Her mood greatly improved—whether it was the coffee, the fact the rain was tapering off, or that little thrill, she didn’t know—but grocery shopping was a quick and easy chore, and she was back at the marina just about the time the sun started to peek out from behind the clouds.
It wouldn’t be enough to warm things up at all, but she’d take cool and sunny over cool and gray any day.
The puddles and bare spots in the parking lot reminded her that she still needed to order that load of gravel, and while her reasons for forgetting to do it last week were Declan-based distractions instead of just her usual disorganization, it underscored how off her game she was right now.
But while she might gently scold herself for it, she wasn’t going to berate herself. She was having a good time. She wanted to enjoy it.
While she still could.
Chapter 12
Declan hadn’t had much sleep in the last few days, because he hadn’t been able to turn his brain off.
He was obsessed. It wasn’t unusual for him to get this way about a new project—Suzanne used to get very annoyed about it—but this was a different kind of obsession.
Shelby’s ideas for her marina had sparked something in him. This was a real challenge. Designing from scratch was fun, but this required him to be creative in different ways. There were cost considerations, of course, but every project had a budget. Modernizing, updating, and reinventing the Bay Breeze Marina within a proscribed set of parameters required new thinking.
What could be salvaged? What could be repurposed? How to turn a nondescript cinderblock building into an attractive neo-Mediterranean-inspired one without razing it to the ground? All the current usage of the property—the huge maintenance shed, the bathhouse, the boat ramps—had to remain, yet Shelby wanted to add amenities like a café, too. Extending the current building would be difficult simply due to its current positioning on the property, and building a new freestanding one would be an unnecessary expense—even if he could find a place to put it.
The Bay Breeze Marina was a family business and part of a larger community. It served a purpose in that community, one that couldn’t be set aside or ignored. There had to be a way to make it all work, and he was determined to find it.
Every idea ran into a pothole. Every thought got countered with a “Yes, but . . .” Every easy and obvious solution came with a hefty price tag.
And he was loving every hair-pulling moment of it.
This wasn’t an impersonal office building designed to impress both clients and competition, like the glass and metal monstrosities that filled the Chicago skyline. This was the kind of project where all those concepts like “New Urbanism” and “sustainable” and “vernacular” design he used to toss around in college actually came together to become a real thing.
He’d been obsessed with projects before, but this was the first time in a long time that he’d been excited about it as well.
He found himself walking the property, getting the feel of how it was currently laid out and how much he had to work with. It was an old-fashioned way to do it, as opposed to being given a list of specs and surveyor’s measurements. It made him think differently, though, and he was consumed by the challenge.
The only weird part was that, in a way, he was doing this behind Shelby’s back. He might have won her over enough for her to share some of her ideas and get his feedback on them, but when he’d brought it up the next day, she’d just shaken her head and said, “It’s fun to play with the idea sometimes, but it’s not in the cards right now. Thanks, but it’s best to let it go. I’m just not ready yet.”
And she’d put her sketchbook away. He hadn’t exactly gone searching for it, but it certainly wasn’t out in the open now.
Whatever had aligned on the night of the Halloween Carnival to open Shelby up on that topic had passed, and now she didn’t want to discuss it. He didn’t know why, and she wouldn’t tell him.
But he couldn’t let it go. When Shelby finally worked through whatever was holding her back and decided she was ready, he wanted to have something ready for her.
More important, he didn’t want to let it go. Partly because he felt awake and energized for the first time in ages. He hadn’t even seen the rut he was in, which was ironic for someone who’d spent his whole life working toward a goal, only to discover that goal had pretty much put him in that rut. This, he realized, was why he was so intrigued with the hurricane damage and recovery along the coast: those people were rebuilding their lives and homes, wanting to keep what they could of what they’d lost, which was far more interesting for him than a new office block that looked just different enough from the one next to it to be considered “progressively modern.”
The constraints on those projects went beyond financial and environmental or even aesthetic—these were lives and histories and communities being rebuilt, and those reasons were equally weighty, but hard to capture and respect.
Shelby’s marina had been through rebuilding before—there were pictures in the office of hurricane damage—but they’d recovered and continued on. There was a history and resilience here that had to be admired, and understanding that—respecting that—was as much a part of the challenge as the layout of the property and the financial constraints.
Juggling all those pieces was keeping him up at night—well, not literally—but it was definitely filling up a lot of his free time, decreasing his Netflix habit significantly. He wanted to figure this out—partly because it was a challenge, and now also because his pride and ego were committed to getting it done.
But mostly he wanted to figure it out for Shelby.
And for no real reason beyond it was something she wanted, so he wanted to get it for her. If not literally, at least give her the answers and plans she needed to face down her family and get it done after he left.
Why that was so important to him was a question he wasn’t willing to examine too closely.
So he focused on the marina instead.
“Hello, the boat!”
Damn it, he’d lost all track of time.
