Page 11 of Beach Cottage Kisses

And it wasn’t any of the others he was missing.

It was Iris. Who he’d purposely avoided.

She’d let him.No expectationskind of required that. There were no strings attached.

Morgan, trotting beside him, stopped to do her business as usual. In his shorts, tennis shoes and long-sleeved pullover,he picked up after her as usual, too. Lobbed the bag into one of the disposal bins installed along the beach just for that purpose. His girl watched, looking to him for her entertainment since he’d robbed her of playtime with her best friend. She didn’t seem to mind.

But then, she was a bit of a minimalist. Just happy to be. Grateful to have a human come home. To have food and water. She didn’t waste a lot of time worrying about things she couldn’t control.

Scott tried to learn by her example. Walked with her. Ran with her some. And didn’t feel any better at all.

The emptiness inside him was his fault. His mistake to fix.

Because there was every possibility his actions had affected someone else, too. He’d made no promise to be out on the beach that night. Or any night.

Wouldn’t make one.

But to deliberately stay away…that wasn’t right, either. Not without some kind of understanding so that she didn’t blame herself.

It was that thought, the possibility that Iris could be suffering due to his choice to let that damned kiss come between them when they’d both promised it wouldn’t, that drove him to head over one more cottage after checking on his and Sage’s old place.

His sister had put it up for sale. She lived half a mile down the beach now, in the cottage Gray had bought and had renovated. There’d been a showing at Sage’s that day. Scott had stopped to check that all the lights had been turned off, and to grab the showing realtor’s card, which had been left, as was protocol, on the kitchen counter.

Not sure whether or not he’d knock on Iris’s back door—while he’d done it several times in the three years they’d been buds,it wasn’t their normal way—he was at least spared that decision when Angel came running down from the cottage toward them, her paws throwing sand up behind her in her eagerness.

Bending down to greet the girl, he saw Iris’s tennis shoes in the sand before standing again.

“Late day at work?” she asked.

“A hard one,” he told her back, diving into a more detailed account of the day than he might ordinarily have given.

Buying himself time.

He had to fix things between them.

Knew how to do it, too. Prove motive.

He just wasn’t eager to go there.

Not with her.

Not with anyone.

Ever again.

* * *

Iris hated how pubescently eager she felt, standing on the beach with Scott. She wanted to believe she hadn’t been watching for him. That she’d had legitimate reason to visit her kitchen, to glance out the window, four times since she’d come in.

But she’d learned that the only way to mental and emotional health—for her at least—was self-honesty.

She wasn’t looking for promises of a future with Scott Martin. Or anyone. But she hoped their moments in the sand weren’t done yet.

They’d said they looked for each other first when they came out at night. And were always glad to see each other.

And to that end, she needed to do what she could to put things right between them. If that meant listening to legal technicalities with which she wasn’t all that familiar—verbiage he’d never used with her before—then she’d stand there and listen.

She was an intelligent woman. Got the gist of what he was saying. Just wasn’t sure why he seemed to be quoting law textbooks rather than just talking to her.