Riptide (Sand Dollar Shoal Book 2)

by Pandora Pine

  Gregor’s blue eyes lit up. “It’s an old New England tradition. You start with building a pit on the beach which you line with rocks and then fill with wood, usually a combination of maple and oak. You start a fire which you let burn until only hot coals are left. Then you line the pit with fresh seaweed and set your seafood on top of it.”

  “What, like whole lobsters and clams?” Old tradition or not, it sounded odd.

  Gregor shook his head. “The seafood, usually clams, lobster, mussels, red potatoes and corn on the cob go into cheesecloth bags which are set all around the pit. You have to put the lobsters in the bag so they don’t try to run off.”

  Drake laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “The last step is to cover the pit with canvas and let it cook for an hour. When the food is done, you set it out buffet-style for the guests to eat. It’s a really big draw over at a hotel in Chatham.” Gregor looked really excited.

  “Are you gonna try it here?” Drake had never been a squeamish eater. He’d try anything once.

  Gregor shrugged. “I’m thinking about it. You interested?”

  Over the last few days, Drake had eaten like a king. Gregor was an amazingly talented chef and one of the cockiest men he’d ever met. Every now and then, he’d see a dip in Gregor’s self-confidence, like now. It didn’t seem to mesh with the man sitting next to him. “Hell yeah! I’ve never had lobster and clams before. Plus I could help dig the pit and haul the rocks.”

  “You’ve never had lobster?” Gregor looked offended.

  Drake didn’t want to point out that there wasn’t a lot of opportunity to eat lobster in foster care. Instead he just shook his head.

  Slapping a hand down on the metal counter, Gregor hopped off his stool. “We’ll have that for dinner then. Boiled lobster, steamed clams, shrimp cocktail. Maybe even lobster bisque. I don’t know if we have sherry.” Gregor sounded distracted as he started opening cabinets, presumably looking for the booze.

  Drake was stunned at this turn of events. One minute he was just sitting quietly with Gregor, reading recipes and the next minute Gregor was planning a huge meal because he said he’d never eaten lobster. “You’ve all done so much for me. Let me help with dinner tonight.”

  Gregor came out of the pantry, his red do-rag askew. He was carrying onions of different sizes. “You want to learn to cook?”

  Drake nodded. “All I know how to cook is toast and I think I’ve finally got the hang of Presley’s Keurig.”

  “I didn’t know how to cook until I got out of the Navy. Growing up in a Senator’s house, you never have to lift a finger. Once I was back stateside, I used my GI Bill to enroll in culinary school.”

  “Why culinary school? Presley said you were at Yale before you enlisted.”

  “I was going to major in political science at Yale so I could follow in my father’s footsteps. It’s not what I wanted, but he was paying, so I went along with what he wanted. Then September 11 happened and I knew I had to enlist in the Navy to protect our country. My father was as mad as a wet hen when I dropped out of Yale, but then he realized it could be a coup for my future political career.”

  Drake had spent most of his life wishing he had a father. In some of his fantasies, his real father was an actor, in others a CEO of a major corporation, but he never imagined a father could be like Gregor’s and Presley’s, domineering and closed-minded to his dreams. “Thank you for your service.” Drake had no idea what else to say to the former Navy SEAL.

  Gregor smiled, setting off the dimple in his left cheek. “For the most part, I loved serving my country, but there were times when…” His voice trailed off.

  Not able to imagine the horrors Gregor had seen, Drake set a hand on the chef’s shoulder.

  “Anyway,” Gregor reached up to pat Drake’s hand. “When I got home, following in my father’s footsteps was the last thing I wanted to do. So many people I saw overseas were hungry and in need of medical care. I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor, but I knew I could feed people.”

  “That’s an amazing story.” Here was Gregor who’d gone from Ivy League to the Middle East and all Drake had ever done was fuck other men on film.

  Gregor shrugged as if he didn’t think it was a big deal. “If you want to cook, I’ll teach you. The first thing we have to do is make a list of what we need and then shop for the ingredients. Picking the freshest foods to cook with is just as important as preparing the meal.”