Other than that first night they’d been together, Shelby never boarded the Lady Jane unannounced. She said it was something about modeling correct protocols for him, but since all of his notes about her marina were spread out over the table at the moment, the warning was much appreciated. Of course, it would be hard to tell exactly what he was doing at a casual glance, but Shelby was sharp and he never knew what might catch her eye. He scooted the papers into a messy stack, then closed his laptop and set it on top.
“Declan?”
Opening the cabin door, he saw Shelby on the dock in jeans and a jacket, the collar turned up against the wind.
It was all he could do not to laugh. Even when the sun went down, the temperatures were only dropping into the fifties, yet Shelby acted like the ice age had returned. Southerners. “Hey.”
An eyebrow went up. “You don’t look ready to go. I know the Bait Box is casual, but even they require shoes. And even if they didn’t, I’d recommend them. That floor is nasty.”
“I just lost track of time. Come on in.”
She took the hand he offered—even though he knew she didn’t need it—to help her aboard.
Shelby dropped onto the couch and propped her feet up while he went to grab a clean shirt and some shoes. “What were you working on?”
“Nothing. I was just surfing the Internet and got sucked in.” He didn’t like hiding the truth, but he wasn’t ready to bring that topic up yet. “What did you do today?” he asked to change the subject.
“Ordered gravel for the parking lot. You’ll have to park somewhere else next Tuesday. Then I scheduled the inspection for the gas tanks, set up a deep-sea fishing trip for a senior citizens’ group, helped Harvey with a repair on the Three Brothers, renewed my subscription to Playgirl . . .”
He paused, o
nly one arm through his shirt properly, and stuck his head back into the main cabin. “What?”
Shelby grinned. “Just seeing if you were really listening.”
“Funny.”
She looked him up and down carefully. “Hummina, hummina. Who needs Playgirl? That’s a very good look for you.”
He struck a silly pose, but in all truthfulness, there was something almost erotic about the simple, honest assessment. Playgirl jokes aside, she’d made it very clear she liked what he had and wasn’t at all coy or afraid to show or tell her appreciation.
But that was just how Shelby was. She was clear and upfront, no games or empty flattery. It just wasn’t in her nature. Everything was given and taken at face value, which, while it could sometimes be jarring, also made being with her easy.
He’d done some casual no-strings-attached relationships before with women he’d called friends, but in hindsight, they’d been more acquaintances than actual friends. He might have been primarily driven by lust at the beginning, but he actually liked Shelby as a person, too. An actual friend-with-benefits.
Shelby leaned back, extending her arms along the back of the couch. “Well, if you’re not going to put that all the way on, why don’t you take it the rest of the way off instead?”
“If the Bait Box requires shoes, I assume they require shirts as well.”
“Such a pity. It’s their loss.” She smiled as he shrugged his arm out of the shirt. “Truly, such a loss.”
“Your turn,” he challenged.
Although he’d said it, he was surprised when Shelby stood and stripped out of her jacket and shirt with a speed that left him blinking. A snap and a flick, and her bra landed on the couch.
He was across the room in two quick steps, moving her hair back over her shoulders and angling her face up to his. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
Shelby’s arms wrapped around his waist, pressing her skin against his. “Nah.”
“Aren’t your friends waiting for us?”
“Charlotte will understand. I’m easily distracted, remember?” Her hands were sliding inside the waistband of his jeans. Rising up on her tiptoes, she nipped at his chin. “And this won’t take me long anyway.”
She was wrong on both counts.
They were nearly forty-five minutes late, and Charlotte began blowing up Shelby’s phone with calls and texts when they were just twenty minutes late. She’d had her phone read her the texts aloud where he could hear them until Charlotte’s messages got racier and racier as she speculated—quite accurately, actually—why Shelby was late. When they finally arrived at the Bait Box, nearly half the bar cheered their entrance.
Shelby greeted Charlotte with, “I’m going to kill you.”
“Then don’t be late next time,” Charlotte replied pertly.
“A least I’m getting known for something other than getting stranded on my boat,” Declan observed. “It’s a pleasant change.” When Shelby frowned at him, he merely shrugged. “I’m just looking at the bright side.”
“Remind me of that bright side when my family ships me off to a nunnery and my cousins kick your butt,” she muttered under her breath.
He got a slap on the back that wasn’t really that friendly. “Careful, dude, you’re gonna find yourself hauled up in front of one of Shelby’s uncles.”
That was Shelby’s friend Mikey—or maybe his name was Mickey; Shelby had introduced him to so many people, he couldn’t keep them all straight now—who’d definitely started his night early and was already slurring his words.
“Oh, hush,” Charlotte scolded, but Mickey-Mikey just grinned. “You’ll scare Declan.”
Why they thought he’d be cowed by middle-aged men, he wasn’t sure.
“You’re such a sore loser, Mickey,” Shelby said. “It’s just another reason you never had a chance with me.”
An oooh rippled over the group, and Mickey obviously felt the burn.
Shelby took off her jacket and tossed it onto a bar stool, then grabbed Declan’s arm. “Let’s go get a drink.”
