Chapter 3

Clarice

The volleyball girls head toward the cove and the dad of the family who I thought I could count on to at least pity buy some sodas goes back to his car to haul his own cooler onto the blanket his wife is setting up.

At least the sun is still shining, though I don't like the looks of the clouds hovering way out on the horizon. If it stays hot and sunny, I'll get some customers sooner or later. Then I won't have to worry too much about dinner.

Thinking about money, which I do far too often because ever since Grandpa died there's been far too little of it. After the fire— memories I shove harshly to the back of my mind— I had some savings from my job as a receptionist while I worked my way through the massage therapy course. Suddenly I was homeless, and with only the clothes on my back. Since I'd gone out with friends that horrible night, my only belongings consisted of a pair of wildly high heeled sandals, a bright purple sundress, and twenty-two dollars in cash.

I had offers to stay with friends until I got back on my feet, and the local church drummed me up some more clothes. I was too stunned and grief stricken to be able to concentrate on my job. They kindly told me I could come back any time, but they must have thought I'd be better in a few weeks, maybe a month. I wasn't better, and they hired someone to permanently replace me.

The only place I felt alive and whole was with the sand under my toes and the sound of the surf, so I emptied my meager savings account and bought my van. My current home. I always have enough extra at the end of the day to eat something and restock my drinks for the next day, then I spend my evenings watching the sunset and stringing beads. Outside if it's warm enough, huddled under my thermal blanket with socks stuck into all the cracks and crevices of the van when it's cold. Being here in the place Grandpa loved is enough for me. It's all I have. And honestly, this is the only way to cope with my guilt.

The guilt I feel from the fire, from not being there is crushing. It's my fault, really. I left grandpa a lasagna cooking in the oven so he could have dinner waiting, and I forgot to tell him about it before I left. I guess he must've fallen asleep or something, because he didn't smell the burning. By the time he made it down the stairs, according to the firemen, it was too late. I should've stayed home that night, I should've made sure he knew it was in there, I should've done literally anything but rush out to meet my friends. So, I deserve this - living in my van, selling my junky jewelry to get by - because even after all he did for me, I couldn't be there to save him or even remember to warn him.

Now, I have to find solace in the place we were happy together, where we made all of our great memories. This beach doesn't just give me joy, it's a place for others to come when they want to spend time with their family or friends. When they want time by themselves with the calm waters to guide their thoughts. And because of my uncle it's going to only be for the people who can afford a condo here.

I'm so mad I want to spit but the sound of the kids laughing as they scramble to the shore restores my strength and my faith in myself. This isn't over yet. Uncle Oliver is lying, hiding something from the lawyers.

I'm dragged out of my furious planning to overthrow his evil plot by two very expensive shoes appearing in my line of vision. I hurriedly look up to greet this potential customer. Long legs in crisp navy suit pants, trim waist, blindingly white shirt that is so tailored I can practically see this guy's abs. His tie has been loosened, one button undone at his throat. I lean back, because he's impossibly tall and my mouth falls open at the sight of his face peering down at me.

Strong, slightly stubbled jaw, razor straight nose that could be from an ancient coin, cheekbones that lift in a smile. I'm already dazzled by his midnight dark eyes, but I have to flash down to the dimple that appears. The smile is slightly crooked, as if he's sizing me up, the endless depths of his dark eyes seeming to absorb me.

Holy crap, he's gorgeous.

"I was hoping I could get a drink while I'm looking around," he says.

"Oh, you're definitely in luck," I say, jumping up to open the cooler. I shift aside the ice to show him what I've got, but when I turn back, he's only looking at me. I shiver and it has nothing to do with the blast of cold air from the cooler. "What would you like?"

It feels like my mouth is broken and won't stay closed as his eyes never stray from mine.

"A tour," he says. "And water is fine."

I feel almost bad giving this guy the generic bulk bottled water, but he doesn't seem to mind that it's not from a French spring when he twists it open and takes a swig. I'm mesmerized by his throat as he swallows but then realize what else he asked for.

