was stockier than mine, though toned and fit, and his T-shirt bordered between loose and hugging his sculpted torso. My eyes fell to his biceps as he closed the book. I could tell he took care of himself. He had a nice tan to go with his brown, sun-kissed hair too. Would my hair look like that if I lived in the sun for a few years?
I shook my head, clearing the fog.
You’re here for Ty.
The man looked up from his book, clearly caught off guard, as if he’d already forgotten there was someone else in here. “Oh, I apologize. I assumed you were Martin.” Dark hazel, that was the shade of his kind eyes. They exuded as much warmth as his voice did. He had some scruff too. Sharp features to give the warm colors a contrast.
Ty had the same eyes, only brighter.
I can’t do this.
“How much for this?” I grabbed the closest book and held it up. My palms became sweaty. I needed to get the fuck out of here, and I didn’t even know why.
Mr. Bennington tilted his head, appearing confused. “There should be a price tag by the bar code.”
Right. I cleared my throat and lowered the book, sneaking a quick glance at the price. $14.99 was no issue, but what would I do with a copy of Finding Your Inner Seductress: A Guide to a Lustful Marriage?
I bought it, though. And told him it was a gift.
He probably didn’t believe me.
Then I hightailed it out of there and fled in my truck.
I knew what my problem was. As I paced the floor of my overpriced motel room, it all became clear. This weekend had been too highly anticipated, and the appearance of Henry Bennington had thrown me. There’d been a block caused by information overload. I hadn’t registered everything when I saw him; it’d lodged itself somewhere and made me tongue-tied.
I’d known Ty for a few years now. He and my baby brother were best friends, so I already had a perspective on Ty’s uncle. The Benningtons were old money—way old—and the banker thing implied there would be an expensive suit and a fancy car. Right there was the first glitch. Because in that little bookstore, he’d been sporting cargo shorts and a T-shirt. His hair, while only a couple inches long, was unkempt, and he was far from clean-shaven. Nothing about him screamed old money. Then, yeah, his looks. Goddamn, I hadn’t considered that, ’cause why would I? Why would I head down to California and wonder if my brother’s best friend’s uncle was handsome to the point where I kind of wanted to come in my jeans?
I’d seen a picture of Ty’s dad, to boot. He hadn’t been half as attractive.
More than that, though, my main reason for being here—to find Henry—had gotten lost at some point. In my head, I’d focused on exploring myself and clearing some of the confusion. I’d looked up gay bars and clubs, my brain filled with various scenarios and how I’d handle them. Learning that Henry was a man who could make me freeze up like that…it was messing with me. It blurred lines I didn’t know were there.
Anyway, I was good now. So Ty’s uncle was a smoking hot bookstore owner. It didn’t matter. I’d go back to his store tomorrow, and I’d bring my wits this time. I was going to return the stupid book, come clean, and tell him I was here on behalf of his nephew, and then I’d be on my merry way. And with that done, I could finally take a couple days to be someone else—or rather, be myself. The thought of being intimate with a dude was wreaking havoc, and not in an entirely bad way. It was exciting, albeit fucking terrifying. But I’d promised myself this. I was gonna be honest, curious, and open.
After buying a shitty vending machine dinner, I sat down on my bed and scrolled through my messages. I had one waiting from Mattie.
Ty might be getting suspicious. I’m sorry, but you know I can’t lie!
True story. My brother had no poker face. I replied.
Just avoid the topic. If he asks, tell him to call me. How’s the shop?
Leaving our one and only source of income in the hands of a seventeen-year-old wasn’t the best feeling, though Mattie had worked in our corner store since he was fourteen. It was only me and my neuroses that worried.
I doubted anything would go wrong. Mattie was more than capable, and we had Pammie too, our only employee.
Everything’s fine. It would take me more than 48 hours to fuck this up.
I laughed under my breath, figuring that was true. I left Camassia Cove Wednesday morning, and it was Thursday evening now. If I got lucky, I’d solve the Henry issue tomorrow, and then…maybe I could get lucky. I mean, not with him. I needed that thought to be gone ASAP. I was talking about the people I was hoping to meet this weekend.