Since it was Friday, the place was busy, causing them to have to wind through the crowd to get to the bar—which took forever as Shelby spoke to pretty much everyone on the way. A three-piece band set up over in the corner kicked into a decent version of “Twist and Shout,” the music just loud enough to make conversation difficult, but not impossible. When they got to the bar, he leaned in close to Shelby’s ear. “So Mickey’s a jilted ex?”
“Not even that. He’s been hitting on me for about fifteen years now. I don’t think he’d know what to do if I ever actually said yes.”
“Then why—”
“It’s the principle of it now. Seeing who can out-stubborn who.”
“No one could out-stubborn you. It’s simply not possible.”
She grinned at him. “I’ve told you that flattery will get you everywhere.”
Hooking a finger in her belt loop, he tugged her a little closer. “I can do a lot better than that,” he promised.
“Geez, don’t do it here. I might swoon, and I’ve given this crowd enough entertainment for the evening already.”
Oddly, he was a little disappointed. He tamped that down and said, “So then tell me why I’m supposed to be afraid of your uncles.”
The bartender set drinks in front of them. He’d gone to the same bars in Chicago for five years and the bartender never remembered his order, yet after just a couple of weeks here, he was already a regular, it seemed.
Shelby handed him his and took a long drink of her own. “One’s a justice of the peace and the other is an ordained minister.”
He nearly spit his beer at her. She merely laughed. “Don’t worry. Magnolia Beach may feel like a time warp to the 1950s, but my family’s not into shotgun weddings.”
He coughed. “Good to know.”
“Come on. I can’t promise that group will behave, but I need to be back over there to keep them from getting any worse.”
“Nice group of friends you’ve got there.”
She shrugged. “It’s a small town. You have to pick from what’s available.”
“Well, that lowers the bar.”
“Maybe. But it also makes you look for the best in everyone.” She looked at him evenly. “It also makes you more forgiving of the little stuff.”
Damn, that’s deep. “I guess if you’re going to live in the same town with people all your life, you do have to put up with a certain amount, but I think the annoyance of Mickey hitting on you for fifteen years would cross the line.”
“I was out fishing with friends when my dad had his heart attack. The whole family went to the hospital, of course, but Mickey waited for me at the marina until I got back and drove me to the hospital in Mobile,” she said simply. “He’s good people. He might annoy me sometimes, but that’s just the price of admission to the fair.” Then she grinned. “And we’re also like fifth cousins or something.”
“Ew.”
“Welcome to Alabama,” she teased.
While the plan, as explained to him earlier, had been to meet up with a few friends, play a little pool, and have a few drinks, it wasn’t exactly a clearly demarcated group—unless by a “few friends,” Shelby had meant “the entirety of everyone at the Bait Box.” And although it still shocked him a bit, everyone seemed very accepting of his presence and went out of their way to include him in conversations—something he wouldn’t have expected. They’d all known each other for years, at the very least—some of them for all their lives—and he’d expected more cliquishness from them. And while he couldn’t discuss the intricacies of Alabama and Auburn football—which was a very popular topic—he found himself in enough other conversations about everything from gas prices to the band to keep himself busy.
The small dance floor was also busy, and he looked up to see Shelby dancing with
some friends—including Mickey, who lacked rhythm and jumped around with more enthusiasm than style. But Shelby was flushed and laughing.
“Don’t be jealous,” Charlotte said from beside him. “They’re harmless. Even Mickey.”
“I’m not jealous.” At Charlotte’s expertly arched eyebrow, he added, “I’m not. Why would I be? They’re friends.”
“Glad to hear it. Jealousy isn’t pretty.”
“And it’s not like any of them are actively hitting on her.”
“No, and they won’t, either. They can be patient.”
“Excuse me?”
Charlotte kept her eyes on the dance floor. “Why get all bowed up and stir up trouble when the issue will resolve itself soon enough? They know they’ll still be here long after you’re gone. And they know Shelby knows that, too. So all they have to do is be patient and hope they’ll be the rebound guy.”
Someone called Charlotte’s name, and she gave him a shrug and a knowing look before she walked away.
That was both cold and true, and it grated across both his conscience and his nerves. And he had a feeling Charlotte had planned for it to do exactly that. He just wished he knew why. Yes, this was temporary, but it wasn’t like he was actively counting down. Or that he’d even started it simply because it was temporary or because he had nothing else to do. He wasn’t stringing Shelby along on any kind of pretense or false promises.
There was no reason to romanticize what they were doing, but it wasn’t calculated, either. This was . . . They were . . . It . . .
It was this. No more, no less, and it was pretty damn good.
The music ended on a crash, and after a brief round of applause, restarted—this time just one guy and an acoustic guitar. There was a bit of an exodus from the dance floor, then the remaining crowd merged into couples. He saw Mickey extending a hand to Shelby, and his feet were moving before his brain fully processed it. He slid between them—he knew it was rude and probably reeked of jealousy and insecurity, with a whiff of caveman to boot, but he didn’t care.
More Than Anything Page 19
