by Kristy Tate
“Hey!” Trevor propped himself up on his elbows to frown at Penny. “I’m an excellent swimmer and an open book. You’re the one withholding information. All I know is your name, Maggie, supposedly short for Magdalena.”
“Maggie?” Drake raised his eyebrows at her.
Penny shrugged and looked out at the water. “It suits me better than Magdalena.”
“That’s true,” Trevor said.
Drake bit back a smart remark and settled on the sand beside Penny, wondering what he should do to get Penny away from Trevor Marx.
“What would you like to know?” Drake asked Trevor. “I can tell you everything.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Maggie’s my wife.”
Trevor looked surprised, and Penny didn’t look very happy either. “Ex-wife,” she corrected him.
Drake struggled to sound nonchalant. “Estranged would be a better word.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees.
Penny laughed. “I am not strange.”
Drake shifted, unhappy with her play on words, yet pleased knowing that the marital conversation had to be making Trevor uncomfortable. “Oh, and I am?”
“I didn’t say that. You did.” She sounded exactly like his Aunt Greta bickering with Uncle Thurmond. Tingling started in Drake’s toes. He hoped they sounded like an old married couple.
Trevor cleared his throat. “If neither of you are strange, would you say your situation is strange?”
“What do you mean?” Penny and Drake both asked at the same time.
“Well, estranged couples usually don’t share a beach house.”
Drake and Penny looked at each other. Neither spoke. Finally Penny blurted, “Special circumstances.”
The expression on Trevor’s face clearly said he wanted more information, and Drake decided to provide all he could, before Penny created her own story.
“Magdalena writes cookbooks.”
“You’re both writers?” Trevor asked.
“Writing cookbooks is hardly—” Drake began.
“Oh my gosh,” Penny blurted. “You are such a snob. What’s wrong with writing cookbooks?”
“Neither a mixer nor a blender be; For flour oft loses itself when stirred with vinegar,” he said in his best Shakespearean voice, knowing he was making her mad. “I met—” Drake cleared his throat, “Maggie at a writer’s conference.”
“The attraction was quick and deadly,” Penny said.
“Deadly, huh?” Trevor asked.
“More like a spiritual than physical death,” Penny said.
“Were you married long?”
Penny shook her head, and Drake drew in the sand with his toe. “Not long, no,” Drake had to admit.
“Long enough,” Penny said.
“Long enough to know…” Trevor’s voice trailed, a plea for more.
“She has a mean left hook,” Drake said.
“What are you doing?” Penny mouthed at him.
Drake ignored her.
Trevor grinned. “My sister told me you were violent.”
“Only when seriously provoked,” Penny said through clenched teeth.
“She doesn’t look dangerous,” Trevor said over her head to Drake. “She’s very small.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Drake warned. “Watch this.”
Chapter 24
Multiple sprints of exercise can be just as effective for fitness and weight loss as one long workout.
From Losing Penny and Pounds
When Drake grabbed a handful of sand, Penny jumped up and ran down the beach. She sprinted past the mother and children and dodged a surfer lugging his board. She collided with a boy holding a boogie board and apologized without breaking stride as she ran for the rocks.
Drake grabbed her around the waist and swung her toward the water. Penny screamed and Wolfgang yelped and tripped Trevor, coming from the rear. They collided and went into the surf. A cold wave washed over Penny and she kicked away. Cutting through the water to a safe distance, Penny began to furiously splash first Trevor and then Drake. The two men looked at each other. Sensing a brewing alliance, Penny dove into the water but Trevor snagged her ankle.
While she flailed in protest, Drake caught her wrist. He and Trevor lifted her out of the water like a soggy hammock, and after swinging her side to side, sent her flying into the ocean.
Water engulfed her, and when she made contact with the ocean floor pain tore through her foot. She tried to stand, but floundered. She spit water out of her mouth and called for help.
When Trevor came close, she screamed, “Not you!”
She hobbled to shore. She sat down in the frothing tide to inspect her foot. Drake squatted next her. “Not you either!” she said, trying to move away, using her hands and one good foot to shift through the water. Sand filled her swimsuit bottom. “Bugger it all,” Penny muttered.
Drake held up his hands in an I-come-in-peace pose. Penny didn’t want to cry, but looking at the ugly gash on her foot brought tears to her eyes.
“Penny,” Drake’s voiced coaxed, and he moved toward her.
She jerked away from him.
Trevor stood, looking on with his arms dangling at his sides. “I thought your name was Maggie.”
Drake shot him a quick get-lost look and Penny sniffed. “He just calls me Penny. Like a lost Penny.”
“Or lucky Penny—depending on the day,” Drake added as he knelt beside her and picked up her foot.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Penny complained, but she stopped flinching away from Drake. She needed help even if it was from him. The sting took her breath away, and she didn’t protest when Drake hitched her onto his back. She leaned into him, her arms circling his neck, her legs hugging his waist.
“Let me see,” Trevor said.
Penny stuck out her foot for Trevor’s inspection. He didn’t say anything, but tightened his lips. The blood ran from the ball of her foot and fell in drops on the sand. Water dripped down her face and she felt chilled. “What is it?”