  “Okay, well, that’s killing two birds with one stone. I need a few things at the grocery store anyway. We can grab tank lobsters and deodorant.”

  Gregor snorted. “Remember what I said about picking the freshest ingredients? Nothing about tank lobsters sounds fresh.” He grabbed a magnetized note pad off the fridge and tossed it to Drake. “Your job is to write down the ingredients.”

  “Yes, chef!” Drake tried to be upbeat, but with his dyslexia, spelling wasn’t his strong suit.

  Fifteen minutes later, the list was complete. Gregor took the pad from Drake, who’d been reluctant to let it go. He scanned the list quickly and met Drake’s eyes. “Dyslexic?”

  Drake was taken aback. “How did you know?”

  “My little sister has it. Our parents gave her hell over it for years, making her feel like she was stupid. They sent her to a ton of pricey schools to fix her, but…”

  “She didn’t need to be fixed. She needed to be loved.” It was a line his foster mother Cindy had repeated to him again and again over the years he lived with her.

  “Yeah, that’s right. How did you cope with it growing up?”

  Drake shrugged. “I was big enough to pound anyone who made fun of me. Even still, I also had my share of tutors. I still read for shit and my spelling sucks.”

  “When the kitchen is up and running, we’ll set up the tablet ordering system together. Get all the wait staff iPads. Maybe use pictures?”

  Drake loved that Gregor would do something like that for him. “We worked with iPads rather than order pads at my old job and it seemed to work well.”

  “What seemed to work well?” Presley was all smiles as he came into the kitchen.

  “Technology.” Gregor grinned at Presley and looked back at Drake.

  Pres turned his attention to Drake. “I need to go on a decorating run after lunch. How about coming with me? Unless Gregor has something else he needs you for?”

  “We’re heading out to the fish market over in Hyannis Harbor, but we’ll be back before lunch. He’s all yours after that.”

  “Good, otherwise it would be PB&J with pickles for all of us.” Presley burst out laughing.

  “Pickles?” Drake cringed inside.

  “That was Presley’s go to snack when we were cramming for finals. He swore it was his lucky charm for getting A’s on tests.” Gregor shook his head, his lips curled into a fond smile. “None of us believed him until he aced the first test. After that, all of us were eating them.”

  “It worked?” Drake was incredulous. Just the thought of pickles mixed with peanut butter was making his stomach turn, never mind pickles and grape jelly.

  “Of course it worked!” Presley scoffed. “We all ended up on the President’s List that first semester. Hell, it worked so well that Nick Killington gave me jars of pickles for Christmas that year and started growing special cucumbers in his garden. It was a blast learning how to pickle them with him.”

  “That might be a good idea for our garden, Pres. Make our own special pickles that we’d put on the table when guests are seated, like other places do with stale popcorn. You think Nick still has the recipe?” Gregor ripped the shopping list off the pad and flipped it over to write down some notes.

  “Are you kidding me? Nick never throws anything away.”

  “I’m gonna call him on my way out to the truck.” He folded up the shopping list and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Meet me in five, Drake. That should give you two enough time to kiss goodbye.” Gregor snorted and pushed t
hrough the swinging kitchen doors.

  Drake rolled his eyes. He hadn’t said a word about kissing Presley.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s always been a sarcastic bastard.”

  “Gregor’s throwing together this amazing dinner tonight because I had said I never ate lobster before.”

  “He is? Why?” A hint of suspicion had crept into Presley’s voice.

  “I don’t know. We were talking about having clambakes here like they do at that place in Chatham you told me about and then all of a sudden he’s planning dinner with lobster, clams, shrimp and some kind of Bisquick.” Drake shrugged.

  Pres took a step back. “Well if you’re too busy cooking to help me, we can go another time.” He turned to go.

