Page 77 of Banter & Blushes #1

CAROLINE

T he Hollis Express hummed softly, its battery gauge dipping precariously close to empty as it zoomed through the deserted side streets.

Caroline gripped the wheel as she followed the winding road hugging the ocean’s edge, her eyes momentarily distracted by the shimmering waves.

In her distraction, she almost missed Beck’s driveway, and her tires screeched in protest as she swerved in at the last moment.

In the distance, Beck stood on the sandy beach, his arm arcing through the air as he threw a stick with all his might. A white blur shot across the sand to fetch it.

“Bring it here, Quint. Come on, boy,” he urged, the wind carrying his words toward the ocean. The dog, a muscular retriever with a coat like fresh snow, scooped up the stick and beelined for the surf’s edge. “Quint, no!” he shouted, his voice laced with exasperation.

The large dog came to an abrupt halt, eyes locked on Caroline as she made her way to the end of the driveway. Its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth in a goofy grin, and its lopsided ears stood at attention, giving it a comically alert expression.

The Cream Retriever watched her with bright, intelligent eyes, then let the stick drop onto the sand, sending a small spray of grains flying. With a sudden burst of energy, the dog turned and bolted towards the house, leaving Beck in its wake, to chase after the animal with a resigned laugh.

Caroline sat in the cart, eyeing the mutt with trepidation. “He’s harmless, right?”

“Only if you consider slobber harmless.” Quint put both paws on the windowless door of the golf cart and leaned forward to sniff Caroline. “Down, boy,” Beck said.

“Hey there,” Caroline said, as she scratched the dog behind the ears. “You’re like a sandy carpet.” Quint jumped backwards from the cart and barked, doing a circle before sitting down and looking at Caroline.

“Guess he likes you, Mayor Hollis.” Beck grinned as he walked up to snap a leash on the dog’s collar. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“I wasn’t, either.” Sliding out of the golf cart, she swung a large tote over her shoulder. “I thought we could…”

“I’m not talking business tonight, Hollis.” Beck whistled and gave a light tug on the leash. “I have the casserole warming in the oven. Are you ready to eat?”

“I’m starving.”

“Hope you like paper plates and drinking out of a coffee mug,” he said. “I’m not exactly stocked for surprise dinner parties.”

“I never guessed.”

He gestured to the porch. Caroline followed him, and Quint followed her.

The screen door squeaked as they entered, and the warm, cheesy aroma filled the air.

Caroline’s stomach growled despite her nerves.

Beck grabbed two tattered beach towels just inside the door and threw one across the worn kitchen table before spreading the other on the floor.

Quint settled in quickly, his tail sweeping back and forth with gleeful anticipation.

She looked around at the small cottage. The interior was minimal and comfortably worn, a reflection of Beck’s laid-back personality.

Surf posters were tacked to the walls. A sun-bleached couch lined up against the wall.

Caroline noted with faint amusement; a hammock was suspended in the corner like it was a legitimate piece of furniture.

“Nice place,” she said, circling back around to him.

“It’s not the Ritz, but I’m happy,” Beck replied, unclipping Quint’s leash and tossing it into a basket by the door. “We don’t need much, do we, Quint?”

“Why, Quint?”

Caroline followed him into the kitchen, where Beck opened a cabinet filled mostly with mugs boasting about tourist destinations and a stack of paper plates. He grabbed two of each and set them down.

Putting on his best Irish brogue, he lowered his voice. “He took eleven hundred sticks in the water. Only three came out.” Giving her a wink, he dropped the accent. “Pretty sure the sharks took the rest.”

“So, you named him Quint after the captain in the shark movie?”

“One of my favorite summer movies. The dog loves his sticks.” Opening the fridge, he looked inside.

“I have water, energy drinks, a few bottles of beer, and a bottle of …” He pulled out a green bottle with a peeling label from the back of th e fridge and snorted.

“Questionable apple cider from a tea party when my sister and niece visited. I think it’s been in there for two years. ”

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

“It won’t be this.” Beck placed the green bottle on the counter and pulled out two beers, twisting off the caps before handing one to Caroline. “We can eat outside.” His free hand swept through the air. “It’s part of the ambiance.”

Caroline took the bottle and looked at him skeptically. “Paper plates and beach towels? I’d hate to know what you think of as a formal dinner.”

“More beach towels. Classy ones.”