Trevor ran his fingers over the ball of her foot. “Glass,” he said. Using his fingernails he loosened the shards clinging in the flesh.
Drake, with Penny astride, crossed the beach to where they had been sitting. Their indentions still marked the sand.
“You should see a doctor.” Trevor picked up his abandoned T-shirt and wrapped it around Penny’s foot.
“No,” Drake and Penny said at the same time.
She couldn’t see a doctor. She’d have to fill out forms, file an insurance claim, and use a lump of cash or a credit card. To make matters worse, she’d hurt her right foot, her gas pedal foot. She wasn’t going anywhere. With her head against Drake’s back, she could hear his heart. In such a short time, she’d grown inescapably close to this person, her pretend husband, and she didn’t know what to do with her tangled feelings. Running away had seemed like the perfect answer. But with the gash on her foot, running would be one of the things she would need to give up for awhile.
Drake banged through the back porch and gently set her down on his bed. He excused himself then returned carrying what looked like a large tackle box. He sat down at her feet and flipped open his medical treasure chest. Gauze, assorted plastic bandages, a bio-waste bag, burn gel, cold packs, CPR mask, and towelettes were all on the first level. She wondered what else the box held. Drake pulled out a pair of tweezers and antibacterial ointment. Trevor leaned against the doorjamb and watched.
“That’s a serious first aid kit,” Penny said, thinking about how the last time she needed a Band-Aid she’d improvised with a wad of tissue and a strip of masking tape.
Drake picked up Penny’s foot and dabbed the sore with alcohol-soaked cotton gauze and she tried not to flinch. “Trevor, could you get wet paper towel?” Drake asked.
Trevor disappeared into the kitchen.
“I can’t go to the doctor,” Penny hissed at the top of Drake’s head.
He looked up at her, his eyes full of co
ncern.
“I can’t blow my cover,” she whispered.
Drake tried to hide his smile as he bent back over her foot, his shoulders shook with repressed laughter.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know,” he whispered back. “But just listen to yourself. Your cover? You sound like a control agent instead of a cooking show host.”
Penny inhaled sharply. “My blog post! I completely forgot! I’m supposed to be in Italy today.”
“No problem, I can cook.”
Trevor cleared his throat. He held a paper towel and a glass of water in one hand and a couple of blue pills in another
Drake took the paper towel before turning his back on Trevor and dabbing up Penny’s blood.
“These will knock out the pain,” Trevor told her.
Penny swallowed a slug of water and then the pills. “I need to go to the store,” Penny said, trying not to choke.
“I can take you,” Trevor volunteered.
Drake frowned at him and poked at Penny’s foot with more force than she thought necessary.
“Ow!” she said to Drake. Turning to Trevor she said, “I want to go to the farmer’s market.”
“Great, I love the farmer’s market.” Trevor reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. After reading a text, he said, “My sister is frantic. The fishing guide is at the house.”
Drake taped up Penny’s foot and then set it down on the bed. “Tell her I can’t go.”
“Because of me?” Penny asked. “Don’t be silly. You should go.”
Drake gave her a long look.
“You too,” she told Trevor.
“Those pills will make her pretty loopy,” Trevor said.
Penny leaned back against the pillows. They smelled faintly of Drake.
“Don’t you want to change?” Drake asked.
Penny remembered the sand in her bathing suit. “I’m getting your bed sandy.”
“No problem.” A fleeting frown crossed Drake’s face and she watched him try to replace it with a grin. “I don’t sleep there anyway.” Penny knew what he meant, but she also knew that Trevor wouldn’t. Drake was hoping that Trevor would misunderstand. She blew out a frustrated sigh.
“It is a problem,” she argued, sitting up. “Help me upstairs so I can change.”
Drake wrapped an arm around her waist, balancing her as she tried to hop on one foot toward the stairs and her room.
“Okay, this is definitely wading into marital matters,” Trevor said, looking awkward. “I guess I’ll go. What should I tell Melinda?”
“That he’ll be right there,” Penny said at the same time Drake said, “That I’m not going.”
“You should go,” Penny said.
“What if you need something?” Drake asked.
“What can I possibly need?”
Drake laughed. “A shower,” he muttered.
“And that I prefer to do alone.”
***
After a bath and a nap, Penny did need something—she needed something to do. She scrounged through the bookshelf and a small leather bound notebook caught her eye. She flipped it open to find long, elegant handwriting, every letter precise.
A sailor braces against the mast, his feet squarely planted on the slippery deck. Long nights, shortened dark days, Hans watches the sky for a break in the clouds. He fingers the pouch hanging from his waist. It holds the key to his home and heart: the Sunstone.
Even though she was curious, Penny put it back exactly where she found it, because she guessed it belonged to Drake. She knew he liked everything in its place and Penny suspected she had seriously trespassed.
***
Penny startled awake when Wolfgang began barking at a knock on the door. She had been dreaming of Vikings, and she wasn’t ready to return from Norselandia. She sat up and glanced at the mirror. The pillow had left red creases across her cheek and her hair had turned wild. Wrapping a quilt around her, she hobbled to the window to peak through the curtain while Wolfgang tried to trip her.
