Meet Me at the Beach (Seashell Bay)

by V. K. Sykes

  He vividly remembered the stories about lobstermen getting tangled in pot warp and pulled overboard by sinking traps, sometimes to their deaths. Or getting a finger lopped off and passing out, bleeding half to death before help arrived. The idea of Lily taking those kinds of chances made every muscle in his body go cold and tense.

  Lily’s tanned complexion colored with a hint of pink under the bronze, and she looked at him with a rueful smile. “My latest guy disappeared awhile ago. Rumor has it he skipped bail and took off after he was hauled in for yet another DUI in Portland.” She gave a little sigh. “I can’t afford to miss much time fishing, Aiden. I’ve got boat payments to meet, and my savings account has less in it than my piggy bank.”

  “Sure, I get that, but—”

  “—but hopefully this will be the last day,” she interrupted.

  That made him relax a bit. “You’ve got a guy in mind?”

  “Well, I’m optimistic that I’ll have at least a temporary solution in a couple of days. I won’t be fishing tomorrow, anyway, because I’ll be busy at the festival. And then it’s race day on Sunday, and I should know by then. By Monday, I should have a sternman with me.”

  “Oh, so you’ll be talking to somebody about it on race day?”

  “That’s the plan.” She bent to pick up another buoy, painted neon orange with a lime green horizontal stripe around the middle. State law required every Maine lobsterman to have unique buoy colors, but she’d closely copied those of her father. Yet another indication, he figured, of how much her island heritage and tradition meant to her.

  “Well, I hope he comes through for you,” he said.

  And he damn well meant it, because the idea of Lily slogging it out by herself day after day or suffering some horrible accident out on the water was something he couldn’t bear thinking about.

  Lily’s stomach had clenched the moment Aiden, in all his sweaty, masculine glory, materialized out of the rapidly fading tendrils of morning mist. He was the last person she’d expected to see at dawn. Back in high school, he’d always been the last straggler to jump off his bike, barreling across the gangway onto the ferry with only moments to spare. She’d always made sure she sat almost directly across from the lower deck bench that Aiden had permanently claimed as his private territory. Half asleep and preoccupied by whatever was playing on his CD Walkman, he’d mostly ignored her for an achingly long time, but that had never stopped her from having adolescent fantasies about how wonderful life would be as Aiden Flynn’s girlfriend.

  But one sunny morning it had all changed. Aiden looked across to the opposite bench and actually saw her. At least that was how she remembered his charged stare and the slow smile that had spread across his lean face, already shadowed with a man’s dark bristle.

  The sudden notice had startled her. It wasn’t like her reed-thin body had suddenly transformed itself into a Playboy model’s body. Breasts and curves had been slow in coming, so slow that she’d sobbed her heart out to her mom on more than one occasion, terrified something was wrong with her. So she could hardly blame Aiden Flynn for not having noticed her. None of the other island boys had paid her the slightest attention either.

  It hadn’t helped that she spent a fair bit of her preteen and teenage years hanging out with Seashell Bay’s prettiest girl. She loved Holly Tyler like a twin sister, but both Lily and Morgan had spent years suffering wounding comparisons—a good many of them self-inflicted—whenever the local boys came across the trio. The boys would circle Holly like dragonflies ready to mate, ignoring Lily and Morgan or, even worse, treating them like one of the guys.

  That had changed during her sophomore year at Portland’s Peninsula High. On an unseasonably hot day in October, she finally hit the radar screen of Seashell Bay’s cutest boy—the boy Lily had crushed on for years, feud or no feud. And all these years later, she still believed Aiden’s notice had been in large measure due to a particular red tank top she’d worn on that historic morning, a top that had become just a little too tight for her late blooming figure.

  Back then, Aiden’s surprised gaze had roamed hotly over her body, just as it was doing now. Only today, his look was so much darker and… deeper. Like he was both reliving a memory and seeing something in her for the first time. Something only a man could see.

