Page 24 of The Ruse of Romancing

Dani

I woke early, potential story lines a jumble in my head.

I’d attempted to write again after the sourdough therapy session and meeting my landlords, but hadn’t found much success.

Instead, I’d had a series of dreams where Hypatia turned Petros into a loaf of bread.

Not exactly the riveting sequel to a romantasy novel Avery was looking for but maybe it would get traction for its unique, groundbreaking approach?

Yesterday before leaving her house, I’d asked Joane for recommendations of beaches in the area and this morning I planned to check one of them out.

I couldn’t believe it had taken me two days since arriving to find beach time.

What was the point of a trip to the Oregon coast if I didn’t actually visit the coast?

It was a travesty that needed to be remedied immediately.

As I drove, I tried to remember Joane’s directions, following a winding road past restaurants and old houses until the trees cleared and the view of the ocean caught my attention. It wasn’t the spot I was looking for, but the cliffside overlook was too tempting to ignore.

I found a place to safely pull over and observe the blues and whites of the ocean waves as they crashed onto the shore, the sound making the tension melt from my shoulders.

Breathing in the sea air was the most relaxed I had felt since I submitted my final draft of Of Curses and Pomegranates over a year ago .

I took in the initial sensations of being near the ocean before registering the rest of my surroundings.

I was standing on an overlook perched on a cliff above the beach.

There wasn’t an easy way down to the shore, but up here there was a bench, which could be a promising location to write.

I wouldn’t be able to dig my toes into the sand, but I would be able to write to the soothing sounds of waves punctuated by the occasional passing car without fear of sand or water ruining my laptop.

I also couldn’t imagine the random bench on the side of the road being a happening place, except maybe during sunset.

From its perch on the cliff, this bench would offer the perfect view of the vibrant hues I was sure filled the sky most evenings over the Pacific Ocean.

I turned to head back to my car to snag my laptop, which I’d stashed in a bag in the trunk, when another car stopped near me, a family spilling out and exclaiming over the view.

Then again, maybe the spot was too visible and too close to the road. While I wasn’t looking for a perfectly silent place to work, I’d prefer one that didn’t include a small child screaming about how they wanted ice cream at full volume in my ear.

I quickly retreated to my car, determined to find the beach access Joane had recommended. Fingers crossed it came with a beautiful view and a bit more space between me and any other tourist who might also be visiting the beach.

Ten minutes later, I pulled into a nearly full parking lot, managing to snag one of the few remaining spots.

While it was still early, it looked like I wasn’t the only one who had attempted to beat the crowds.

The beach goers at this time of day looked to be of the more active variety wearing sports bras, spandex shorts, and tennis shoes.

I could see several figures running on the sand, dogs in tow.

I debated finding a spot to set up writing, but their movement looked inviting. Maybe a workout would jog a few more ideas loose, no pun intended.

Deciding to join the many runners at a more sedate pace, I grabbed my headphones, put my phone and keys in my pocket, and made my way to the beach.

Once I hit the sand, I slipped off my sandals, eager to feel the sand between my toes.

This would be more of a leisurely walk than a workout.

But in my book, exercise was exercise, even if my pace didn’t exactly raise my heartrate.

I started off in one direction, walking on the damp sand close enough to the water for the occasional wave to run over my toes without risking the water soaking the bottom of my leggings.

The cool temperature was pleasant while still making my breath catch in surprise.

As I carefully picked my way along the shore, I scanned the ground, keeping an eye out for interesting seashells or rocks.

After a moment of listening to the waves, I stuck in one of my earbuds and turned on the audiobook I’d started on the plane.

I quickly became immersed in the story and my search for beach treasures.

I only picked up a couple of shells and rocks here or there, recognizing that I would be here for a while and didn’t exactly have the desire or luggage space to bring home an extensive seashell collection.

However, I wouldn’t mind bringing home a few to remind me of this trip and my time on the coast. I also wouldn’t mind placing a few in the kitchen windowsill of my rental, bringing in a reminder of the beach to add a small personal touch to the bright space.

