Page 15 of A Shore Fling

TRAVIS

I blink at the white ceiling. There’s a faint wood grain I’m not familiar with.

My head’s a bit foggy, and my mouth is dry as sand.

I notice the lobster print blanket drawn up to my chest and the leftover scent of lemon.

Fuck. I lift my head and instantly regret it.

It’s like waking up from a night of heavy drinking, which I haven’t done in years.

I sit up, moving more slowly this time, and squint against the soft morning light spilling in through the cottage’s front windows.

The blanket falls to my lap, and I toss it over to the other end of the couch.

I roll my neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks while I replay the highlights of last night.

Dinner was delicious, and so were the lemon bars until I had a bad reaction to them.

I raise my fingers to my lips, thankful to discover they’re back to their usual size.

I remember Nina giving me some Benadryl and then kissing me.

It was only a brief meeting of our lips, but it still packed a punch.

I swing my legs to the floor and spot a glass of water and a sticky note on the coffee table.

You’re alive. Congratulations. Coffee’s been brewed. I went for a walk.

P.S. Don’t eat the lemon bars.

Nina

With a smile teasing my mouth, I stand and stretch, twisting side to side to loosen up my forty-year-old spine.

Spending the night on her couch has made it feel twenty years older.

I shuffle toward the kitchen on sock-covered feet, and realize she must’ve removed my shoes at some point.

That’s embarrassing, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

I pour coffee into a large mug and then lean back against the counter, taking my first sip. I moan at the bite of the potent brew. It’s the perfect remedy for my antihistamine hangover.

My gaze flicks over to the lemon bars sitting traitorously on a plate wrapped in plastic.

Dammit, they tasted so good, but they did me so dirty.

I shift over to the spot I was standing in when she kissed me, and replay the memory a few times.

I would’ve liked to kiss her back, but I was too busy getting knocked out from a bit of wine and a heavy dose of meds. Oh, how the mighty have fallen .

I take another sip of coffee, enjoying the quiet.

This cottage feels like Nina—sunny, warm, a little chaotic—but in a way that makes me want to stay longer than I should.

She blew into town like a hurricane, shaking up my predictable life.

And for the first time since my ex, I might be interested in discovering more about a woman beyond her sexual preferences and what color underwear she has on.

I hear the front door open and close, and a moment later, Nina enters the kitchen. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and her cheeks are flushed from walking. With her hair piled on top of her head and a hoodie shrouding her lean frame, she looks more like a college student than a New York City executive.

She smiles at me. “Hey, it’s good to see you’re alive.”

I grunt. “Barely. I woke up feeling twice my age.”

“You were out cold when I finally went to bed. I checked your pulse to make sure you didn’t croak on my couch.” She pulls off the sweatshirt, leaving her in a fitted t-shirt and shorts. This is the most casual I’ve seen her dressed, and I like it a lot.

“Thanks. That’s comforting.”

She grins and heads to the coffee pot, pouring herself a mug. Adding cream, she gives it a quick stir before taking a sip. “How are you feeling now?” She moves over, standing beside me.

“Better than when I woke up. Despite your assassination attempt,” I say, nudging her arm with mine. I nod toward the lemon bars. “Those things should come with a warning label.”

Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Duly noted. I’ll add a skull and crossbones next time so you can’t miss it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Next time? Does that mean you’re going to make dessert for me again?”

“Well, minus the mild poisoning part.”

One side of my mouth curves in a half-smirk. “I’ll take any almond-free food up for grabs.” At the mention of food, my stomach lets out a loud growl.

Nina laughs. “Sounds like you're hungry.”

“More like starving.”

She moves to the fridge, opens it, and scans the contents. “Hmm, I’ve got some yogurt, a banana that’s starting to turn brown, and one bagel that’s past the sell-by date.”

I grimace. “Maybe I’m not so hungry after all.”

She grins over her shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was running a bed and breakfast.”

I shrug. “Well, you are, and I’m giving it four stars. Delicious dinner, tuck-in service, shoe removal, strong coffee, but you lost a star for the life-threatening dessert. Definitely an unforgettable experience.”

She tucks her chin and lets out an embarrassed titter. “Do you want the overly ripe banana or the stale bagel?”

I eye the sad-looking produce. “We can split the bagel. Do you have peanut butter?”

She nods. “I do.”

“I’ll pass on the mushy banana.”

“Sounds good,” she says, setting the items on the counter. “I’ll even let you choose which half you want.”

“I like the bottom.”

“Really?” Her eyes glimmer mischievously. “I thought you’d be a top guy.”

“Are we still talking about bagels? Because if not, I’d like to switch my answer.”

She giggles as she drops the bagel into the toaster. “Get your mind out of the gutter, harbormaster.”

“Hey, you went there first. Admit it, you’re trouble.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She playfully feigns ignorance.

I sip my coffee and watch her remove two plates from a cabinet and a knife from a drawer. My phone buzzes, and when I pull it from my pocket, there’s a text.

Jordan: Dude, I didn’t think you’d follow through. Way to go, man!

Shaking my head, I tuck it back inside my pocket.

“Is there a problem?” Nina asks, removing the crispy bagel from the toaster.

“No, it’s Jordan. He noticed I didn’t come home last night.”

“Do you live together?”

“Not exactly, but we might as well,” I say, and she cocks her head in question. “We each have our own houses, but they’re all next to each other.”

Her eyebrows climb high on her forehead. “Four in a row?”