  Too bad he was also giving her shit about working without a sternman. That was making her already jumpy nerves bounce around like a pinball. She had to bite her lip to stop from blurting out a plea for help with her problem, knowing with dead certainty he’d say no. In high school, he’d told her bitterly and repeatedly how much he looked forward to the day when he’d never have to set foot on a lobster boat again.

  And she would never forget the day Sean had shoved Aiden so hard that he’d staggered backward, windmilling his arms as he tumbled over the gunwale and into the sea. The jerk had made a wide, leisurely circle, leaving Aiden in the bone-chilling water for several long minutes before finally bringing the boat around for him to struggle up over the side. Lily’s grandfather had seen most of that incident as he was coming in at the end of the day. He’d been too late to help Aiden, but he’d not spared Sean a blistering, profanity-filled lecture once they met at the dock. That had gone over about as well as one would expect. Sean had threatened to beat the crap out of Gramps while Aiden walked away, red-faced and humiliated.

  After that episode made the rounds of the island, few people had wanted much to do with Sean Flynn, other than his drinking buddies and a few Doyle haters. Some had even wanted to report Sean to the Office of Child and Family Services in Portland, but the Flynns had closed ranks over that one—even Aiden. He was too proud to ask for help, and Lily knew he’d die before he ever inflicted that sort of shame on his mother.

  But that was the day Lily had started to hate Aiden’s father with every fiber of her being, and the hate still burned hot and steady.

  So why was she challenging Aiden to the boat race, knowing what it would probably mean to him? Knowing what she would then demand of him once she won?

  First and foremost because she so badly needed his help, of that there was no doubt. But she also couldn’t help believing that it would be good for Aiden to get back out on the water. With her this time, not his asshole father. Maybe it was a naïve hope, but Lily truly felt that Aiden should try to come to terms with his island past, for everyone’s sake as well as his own. His father’s abuse had denied him the primal, loving connection most of the islanders felt toward Seashell Bay. Aiden had never been allowed to develop a true sense of affection and respect for the island way of life, because the man who should have taught him that was an abusive bastard.

  If Aiden couldn’t see that simple truth, if he couldn’t understand that the island was worth saving—even if his father wasn’t—then Lily was terrified he’d turn his back on Seashell Bay, on all of them, for good.

  “I know you won’t have any trouble lifting the traps, but I also know you’ve had a lot of trouble with your knees,” she said, trying to sound normal and not like a guilt-ridden, manipulative jerk. “You had surgery over the winter, didn’t you? I guess you’re not playing because you’re still recuperating.”

  Aiden gave her a grim-faced nod as he easily hoisted one of the traps and leaned over to set it down in the boat. “I had surgery, but I’m fine now. I just can’t make sharp turns and pivots like I used to.” He looked back toward Forrest Coolidge and Erica Easton, who were pushing off in their skiff, almost as if he was embarrassed. “But I’m not on the disabled list.”

  Lily didn’t get it.

  Aiden looked back at her and blew out a heavy breath. “The Phillies released me, Lily.”

  Clutching her buoy, she struggled to make sense of what he’d said. What did it mean for his future? A dozen questions swarmed from her brain to her lips. But she couldn’t find the words to voice them so instead she grimaced in sympathy. “Aiden, I’m so sorry.”

  Darned if she didn’t have to blink back tears as she final
ly put the buoy down in the skiff.

  He shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. She knew it did.

  “My agent’s working on getting me hooked up with another team,” he said.

  Lily sincerely hoped that some other team would pick him up. Aiden had always said that baseball meant everything to him, and from an early age, he’d focused like a laser on making a career in pro ball. She’d known with absolute certainty—because he’d told her with absolute certainty—that he would never fish lobster, and he would never live anywhere near his father.

  “I’m sure that’ll happen soon,” she said.

  Of course, she had no idea if that were true, because she knew virtually nothing about the sport. Even when it came to Aiden’s exploits, all she knew was only what the locals talked about. What was the point of following his career? From the moment he’d taken that final boat into Portland after graduating high school, she’d understood that dwelling on him would only bring her more heartache.

