The Bachelor Beach: The Love Connection Series - Villa One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  * * *

  “I’ll put that right in for you ladies,” the waiter says, gently slipping the menus out of our hands.

  Kricket snarls at the guy as he’s walking away.

  “Do you know him?” I ask her.

  Kricket unrolls her napkin and whips it out to the side before placing it down on her lap. “No, I don’t know him. I just moved here. I don’t like the way he pointed his nose up in the air. It’s like ... we get it, you know food. Get over yourself.”

  “Richard loved food,” Krow mutters, making whoever Richard is or was sound like he might be dead.

  “We know,” Kricket responds quicker than I can comprehend the meaning of her statement. “Richard is her ex-husband.” With clarification to Krow’s muttered words, she glances out into the water, and her eyes fill with a film of tears. The wind blows against her flawlessly straight dark hair, and she looks like the focus of a silent contemplative scene in a sad movie.

  These two are becoming stranger by the minute, and I’m thankful our food arrives fairly quickly. I spend my time focusing solely on the sandwich and keeping my mouth full at all times. It’s the only way to ensure I won’t have to start another conversation with these two turds.

  “Hi there,” a voice startles me from behind.

  I press my napkin up to my lips, as I’m caught mid-bite, and I turn around, finding a man dressed in white dress pants and a fitted navy-blue button-down shirt. He’s a bit startling with the intensity of his demeanor and good looks. “Hi,” I answer with my mouth partially full.

  “Oh, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you with a mouth full. I’m Noah.”

  “Oh,” is all I can think to say. I’m not sure why this man is introducing himself to me while I’m eating.

  “Sorry, I—” he’s staring at me as if he recognizes me from somewhere, and it’s weird. “I’m Noah James, the owner of this restaurant.”

  Shit. Awesome. Way to go me. Here is the answer I’ve been seeking. My lack of ability to read situations is most likely the reason why I can’t seem to find a job. I’m a simple idiot. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so rude. It’s just—”

  Noah chuckles and drops his hands into his pockets, pulling my focus down to his bulge. Do men have noticeable bulges when they wear white pants? Why haven’t I noticed this before? Better yet, why am I still looking at this guy’s junk? He’s the owner here, the person who could give me a damn job. Maybe if I compliment his junk first, I’ll get the job.

  Ah yes, is that thing real? If not, are you just happy to have an applicant?

  It is real, Mr. Noah James. That’s fabulous. Good for you.

  Could you hire me now?

  I snap out of my thoughts and refocus my attention on the man’s face.

  “I heard you are looking for a job?”

  My face must be turning red, considering how hot my cheeks instantly become. I try to be inconspicuous when I drag my palms across my lap, hoping to hide any trace of sweat I’ve developed in the last fifteen seconds.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—of course you work here. Look at you—“ Oh my God, shut up, Ashley.

  He squats down, bringing his eye-level closer to mine. If I were to look down right now, would his bulge be more decipherable or less? I cannot look down. He’s trying to make eye contact, not junk contact.

  Noah has sapphire eyes, peppered with flecks of gold dust. Noah smirks a cute crooked little tug of his lips, showing off a hint of his pearly teeth. “I’m thrilled you asked for an application. We’re short-staffed at the moment. Do you have any waitressing experience?” He speaks clearly and with a point. He’s clearly polished with etiquette.

  Unlike me, who is still trying to dry my sweaty hands off on my pants, because I’m assuming a handshake is in the near future. I don’t want Noah to feel like he has to go wash his hands after meeting me.

  “Actually, yes. I worked at a hotel restaurant in Hartford, Connecticut for a couple of years while I was attending school. I just graduated a few weeks ago, and moved down here to find a job.” It’s kind of the truth.

  “Well, The Clam Pit isn’t up to the same luxury status of a hotel restaurant, but I hope you will fill out the application, so we can set up a time to meet.”

  I decided to leave out the fact that the hotel was a motel, and the restaurant was a diner next door. People expand on the truth with resumes all the time, though.