I was so absorbed in my book and the romantic scene that was building between the two main characters that I didn’t hear someone approaching until he’d fallen into step beside me.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a deep familiar voice said.

I gave a small shriek, throwing my hands up in the air and launching any seashells I’d been holding at my potential attacker, though I somehow managed to hold onto my shoes.

A heart-stopping chuckle and sounds of protest followed the kneejerk reaction and I looked up to find Allen standing next to me, his hands attempting to shield his face from my unintentional projectiles.

“I come in peace,” he said, taking a step back from me.

“Allen! I’m so sorry.” I quickly took out my earbud and slipped it back into its case.

I attempted to brush off the sand I’d flung his way along with the seashells and rocks.

I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I tried to help, running my hands down his arms and chest to chase away the specs of sand I could see dotting his dark t-shirt.

I was mortified, though not so much that I couldn’t appreciate the well-defined muscles I felt under his shirt as I worked to rid him of any evidence of my freak out.

So much for my carefully cultivated seashell collection or for impressing Allen the next time I saw him. Now the shells were scattered back onto the beach, likely broken, just like my pride.

I’d have to remember this exchange for the autobiography I’d be writing someday: How Not to Woo a Man and Other Life Advice from Danielle Baldwin .

“I’m fine, I promise,” Allen said, stepping out of my reach and holding up a hand to stop any further assistance I might have offered. “Note to self, don’t sneak up on Dani.”

I bit my lip and ducked my head.

“It’s a lesson most people in my family have had to learn the hard way.

My cousin Chloe still teases me about the time I spilled an entire pitcher of lemonade on her in high school when she snuck up behind me at a family party.

” Chloe had been wet and sticky, and I still cringed when I thought of the photo our cousin Kaden had captured of Chloe’s outrage in the moment, splashing it all over social media because Kaden was legitimately the worst.

“Noted. Do you mind if I join you? I don’t want to interrupt whatever you were listening to.”

Now I really was blushing. Even though my books had a lower heat level, I did occasionally listen to books with more spice than I was comfortable writing, and I’d definitely reached a steamy moment in my book.

“You’re—” My voice cracked, and I quickly cleared my throat, hoping my expression didn’t reveal the full scope of my embarrassment. “You’re welcome to join me. I was just listening to an audiobook.”

“Really? What book? I’ve always wondered what authors read.” He fell into step beside me as we started walking, his face full of interest.

“Oh, you know, nothing too special. I like fantasy, young adult, romance.” I gestured vaguely, trying for nonchalance while also trying to decide how quickly I could change the topic without coming across as a complete weirdo.

“You okay? You seem tense.” Allen’s forehead creased in concern, and I felt the unexplainable urge to reach over and smooth away the wrinkles, much like I’d written Hypatia doing in the bookstore scene with Petros from the day before.

“I’m just having a hard time relaxing and letting go of my embarrassment.

You know, the usual.” I tried to brush away my tension, but I think he could tell it was lingering because he grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop next to him before releasing me.

I registered the gentle warmth of his hand, wishing he would have held onto my arm just a little longer. It had felt nice.

“Let’s try this again. I’m going to walk ten steps that way,” he waved back the way we’d come, “and come running past you again. Except this time, you’ll know I’m coming.”

“But I’ll still have embarrassed myself epically in front of you.

Maybe we just need to walk in different directions and try having this second meeting another time.

” It wasn’t what I wanted, but it seemed like the safest option and the only way to maybe rescue a few fragments of my pride and self-confidence.

“Not in this version of the story. No, in this version you’ll spot me running toward you all confident and athletic and you won’t be startled, instead you’ll acknowledge me with the perfect level of enthusiasm for a recent acquaintance and we’ll have a lovely conversation. Deal?” Allen held out a hand to shake.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure this is going to work. I’ll still know what happened.”

Allen held his hand out toward me even more persistently. “You’re a writer. You believe in editing. So let’s edit this meeting into what we want it to be.”