  Aiden shrugged his broad shoulders. “I hope so. My options are starting to get pretty limited, though.”

  He bent his long, powerful legs and deposited another trap squarely on top of the one already in the skiff. Lily didn’t even pretend to keep her eyes off his incredibly fit and gorgeous body as he worked with easy assurance. As an athlete, he might be losing a step, but as a man, he couldn’t be more in his mouth-watering prime.

  “Could that mean your stay might be…” Lily almost said indefinite, then winced at how needy that would sound. She regrouped. “Um, longer than I’d first thought?”

  After lifting another trap, he straightened and gave her a long, assessing look that raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. “What exactly was your first thought, Lily?”

  “Oh, you know, a few days,” she babbled. “Don’t forget I know better than anybody how you feel about Seashell Bay.”

  He gave her a slow grin that sent a few tendrils of heat licking down between her thighs.

  “Lily, I’d say you know a lot of things about me better than anybody,” he said in a voice that made her shiver. Then he took a step closer, crowding her a bit.

  She eyed his broad, muscular chest, fighting the deranged urge to slip her arms around his neck and press against him. After all these years, that instinct was still so powerful it took her breath away. Everything about Aiden was familiar, from the burn scar on the inside of his forearm from a childhood accident to the lock of dark hair that dipped down onto his forehead. But he was different, too, excitingly so. He was a man, seasoned and experienced, with sexy laugh lines around his firm mouth and a knowing, sensual look in his dark gaze.

  God, she’d loved him so much back in the day that it still made her chest ache to think about it.

  Love. Lily gave her head a mental shake. As if a sixteen-year-old could truly understand what that meant.

  When Aiden slid a big, warm hand onto her hip, she barely managed to stifle a gasp. “Aiden…” She raised her left hand and pressed against his shoulder, a halfhearted effort he saw through instantly.

  “Have you forgotten how much you loved it when I touched you?” His voice was a low, thrilling combination of purr and growl that made her weak behind the knees.

  Oh, hell no. Not again. Lily tried to force herself to step away from him, but her stupid body wouldn’t obey the message her brain shrieked at her.

  Until, that is, she glanced over his broad shoulder and saw what—who—was charging down the dock. Then she practically jumped, as if a five-pound lobster had just dug its claws into her butt.

  Chapter 6

  Lily, what the hell’s going on down there?” Her father’s deep, raspy voice boomed down the pier from a throat ravaged by decades of cigarettes and whisky. Tommy Doyle had always been a bit of a drama queen, and he rushed down onto the floating pier as if she were being attacked by a band of pirates.

  Lily took another step back as Aiden glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, your dad hasn’t changed a bit,” he said. “Apparently, he still wants to shoot every Flynn on sight. I can only hope he’s not packing heat.”

  She gave him an exaggerated eye roll. But at least he was calm, and she prayed he’d keep his powder dry in the face of what was sure to be a rough encounter with her hot-tempered dad.

  Her father charged down the pier as fast as his arthritic knees would carry him. Instinctively, Lily slid around Aiden to get between him and the man who hated every Flynn that had ever set foot on Seashell Bay Island.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?” she said, as he approached. “Why are you down front at this hour?”

  His face almost as red as the hull of the town’s fire rescue boat, her dad held a big clamp in his meaty fist. “Last night when you left, you didn’t take the new hose clamp I got for you.”

  Sighing, Lily reached for it. She’d forgotten not only the clamp, but even that she’d asked her father to run into Portland to pick up the part in the first place. He didn’t mind doing a few errands for her now and again, especially since there wasn’t much else his rheumatoid arthritis would allow him to do anymore.

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best,” she said gratefully, but she didn’t like the expression on her father’s face one bit.

  “You’re welcome, but what the hell’s he doing here?” Her dad glared at Aiden as if the poor guy had just cut her lobster gear out of the water. “Why are you talking to this… this… damn Benedict Arnold?”