  “Yes, of course. That would be wonderful.”

  “Fantastic. I hope you all enjoy your lunch. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, ladies.” A waiter brushes by Noah just as he’s standing up, and he’s pushed forward against the table, or me, and his junk touches my arm. I’m now looking at my arm as if it would have left a mark, but nope, no mark. It felt real, though. That junk is definitely real.

  “I’m so sorry, pardon me,” he says, placing his hand on his chest and taking a step back. Does he not realize his penis was just resting on my arm for half a second? “I’ll come back to check in on you once you finish your meals. Enjoy, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” I respond on behalf of the three of us, seeing as the other two are mute once again.

  “Well, there you go,” Kricket says after he walks away. “I can come up with a thing or two I can do for him if you can’t pull through.” I try not to act surprised at her comment, though it’s mildly unexpected after her elongated vowed silence.

  “We’ll see, I guess.”

  “He looks like Richard,” Krow utters. Her shoulders buckle forward, and her hair falls into her face.

  “What?” Kricket responds. “No, he doesn’t. Not even close. Richard was five-five, skin and bones, and paler than a cloudy sky. What in the world are you thinking?”

  “He was beautiful,” Krow says in a ghostly whisper.

  “The manager here? Yes, he was beautiful. Richard? We called him The Walking Dead for a reason.”

  Oh boy. “Maybe you’ll meet someone new here. There’s clearly plenty of single men to choose from,” I tell Krow, debating whether I should keep my thoughts to myself. The girls peer at me with an inquisitive look in their eyes like I just said the wrong thing.

  “No one can replace Richard,” Krow grunts.

  “I’m sorry,” I follow. “I was just trying—I’m going to fill out this application quickly, okay?”

  I twist my body to the side and tend to the application while listening to Kricket quietly talk Krow off the ledge.

  “He’s in jail now. You can relax,” I hear Kricket whisper.

  Fun. This is fun.

  Noah returns to our table just as we’re finishing up our meals. “How was everything, ladies?” he asks, folding his hands in front of his waist. Maybe he noticed his junk was bulging earlier.

  “The sandwich was incred—“ I try to say.

  “That salad was bland and dry,” Kricket states.

  “Ah,” Noah says. “We could have gotten you a different salad dressing if this wasn’t what you preferred.”

  “I don’t use salad dressing. It’s full of chemicals.”

  My brows knit together out of confusion. “Chemicals?” I question her. As I’m slowly piecing Kricket’s personality together, I remember I’m trying to get a job at this place, and she’s hurting my chances right now.

  “Well, we have plenty of seasonings too. I can offer you something to sprinkle over your salad?” Noah continues trying to work with the unworkable.

  “No, no, I’m through with my lunch,” Kricket replies. Krow is still moving croutons around on her plate, muttering something to herself.

  “Here is my application,” I offer, handing the paper to him. As Noah takes it from my hand, I spot a water glass stain on the bottom.

  Always keeping it classy here.

  Noah folds up the application and takes a step back. “Well, thank you for dining with us, ladies. I’ll make sure your salad is on the house.”

  “You should,” Kri
cket replies.

  “She means to say: thank you,” I counter. God.

  Noah glances in my direction and gives me a subtle nod that appears to be a “Don’t worry about it” expression, but I don’t know him well enough to assume. Once he’s out of sight, the girls and I place our napkins on the table and head inside toward the front door.

  The urgency of finding a job is stronger now that I know I can’t stay in a villa for long periods with these two. They’re awful. Of course, I’d be stupid to think I will be getting a call back for my application now. The job search I’m going to have to tend to soon will need to be on my own, or I’ll never find a job.

  While walking past the hostess podium, I spot Noah again. This time, he’s hovering over the pretty blonde hostess, pointing over her shoulder at a seating chart. He laughs softly, and she sweeps her hair away from her ear in response.