  Drake snaked out an arm and grabbed Presley’s wrist. He tugged the shorter man closer. Drake dropped Presley’s hand, but did not move back. “All of your friends have been so kind, taking me in and giving me a job and a place to stay. I want to do everything in my power to pay that back.”

  “You don’t have to pay anything back, but I see where you’re coming from.”

  It hadn’t slipped Drake’s notice that Pres got all weird when he started talking about the meal Gregor was planning for him. “I’ve been working with Noble and now working with Gregor seems like the next logical step. I’d love to come shopping with you, if I’m still invited?”

  Presley bowed his head. “Of course you’re still invited.”

  Drake felt his worry over Presley’s weird mood lighten. “Good! I’ve got some killer ideas for the guest rooms.”

  “Come find me in my office when you get back. Just make sure you don’t smell like fish, okay?” Pres wrinkled his nose.

  Drake made a fish face with his lips before pressing them to Presley’s cheek. He wasn’t sure, but on the way out of the dining room, he thought he saw Presley touching the spot where he’d kissed him.

  7

  It had been a long ninety minutes for Presley, who spent most of the time pacing around his office. Yes, Drake had kissed him before he and Gregor set off for the fish market, but on the other hand, he’d been worried that Gregor was interested in his man.

  Not that Drake was his man. Drake wasn’t his anything.

  He should have just taken Noble’s advice and kissed Drake the minute Gregor had left the room, but he’d been upset thinking that the man of his dreams was about to be stolen right out from under him.

  Having three gay best friends had made for some tense moments over the years when one or all of them had a crush on the same guy at the same time. They’d all made a pact that no man would ever come between them. So far they’d all stuck to it.

  Presley couldn’t imagine Gregor breaking that pact now, but why the hell would he be going all out to make Drake such an expensive dinner?

  “Here I am. Are you ready to go?” Drake was grinning from ear to ear. He frowned when he saw the less than happy look on Presley’s face. “Did I come at a bad time?”

  Actually, Drake had come at the best time. “Nope, I’ve just got something on my mind to do with the hotel.” He cringed over the white-lie he told Drake, but it couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t know about it. Pres reached into his drawer and pulled out his keys. “Let’s go.”

  Drake nodded and headed out the door ahead of Presley.

  Being behind Drake like this gave Pres a few extra seconds to pull himself together. There was no way in hell Drake would look at him twice if he thought Pres was insecure and jealous. He was both, no two ways about it, but he needed to hide that from Drake.

  Once they were outside, Pres hurried to catch up. “What a gorgeous day.”

  Drake turned and nodded, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. “It’s amazing here. You know, all those years I lived in California and I never once stopped to appreciate the perfect weather.”

  Come to think of it, Pres never really had either. What had caught his eye was the way the sun glittered in Drake’s dark hair, while the light breeze ruffled his silky tresses. That was gorgeous. Stopping at the truck, he opened Drake’s door for him without even thinking about it.

  “Thanks.” Drake grinned and hauled himself into the seat.

  “I’m losing my mind,” Pres muttered to himself on his way around to the driver’s side. He’d managed to knock the goofy grin off his face before hauling himself into the driver’s seat. How was your trip to the fish market?” Turning the key, he pulled his seatbelt over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t know so many types of fish existed. Gregor knew all of their names and the best way to cook them. Said he took a fish class at culinary school. I didn’t know there was such a thing.” Drake laughed, following suit with his seatbelt.

  Pres felt his hands tighten on the steering wheel. God, he was being a total queen. “Gregor really took culinary school seriously. We all thought he was crazy for going to cooking school when he got out of the Navy, but he knew just where he belonged.”

  “I’d like to find something that makes me that passionate.” Drake turned to Presley. “You know, the way you are with getting Sand Dollar Shoal on its feet.”

  Drake saw what he did as a passion? “For the first time in my life, I love what I do. I can’t wait to get to my desk in the morning and get started.”

  “I love that about you.” Drake cleared his throat. “About all of you. You’re all working toward making your dream for the hotel into a reality.”