They both laughed, and Beck clinked his bottle against hers. “Cheers,” he said before taking a sip. It was easy and relaxed, like the relaxed way they had joked during the meeting. “Grab the plates. I’ll get the food.”

Caroline hesitated; her heart caught in a strange tug-of-war. There was something unexpectedly intimate about dining on the porch.

Just the two of them. Alone .

Her heart fluttered with a mix of apprehension and excitement.

Stop it, Caroline, she thought. This isn’t a date.

She didn’t date. This was impulsive, and she wasn’t impulsive.

“What did you say?” Beck asked, pulling the casserole out of the oven.

“I said nothing.”

“I thought I heard you mention a date.”

Caroline wanted to curl up and die. “I may have been thinking about a date for the gala, nothing else.”

Beck shook his shoulders. “I told you. No work tonight.”

The pressing thoughts of work, binders, and plans blurred into the background as the savory aroma of the casserole teased her senses, causing her stomach to rumble impatiently.

“How do I know you’re not luring me into some kind of trap, Beckett?” she asked, trying to mask her vulnerability with humor.

“It’s just dinner. I will not turn down dinner provided by your Grandma Army.

” Beck’s easy manner was both reassuring and unsettling, as he deftly served generous portions of casserole, his actions natural and warm.

Caroline watched, her mind a whirl of thoughts, as he balanced plates and nudged the door open with his foot. “You ready, Hollis?”

Caroline lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on him as he vanished onto the porch, plates in hand and the dog trotting behind.

There was a dangerous thrill in this, an impulsiveness so unlike her usual self.

Before her anxieties could take over, she snatched the bottles of beer from the counter and followed him, her shoes making a gentle tap against the floor.

As she stepped onto the porch, the sight of Beck waiting beside two beach chairs, a small table between them, made her heart flutter with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Quint was making himself comfortable on a braided rug, his tail thumping against the fabric as Caroline approached. He looked like a ridiculous mop of fur, his white coat blending with the sandy beach beyond. Beck put the plates on the small table between the chairs.

“I forgot silverware,” Beck called. “Be right back.”

As he disappeared, Caroline stood there, taking in the scene. The porch of Beck’s cottage was a charming mess of cozy details somehow fitting together, with sprawling rose bushes and wild clumps of beach grass breaking up the view of the ocean.

The plants reminded her of the windswept garden she’d always imagined for herself, but never actually planted.

String lights shaped like tiny, colorful fishing bobbers were draped playfully across the top of the porch, creating a soft, ambient glow which mingled with the fading light of the setting sun.

The golden glimmer of a citronella candle flickered in the far corner, keeping the bugs away and adding a warm touch of intimacy.

It was so inviting compared to the sterile environment of her own house, where immaculate perfection reigned. Somehow, Beck had created a haphazard paradise, a laid-back sanctuary, without even trying.

“This is cozy,” she said with a touch of wistfulness, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Though I have to admit, it’s not what I’m used to.”

She wondered if Beck even realized just how perfectly personal his home seemed to her.

The gentle chaos of the porch, the simple comfort floating in the air.

It was the kind of thing she never let herself indulge in.

The kind of thing she steered clear of. Yet here she was at Beckett’s place, doing exactly the opposite of what she had planned.

“Seat’s not too fancy for you, is it?” Beck teased, emerging with a fistful of plastic forks and tossing one into the air. He flicked the edge of Caroline’s beach chair, scattered sand to the ground.

“I’ve survived worse.” She smiled, though it felt a little uncertain after everything which had happened between them. It was an unexpected turn, sitting on the porch with him, paper plates in hand. She didn’t do this type of casual.

Wouldn’t do.

Yet here she was.

The strangest part was, she wanted to see what happened next. She plopped down in the chair, felt it give slightly under her, but strong even if it seemed fragile.

“This is very … spontaneous of me.”

“That a bad thing?”

“Not tonight.” She picked up her beer and clinked it against his. “To spontaneity.”

“To delusions,” Beck said, passing her the generous plate of steaming casserole. “Think you’ll survive the evening?”

“Are you daring me?”

“You like those, don’t you?”

“I think I’ll manage,” she said, reaching for the fork he’d set next to the paper plate. She took a bite of the casserole and savored it .

They sat there, a comfortable silence between them, Quint at their feet and the ocean stretching out into the horizon.