"A tour?" I ask. "Of the beach? Or the whole area?"

The beach is pretty straightforward, unless he wants to explore The Hole, which is the cove where the volleyball girls headed, probably to smoke. I haven't had time to go back in the caves in a week so it's probably littered with beer cans and cigarette butts. I don't want him to see that, and strangely, I don't want him looking at those girls, either.

He hands me a ten dollar bill and I suppress a groan, because now I'll be short on change for the rest of the day. As I reach for my money box, he looks annoyed. "I don't want change. And why don't we start with you showing me around the beach?" When I start to argue that I can't let him pay me ten bucks for a drink that cost me thirty cents, he gruffly tells me to consider the extra for my time.

"Well, that's actually kind of cheap, then," I say, grinning when he bursts out laughing. But when he reaches for his wallet again, I assure him I'm only joking. Instead of waving my arm and saying, ‘this is the beach,' I lead him over to the parking lot.

"Free parking," he says with mock interest. "A rarity."

"Believe it or not, this parking lot used to be a concert area, with a big pink bandshell and everything. Way before my time. But for the tour…"

He nods. "Historical accuracy is important. I can almost imagine it."

I sigh. "I've seen pictures. I wish I could have seen it in real life and gone to one of the concerts."

We head on past the restrooms and the storage shed. "Uh, this used to be—"

He cuts me off, nodding some more. "Wait, I know this one. This was where the town's first mayoral hall was, right?"

He looks so serious I wonder if it's okay to laugh, but I can't help myself. "Oh my gosh, how did you know? I wasn't lying about the bandstand, though."

"Hmm, well that's interesting," he says. "There actually isn't another concert venue nearby…"

"Now we're getting to the best part," I say, heading toward the water. "The sand. As you can see there's a lot of it, and it's very fine. You'll most certainly be shaking this off your clothes later."

He stops, his eyes traveling toward the water. They're laser focused, his face completely still. With a grunt, he leans down and takes his shoes off, along with his socks.

At my grin, he blinks out of his trance, taken aback. "That's a real smile," he says, and now I'm the one who's shocked.

I've been putting on a sunshiny act, but him finally taking off his shoes made me really feel happy for a second. That's what coming to the beach is all about, letting yourself go a bit, feeling the sand between your toes. But how did he know I was putting on a front? I don't know what to say, but warmth begins to fill my belly. He keeps walking and I follow, until his feet enter the water. I join him, squeaking at how cold it is.

"This is the real star of the show," I say. "There's nothing better than just diving in and paddling out. It's calm now, but see those clouds? There'll be big waves later on."

"Do you surf?" he asks, looking down at me. I'm gazing out at my little slice of heaven, but I can feel his eyes on me.

"Surf, swim, float around on my back until I'm cooked. As long as it's in the water. You?" I look up at him and now his eyes shift to the almost glassy sea.

"A million years ago," he says.

"That's way too long."

He only smirks, shaking his head. One of the little kids splashes past him. "Hey mister, you need a bathing suit!"

He doesn't laugh at the kid, but steps back out of the water. "He's right," I say, following him back up toward my setup. "There's a shop a block away where you could buy one."

"Not today." He rubs his neck, rolling it with a grimace.

I clap my hands together with greed— and the sudden desire to get my hands on his broad shoulders. "If you're not swimming, you should at least take advantage of my world-famous beach view massages."

"World famous?" His full lip quirks up.

"City famous. Really, I can fix up your sore neck in only fifteen minutes and only fifteen dollars." I wilt a little, remembering he already overpaid for the water. "Six, since I gouged you on the drink."

He rolls his eyes and takes out his wallet. "I only have twenties left and I don't want this getting clogged up with a bunch of small bills."

I goggle as he loosens his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Normally, if a customer doesn't already have bare shoulders, I don't ask them to disrobe, but my mouth isn't working right again and I can't make myself tell him to stop. He whips his tie over his head and eases his shirt off, neatly draping it on the corner of my jewelry table. He's wearing a white tank top and his arms and shoulders are corded with muscle. The thin, stretchy cotton clings to the abs that I can see rippling beneath it.