  We continue out onto the sidewalk, but I’m still watching the exchange between Noah and the hostess. He places his hand on her shoulder, probably telling her she’s doing an excellent job. She smiles and steals a quick glance in his direction.

  That could be me if I get the job here. I think I could be okay with that.

  I should be focused on where I’m walking because the ping of my head making contact with a street lamp is the last thing I hear before falling backward.

  I’m more mortified than hurt. I’m sure I’ll have a bruise, but in the meantime, I am still lying here on the sidewalk, face up, staring at the freckled clouds in the sky.

  “You okay?” Kricket asks. She’s hovering over me with her arms crossed.

  I push myself up onto my elbows to sit upright, but the sound of a whooshing door, followed by, “Whoa, are you okay?” acts as a force of gravity, keeping me still.

  A hand is on my back, and a voice whispers in my ear, “Lay down for a second to make sure you’re okay.” I’ve been avoiding the scene by keeping my eyes closed, so when I peek out through a squint, I weaken at the sight of Noah James staring down at me. “Lavish, grab some hand towels and ice,” he shouts.

  Lavish?

  “I’m okay,” I breathe out.

  “You have a small split on your forehead. You hit yourself well. What happened?”

  Oh, nothing, I was staring at you, wishing I was Lavish. Nothing really.

  “I—I’m not sure,” I tell him.

  Lavish rushes to my side with a baggy full of ice and napkins. Noah holds the small napkin to my head for a minute, using a slight bit of pressure, which stings. I try not to wince. After a long minute, he removes the napkin and blots up the area before replacing it with the ice. “You should really look where you’re going,” he chuckles. “You’re going to end up knocking yourself out.” Maybe this is what people mean when they say: she fell head over heels for him.

  “I don’t usually—” Yes, yes, I do usually walk into things. My head is in the clouds far more often than it should be. I’m supposed to be focused now, though. I need to be a responsible adult, find a job, and not be focusing on hot men. I promised myself I was going to get myself situated before getting mixed up with a distraction. “I’m not usually clumsy.” I’m sure I’m the right fit for your waitressing job, though. I can’t walk on two feet, but I can carry an oversized tray like no one’s business. I swear.

  “Sure you’re not,” Noah says with a quick wink.

  “We’ll see you back at home,” Kricket says, rolling her eyes from behind Noah’s head. “Drama queen.”

  Bitch.

  “Are they your friends?” Noah asks.

  “No. God, no. They’re my new roommates. It’s working out super—“

  “Bad?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Noah says. “Hey—” Noah leans over me, placing his hand on the other side of my head and lowers his face toward mine. His nose is less than an inch from my nose. What is happening? I can smell his cool fresh breath. It’s nice. It’s really nice.

  Is he … is he trying to kiss me? We just met. This kind of situation doesn’t happen in real life. Which means, I’m back to wondering if my plane crashed and I’m in heaven. He’s gazing into my eyes. He has beautiful eyes. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion.

  Kiss me, Noah James. It doesn’t matter that we don’t know each other whatsoever. You look kissable. He could be my Prince Charming. Who knows? I close my eyes and sew my lips together, just open slightly enough to leave a soft pucker.

  Noah’s knuckles brush against the side of my face just before he retrieves something from the pavement beneath my right ear. The sound of metal scrapes against the gravel and I open my eyes, finding him staring at me with question—not just question, but a look of, What the hell is wrong with you?

  “You dropped your key. It must have flown out of your pocket.” Noah inspects the key as if any gold-ridge key looks different from another, and then hands it to me. “Here you go. You’ll probably need this.” Noah stands up and brushes the non-existent dirt from his knees, offers me a hand, and I stand up, feeling hot and red. “Are you going to make it home okay?”

  “Oh, totally, I’m cool. I’m fine, I mean. No worries. Thanks for the ice and napkins.”

  Noah drops his hands into his back pocket and nods his head with confusion. “No problem. Have a—ah—a good day.”