I’d heard things could get wild.
It made me slightly anxious, but I was gonna dive in. I couldn’t expect anyone to hold my hand.
When I returned home on Monday, I hoped I’d have a better insight into what I wanted.
You could ask Henry…
I shook my head and cursed my brain. Then again…he was gay. It was a huge part of why Ty wasn’t living with his uncle. I bet Henry could answer more random questions about the gay life than a man in a club would.
My brief research of the hookup app Grindr had taught me that sex often came before introductions.
I scratched my eyebrow, flicking a glance at my reflection in the window next to the door. I could get laid, couldn’t I? I’d never had any issues with women. I didn’t work out much; instead, I hiked and climbed often. Was I supposed to style my hair? Shit, I was clueless.
Asking Henry didn’t seem like an awful idea anymore. If he could just guide me through some basics, perhaps I wouldn’t look like a fool when I entered my first gay bar. Of course, this would be after I explained to Henry that I thought he should return to Camassia Cove and slap some sense into his nephew.
Two
Shacking up with Henry was not on the list
“Ugh.” It was hotter today, and it wasn’t even noon. At least I’d gone with a white tee today, but black jeans were kind of standard for me. I didn’t own much else, and I hadn’t brought shorts.
Locking up my truck, I headed straight for the bookstore, and the bell clanged as I entered.
Again, the former investment banker was nowhere to be seen.
I wandered up and down two aisles while savoring the AC, and I waited for Henry to tell me he’d be right out. I lifted a brow as I stopped at the sci-fi section. It took up the entire back wall of the store, and if one person would lose his shit over this, it would be Henry’s own nephew. Ty was a bookworm for all things sci-fi and fantasy. He used to be, anyway.
I hoped there was time to make things right. Being alone with my brother, I’d already made the tough call to decide that if Ty didn’t get his shit together, I couldn’t allow Mattie to hang out with him anymore. I didn’t want my little brother traveling down the same path Ty was currently on. Didn’t matter that Mattie would be eighteen soon—old enough to make his own decisions. The shop was in my name, as was our apartment. That meant I could set some rules.
A weird sound caught my attention, and I left the back of the store. The counter at the front still showed no signs of life, but there was the sound again. What the hell? It sounded almost like a sob. A low, muffled one.
“Excuse me?” I set down the book I was returning on the glass top of the counter and leaned forward a bit. The door to the office in the back was ajar, though I couldn’t see much. “Is everything okay?”
The sound of a toilet flushing followed.
I braced myself—not really knowing why—as a door opened. One presumably belonging to the bathroom in the back, and then the man appeared from his office. I swallowed hard, having nearly forgotten how goddamn sexy he was. His eyes. They won this time, and mostly because they were bloodshot.
“I’m very sorry.” He coughed into his fist, keeping hi
s gaze averted, and busied himself with what I had a feeling was a completely random book. “How can I help you?”
I eyed the book he held. Upside down. Next, he grabbed a label maker and began tidying up.
I knew how this was supposed to play out. I knew how humans worked. I was going to ignore that he’d obviously been crying, and he was going to pretend everything was all right. It was how strangers functioned.
“I came to return this.” I slid the book on seductresses and lustful marriages across the counter. “I, uh…I didn’t really mean to buy it.”
He spared me a brief glance, recognizing me from yesterday. “I figured there was something else going on.” He rang up the purchase, and I handed him the receipt. “Don’t worry. Bookstores can be intimidating the first time you visit them. You’re not the first person to freak out and run away with the wrong title.”
Was he making a joke? His mouth twisted slightly, even as he studiously avoided making eye contact, and I grinned. Then it died, and I just couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked tired, and not in the “I haven’t slept in two days” kind of way. More like life was wearing on him.
He was unhappy.
After completing the return, he gave me back my money before he dumped the book in a bin next to the counter. I peered over to see the box labeled “Donations.”