Trevor, J. Crew gorgeous in a polo shirt and dark jeans. He saw her and waved.
Now what? She leaned against the door and considered hiding, but it was too late to pretend not to have seen him. She would have to chitchat with her teenage fantasy while he looked GQ and while she felt like sleepy pond scum.
Wolfgang barked relentlessly. Penny took a deep breath, straightened her sweatshirt, patted her hair, swallowed, and unlocked the door. Wolfgang growled. Penny hushed him and only opened the door snout-wide.
“Hey,” Trevor said, his eyes sweeping over her before resting on her face. “I brought you something.” He held up a black ebony cane studded with rhinestones.
“It’s beautiful,” Penny said. Trevor had beautiful everything: eyes, nose, hair, clothes, and now a cane.
“Do you want to try it out?”
“Yeah, sure,” Penny said, feeling stupid with sleep. “Let me put the dog somewhere first.” Grabbing Wolfgang by the collar, she kicked the door closed and tried to limp and drag the dog away at the same time. She pushed Wolfgang onto the back porch before hobbling to the bathroom to touchup her make-up and hair. When finished she wondered why she’d bothered—she still looked ragged. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she hobbled back to the door.
“Come on in,” she said.
He looked huge and out of place in the tiny beach house, like a stallion in a dollhouse. He handed her the cane and she leaned on it.
“It’s perfect,” she said. She didn’t know what to do or say next.
“Don’t you want to try it outside?”
Penny considered it. “It’s too pretty to use on the grass or sand.”
“Yeah, but there’s sawdust at the farmer’s market. It should be safe there.”
It was then that Penny realized that she didn’t feel safe alone with him. But she had been alone with Drake for hours and she had never felt unsafe or…queasy. Trevor made her queasy, and Penny wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the leftover feelings from her childhood crush.
“You said you wanted to go, right?”
Wolfgang whined and scratched at the door, his nose pressed against the screen. Penny shot him a be-quiet-or-die look while she thought. Why was she even debating this? Trevor Marx wanted to take her to the farmers’ market.
“I do,” she said. Limping with Trevor at the farmers’ market sounded a lot more appealing than sitting with him at the beach house with only Wolfgang making intelligent conversation. Penny snagged her purse.
A shiny, black Porsche stood in the doorway. The sun glinted off the chrome, blinding Penny, almost as much as Trevor did.
“Are you sure your husband won’t mind?” Trevor asked after they settled into the car. He turned the ignition and the car roared to life.
Penny laughed and hoped Trevor couldn’t hear her nerves over the engine. “He’s not really my husband.”
“Really?” Trevor asked once the car was on the road. “Tell me how that works.”
Penny swallowed and tried to stay as close to the truth as possible. “We are divorced.”
“Obviously amicably.” Trevor turned left onto Long Shore Drive and eased onto the highway.
“Yes.” Given her conversational skills, no one would ever guess that she hosted a cooking show and wrote books. Maybe she could only talk food. Maybe she should stir the conversation toward pasta. So, how about that linguini? She leaned back, searching for a comfortable spot on the plush leather seat.
“And so…what brought you here?” He slid a quick glance her way. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind.” She took another deep breath and tried to rally her thoughts. She relied on the truth. “I have a stalker.” Blurting out her Lurk story, she watched his expression turn from flirtatious to concern. “Drake insisted that I stay with him,” she finished.
“He must still care about you.”
“I’m sure he does, just not in a romantic way.”
“
It smells of a reconciliation plot.”
“Drake doesn’t plot, he’s more of a poet,” Penny told him.
“Where did you meet the Lurk?”
“As far as I know we haven’t met. I was living in Laguna and teaching at a cooking school when he first…contacted me.” Okay, not exactly true, but not exactly a lie. Penny didn’t lie well, but she did sometimes volunteer at Thurston Middle School’s home ec classes. “I’m writing a cookbook.” She breathed a little easier with that bit of truth out there.
“Food, huh?”
She smiled. “I’m a foodie.”
His gaze swept over her bare legs. “I’m sorry, but you don’t look like a foodie.”
Penny laughed. “Sorry, but that is true.”
“Then what’s a lie?” Trevor said.
Penny shook her head, relieved to see the farmers’ market’s white pointy tents in a distant field. “I never lie.” Penny said, wishing that were still true.
“Really? But everyone has a vice or two, so what’s yours?”
“Gluttony,” Penny said without hesitation.
Trevor pulled the Porsche off the road and into the mud puddle-pocked lot. “That is an out and out lie. I don’t believe you. I have never met a foodie who wasn’t—”
“Don’t say fat,” she interrupted him. “I’m very sensitive to snide remarks about chubbiness and plumpicity.”
He looked at her and then reached across to push open her door. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Why?”
“Your vice is obviously curiosity.”
He climbed from the car and she tried to do the same.
“Curiosity is not a vice,” he said, closing the door and coming around to help her.
“Tell that to all the dead cats.”
“The seven deadly sins are wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, there’s no mention of curiosity.”
Penny wobbled a little on her cane as she made her way to the white picket fence surrounding the market. “My vice might be deadly, but yours is annoying.”