  “You too,” I tell him, spinning around on my heels, almost walking right back into the lamp. Thankfully, my hands make contact with the metal first, and I’m able to play it off as if I’m choking the lamp, jokingly, before walking off.

  Lovely. Just lovely.

  I make it a block down the street and look behind me, finding Noah still staring with wonder.

  I will not be going back to that restaurant anytime soon.

  Chapter 7

  By the time I’ve gotten back to the villa, I almost forgot about the bonfire invitation I received for tonight. My gut is telling me I’m in for more of what I experienced earlier in the day—man after man approaching me with kind gestures. I feel the need to clarify my reasons for being here, which will be my intent tonight.

  I stare at my empty bedroom, debating where to start. For one, the bed needs sheets and my pink-plaid comforter, which took up half of one the suitcases I brought. The small pieces of decor are in one of the boxes I shipped, so I’ll have to stare at the white walls for a few days. I gather my clothes and bring them to the closet, but when I open the closet door, I feel immediately blinded by sequins and sparkles.

  So, I guess the closet is already being occupied. I’ve heard of pre-furnished, but pre-clothed, not so much.

  I swing through the hangers, one by one, finding long dresses made up of silk, slits and plunging necklines. Not exactly my style.

  Rather than play dress-up tonight, I yank out my favorite pair of holey jeans and a camouflage tank top. Maybe the camo pattern will give them a hint.

  I walk past Krow’s bedroom on the way to the stairway. “You said you aren’t going to this bonfire tonight?”

  “No,” she responds, almost before I’ve finished my question. “That’s not for—“

  “Krow,” Kricket interrupts. “Don’t be rude.” I think we’re past rude.

  Without needing to hear more, I continue down the stairs, finding my timing to be impeccable as the sun is setting over the horizon outside of the back sliding door.

  I slip on my black Reef flip-flops and step outside, searching for the gaggle of men who will likely be at this shindig.

  Tiki torches are lit down the small stone path, guiding me in whatever direction I’m supposed to be heading. Sounds of tropical-like music play in the distance, and I swear I hear a steel drum in the mix. If I didn’t see signs for Georgia, I might question if I’m still within the U.S.

  As I arrive at a clearing of beach grass, I spot the motion of firewood flying into a ring, and men dressed in their finest Bermuda-style beachwear, sipping on cocktails. Not beers, but cocktails.

  I’ve used
the term “record scratch” many times before, but this particular moment is the true definition of a record scratch, minus the actual scratch. All eyes are on me— ten sets of eyes.

  They all look alike. These men must be pod people. That has to be what’s going on.

  At least I spot food. Food will keep me here a bit longer. There is a long table with a white tablecloth, and two male caterers are preparing a carving station alongside a dozen metal serving trays that are being kept warm by tiny candles.

  Theo, the first man who approached me today, is making his way over. His charming smile glows as he approaches me with his arm out to the side, seemingly ready to take me into his embrace.

  “Ashley, you look stunning,” Theo says.

  No, I don’t. You’ve already failed the test, Theo.

  * * *

  As assumed, he pulls me in for a quick hug. He smells like an expensive cologne. “You look very nice too,” I offer because I should be courteous, I guess. He does look cute in his cream-colored slacks and a loose white button-down. He’s wearing brown-leather thong sandals and looks freshly bronzed from a day at the beach.

  “You’re sweet. I’m a little surprised you showed up tonight,” Theo says. “I figured you’d have gone running for the hills by now.”

  “Me too,” I tell him. I debated it, for sure. “This is all a little weird, right?”

  “I don’t mind the environment,” he says, shrugging. “Most of the guys here are very nice. Just a little competitive, I guess.”

  “You don’t mind being surrounded by all men—” I stop my question. I shouldn’t be assuming what he meant.

  “I mean, there’s no drama—no offense. I volunteered for the social study because I was curious about the outcome. Plus, free housing on a beach isn’t something to laugh at, right?”

  Free housing on the beach. Is that all it took for these men to join this—this cult thing? “Is that the reason you are all here?” I ask.