  Yep, her father could drama-queen with the best of them. “Dad, come on. That is absolutely—”

  “Morning, sir. Long time, no see,” Aiden interrupted in a voice so calm and easygoing that it stunned her. His coffee-brown eyes betrayed only mild amusement.

  The last time her dad had spoken to Aiden was to tell him how overjoyed he was to see him leaving the island and that the only thing that would make him happier was if Aiden never came back. It had taken her father five years to get around to admitting that awful fact to Lily. It still made her both ashamed of him and sick to death of the feud that a few silly old men wouldn’t let die.

  “Not near long enough, Flynn,” her father growled. “I know why you’re back. You don’t give a shit about this island, but as soon as you get a sniff that you and your clan can make a pile of dough, you’re all over it. Sell the island to the developers and to hell with the rest of us, right?” He stepped forward, invading Aiden’s personal space as he stared up at the much younger and stronger man.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Though Aiden’s shoulders hiked and his fingers started to curl into fists, Lily knew his reaction was pure male instinct. No way would he back away from anyone, but he’d never hurt her dad either.

  Lily was almost as tall as her father, but she weighed barely more than half as much. Still, she clamped her hands onto his shoulders and stared directly into his face, now puffy with all the medicine he had to take for his arthritis.

  “Listen, Dad, we are not having a shouting match on the pier while I’m trying to load gear. If you have something you need to get off your chest, please do it somewhere else and at some other time.” She gave him a placating smile and lowered her voice. “Thanks for bringing the clamp, but why don’t you head back home and have another cup of coffee, okay? I’m fine here. Aiden was out for a run and just stopped a moment to help me load up. That was pretty nice of him, don’t you think?”

  Tommy shifted his gaze to Aiden again, his glare still fierce. “We don’t need any help from you, Flynn. Never did, never will. And the sooner you finish the dirty business you came for and get your ass off our island, the better we’ll all be for it.”

  Lily wanted to shake her dad, hating the shuttered look that came over Aiden’s face. God, as if he needed another old man from Seashell Bay giving him a hard time.

  “I didn’t come here to do any dirty business, Mr. Doyle,” he said quietly. “And if you want to talk about the issues sometime, feel free to give me a call. I’m staying at Bram’s.” He gave a casual shrug. �
��You might be surprised to know what I think or don’t think about what’s going on.”

  Lily peered at him. What did he mean by that? Unfortunately, Aiden was wearing one of the best poker faces she’d ever seen.

  “Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath on that,” her dad huffed, still not breaking away.

  Once again, Lily had a close-up reminder of where she’d gotten her stubborn streak. “Please go home, Dad,” she said, sighing.

  He finally blew out an angry breath, gave Aiden one more dirty look, then turned and walked away. But a few feet down the pier he half-turned and gave her a funny little grimace. “We’ll talk more tonight at dinner, Lily. You’re coming over, right? Mother’s making her blueberry cobbler.”

  Lily smiled at her father’s roundabout way of telling her not to worry too much about what had just happened. He could be a blustering old warhorse at times, but he wasn’t a cruel man and he’d never lifted a hand against anyone. “Sure, Dad. See you tonight.”

  In silence, she and Aiden watched her father’s gimpy progress until he was up on Water Street. Then she turned to him with a rueful smile. “Dad doesn’t mean half of what he said. He’s just worried about the development, and you happened to be on hand to take the brunt.”

  Actually, her father almost certainly meant every word he’d said, but right now she needed to pour some oil on troubled waters.

  Aiden shrugged as he reached for a spool of pot warp. “Blueberry cobbler, huh? Lucky you.”

  He sounded okay, but the heat between them had blown away on the crisp bay breeze.

  Lily seemed to be in no hurry to push off in her skiff, prompting Aiden to cast a puzzled glance skyward. The sun climbed higher in a cloudless blue vault, which meant another sizzling hot day on the water. He’d worked many long days on a lobster boat in the full, blazing sun—anything else he’d done was a cakewalk by comparison, including covering center field during a heat wave.