  Pres felt his heart speed up at Drake’s use of the “L” word. He knew it was just a figure of speech but loved the way his deep voice sounded saying that word. “I never knew opening a hotel was my dream until it was. Life’s funny like that.” He’d never known he’d wanted a tall, stacked, younger man either, until that man had been standing on his doorstep in the pouring rain.

  Drake nodded. “So tell me what we’re looking for today.”

  “Noble wants us to fit out one guest room. We’ll look at lamps and vases and bed sets and see what we see.” Pres was looking forward to taking Noble’s advice about getting to know Drake better.

  “Why did you want me to come along?” Drake sounded surprised.

  Because I don’t want to be more than ten feet away from you at any given moment… Fuck, he couldn’t say that. “Noble said you had some ideas on how to decorate the rooms.”

  “I do. Since the walls are white. We need pops of color. Maybe pops of navy blue or a Bermuda pink. I also like the idea of texture.”

  Pres bit back a smile. He couldn’t help thinking Drake sounded pretty passionate at the moment. “What do you mean texture?”

  “Instead of plain white throw pillow, maybe something with ostrich feathers or some kind of metal hardware.”

  Presley had no idea what in hell Drake was talking about, but he was more than willing to see what he had in mind. He was smart enough to know what he didn’t know and what he didn’t know was interior design.

  XX

  The second the automatic doors swished shut behind Drake, he felt like he was a kid in a candy store. His mouth hung open as his eyes roved the different aisles and the treasures they contained. He honestly didn’t know where to start.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Presley sounded concerned.

  Drake turned to him with his mouth still hanging open in shock. “This store is overwhelming. It’s like I can’t decide what I want to see first.”

  Presley snorted. “I’ll go grab a cart.”

  “Fuck that,” Drake whispered, his eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna need a forklift and a flatbed. What’s my budget?”

  Pres barked out a laugh. “Huh, I never gave it a thought.”

  “What do you mean you haven’t given it a thought?” Drake snickered, shaking his head. “Aren’t you the money guy? I mean, I could decorate a room for a couple hundred dollars or a couple thousand dollars.”

  “Why don’t we aim for somewhere in the middle.” Presley laughed, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

 
Drake nodded absently, his eyes continuing to take everything in. “So the guest room is a place to relax. What else is it for? Sex. Sleep,” he mumbled, turning to Presley. “What else?”

  “Work. So many people go on vacation with their laptops. If they make it a partial working vacation, it means they can usually stay longer.”

  “And staying longer is the name of the game.” Drake grinned. “Let’s go look at the tables.”

  Grabbing two shopping carts, Drake left one in front of Presley and headed off toward the furniture section. If he had known decorating was this much fun, he would have decorated his condo back in California himself instead of hiring pricy designers to do it for him.

  While he’d been working, selling his soul, more like, he’d never taken the time to notice anything. He’d meant it when he told Presley that he’d never noticed how nice the weather was in Southern California. It was like he was dead inside for all those years, an automaton of sorts, with no emotions.

  Now that he was here in New England, starting a new life as the man he always wanted to be, it was like he was seeing the world for the first time. It reminded him of The Wizard of Oz. His old life was Kansas, black and white. His life now was like Dorothy stepping out into the color of the Yellow Brick Road.

  He stopped in front of a section of narrow writing desks. “What do you think, Pres?” Drake stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  “It’s awfully small for a desk.” He ran his finger over the silky finish of the wood.

  “That’s the point. It’s narrow so it won’t take up a lot of space, but wide enough for a laptop.” Drake picked the piece up easily. “It’s lightweight and moveable.”

  “Why would the guests want to move it?”

  “Maybe to play a board game or have a late night romantic snack.” Drake waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Pres.

  “Romantic snack?”

  Drake nodded. “I’ve been looking up other Cape hotels while we’ve been watching TV at night and a lot of hotels offer romance packages with fresh roses or a bottle of champagne with strawberries dipped in chocolate.”

  “Wait, that’s what you’ve been doing on your phone at night?” Pres seemed taken aback.