“Five. My parents have a cottage too, but they’re visiting friends in Massachusetts.”

“Wow, your family is close.”

“Literally,” I say, chuckling.

She spreads peanut butter on my half of the bagel and then passes me the plate along with a napkin. “You can sit down, you know.”

“I would, but my back is still stiff from sleeping on the couch.”

Her brow dips slightly. “I have Ibuprofen if you want some.”

“No, thanks. This will work itself out.” I bite into the bagel and chew. It’s a little crunchy, but not bad.

“Getting older sucks,” she says.

I wipe peanut butter from my lips. “True, but it’s better than the alternative, and I plan to live to be one hundred.”

“I can see that happening. It’s always the grumpy old men who live the longest.” She tears off a piece of bagel and shoves it between her lips, as if she didn’t just insult me.

“Maybe it’s the women in their lives who made them like that,” I defend. I wasn’t always this grumpy, was I?

Her chin tips toward me. “What’s your excuse?”

Shrugging, I take another bite. That’s a tricky question, one I don’t have an answer for.

Why am I so grumpy? I have a cottage I love and a job I’ve wanted since I was a child.

I have family members who love me that I see whenever I want—and even when I don’t want.

The only component missing is someone to share my life with.

Did my divorce make me so bitter that I’ve stopped appreciating how blessed I truly am?

“You okay?” Nina asks, shaking me from my musings.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about the list of things I need to do today,” I lie.

“Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest,” she says.

I let out a sharp laugh. “I thought it was to take care of the mountain of laundry and grocery shop.”

“That sounds about right. But not for me, at least not in my immediate future. I am scheduleless and embracing going with the flow.”

“I bet by the end of this week you’ll be bored and need something to do,” I challenge, eating the final piece of bagel. I’m all for taking a break, but when you’re used to the daily grind, it becomes part of who you are.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I have a stack of books to read and a beach that’s only a five-minute walk from here.”

I place my plate in the dishwasher and then toss my napkin in the trash. “Thank you for feeding me. I feel half alive now.”

“Finish your coffee. That’ll get you to at least three quarters.”

“Good point.” I down the remainder in one large gulp, then put the mug in the dishwasher. “I should get going. My laundry isn’t going to take care of itself.”

“You sound like a housewife,” she teases.

“No, I sound like every adult.”

“True. I didn’t realize laundry would be such a large part of my life. One of my favorite things about this cottage is the clothesline. I’d never hung stuff out to dry before.”

“Never? How is that possible?”

“We grew up with live-in help who took care of the cooking and laundry,” she explains. “They still work for my parents.”

Every time we find common ground, I learn a new detail about her life that negates it. The contrast between our upbringings is startling.

Nina walks me to the front door. “Do you want to sit outside for a minute before you head out? It’s still quiet enough to enjoy it.”

I glance out the window at her tiny porch and the blue lobster trap chairs and decide I’m not ready to end our temporary truce or whatever this is. “Sure. Five minutes won’t kill my productivity.”

She smiles like she knows damn well I’m not getting anything done for at least another hour, and we settle into the chairs. They’re more comfortable than they look. Tucking her knees up, she cradles her mug in both hands.

“I’m still not used to the slower pace here.

Yesterday, my neighbor, Bev, brought me cookies and then stayed for forty-five minutes, ranting about how her husband cut down one of her hydrangea bushes.

I made the mistake of mentioning I didn’t know what that was, so she dragged me next door to show me. ”

I chuckle. “You need to learn the fine art of how not to encourage conversations.”

“I didn’t want to be rude or hurt her feelings. I know you don’t have a problem with being rude,” she says, poking me in the arm.

“Was jawing in your ear for forty-five minutes about her husband’s mistake being polite?”

“Not necessarily, but she wasn’t intentionally rude. Maybe she’s lonely,” she offers in explanation.

“I doubt you’re the only person in this neighborhood who’s heard that story. Her poor husband was probably just trying to help out.”

“Well, now that I know this town comes with unsolicited garden tours, I’ll be more careful,” she says, giggling.

“Watch out for potluck dinners, too. It’s a trap.”

“How so?”

“There will be four different kinds of potato salad or pasta salad, and you’ll be asked to judge which is your favorite while everyone who made them is present. It’s a no-win situation.”

She grins at me over the rim of her mug. “I guess I’ll have to master the art of grunting like you. That way I can answer without really saying anything.”

I grunt.

She laughs. “I don’t think I can do that as well as you.”

I grunt again. “Try.”

There’s a look of intense concentration on her face as she gives it a shot. “Hmph.”

“Deeper. Like a growl,” I instruct.

She nods, looking hopeful as she tries again. “Hmph.” Her shoulders droop with disappointment. “I suck at grunting.”

I hold up my hands. “Hey, it’s a skill not everyone can master.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee. After a few minutes of silence, I feel her gaze on me. “Why’d you stay here after the divorce?”

My head snaps in her direction, but all I find is her eyes alight with genuine interest.

“I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just curious. But if it’s too personal a question, I understand.”

I could reply with a list that includes my family, my job, and the beach. But instead I say, “It’s home.” I can’t be more succinct than that.

She nods slowly, like she understands. “You belong here.”

“Just like you belong in the city. Our roots are hard to get away from.” I stand, tugging my keys from my pocket. “Thanks for dinner and not letting me die on your couch.”

She smirks. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for grumpy harbormasters who grunt.”

And I have one for fancy, disaster-laden women who poison me.