Once he's seated, I eagerly grab my oil. "This is a dry oil so it won't mess up your shirt," I explain, pouring it into my hand. Why am I close to shaking with anticipation to touch this guy?

"You're the expert," he says, turning and holding out his hand. "I'm Brian, by the way, now that you've got my shirt off. Brian Hart."

"Oh!" I hold out my oily hand to shake, then quickly pull it away before smoothing my palms onto his bare shoulders. They're rock hard and I dig my fingers in. "I'm Clarice."

He moans softly and I keep kneading, working up the sides of his neck with my thumbs. I've never felt awkward during a massage before. "What brings you to the beach dressed like you're going to a business meeting?" I ask.

"I'm going to a business meeting," he answers. "I'd believe this is world famous. You're amazing."

My cheeks heat up at the compliment and I work down his biceps, mostly just to feel them, but he doesn't seem to mind. I'm standing much too close to him, so close I can smell his spicy cologne. This is more than awkward. Why am I being like this?

"What kind of meeting?" I normally don't make silly small talk when someone's trying to relax but his proximity has my stomach fluttering and my thighs trembling.

He tilts his head back at me with a grin that melts me from my fingertips down to my toes. I shift my legs closer together and ease my hands back up his arms.

"I'm actually about to buy this beach," he says.

My vision goes dark and my fingers dig into his shoulders so hard he grunts. Be professional, I warn myself.

"What?" I shriek, stepping back.

"Was that already fifteen minutes?" he asks.

"What are you buying the beach for?" I barely keep from launching at him, all I can do to keep from declaring it my beach, and off limits to greedy developers. Oh God, why did this man have to be one of them?

He points toward the construction. "That's mine," he says, with the audacity to seem proud. "We'll be adding onto it. Place isn't half finished and already at sixty percent capacity. People want to live at the beach."

"People want to go to the beach," I spit. "Regular people who can't afford to live here. This land might be privately owned but it's been open to the public for years."

He looks confused. "There are other public beaches."

I shake my head and put my hands on my hips. "Not many, not anymore. The coastline is nothing but condos and resorts for miles in both directions."

He starts to smile again. "I know, most of those are mine. It's just the way of the world. Nobody in their right mind would let prime real estate like this not make money for them."

I think of my grandpa, who was the kindest and most generous soul on earth. Gone now, with his legacy about to be swallowed whole. Tears spring to my eyes and he turns and sees them.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His handsome face is stern, but his eyes are full of compassion. He doesn't know what this place means to me. How can he? How can he know the soul of this place? He'd never understand.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just shocked that the last public beach is about to be desecrated."

My home.

He looks like he wants to laugh but holds it in. "You could probably get the permits to do your business on the sidewalk. And construction won't start too soon. You'll have part of the summer to make your cash. I'm assuming you're a college student?"

This is all I have, all I want. I shake my head, unable to speak. "This is a done deal?" I ask, thinking of how smug Uncle Oliver was.

"Not completely done, no," he says. "There are still things to consider."

He doesn't elaborate and I begin to knead his shoulders again, forcing myself to be calm and think. It doesn't help that even though Brian is now my sworn enemy, his thick, hard muscles feel good under my fingertips.

I remember the way he looked at the water, then took his shoes off. Not as if he was irritated at the sand, but as if he couldn't wait to dip his toes. That was the look of someone who loved the sea, not someone who wanted to block its view with tall, tacky buildings. My blasted thighs start to tremble again as he relaxes into my touch. I look down at his inky black hair, where a lock has blown across his smooth forehead. He doesn't have a care in the world.

He doesn't know. This isn't his fault. Maybe he doesn't have to be an enemy at all.

As the timer dings, I run my hands down his upper arms again, then hurry around to face him before he can stand up. He looks surprised and pleased and the spark in his eyes makes me falter in what I'm about to do.

"You know, there's much more of this place to see," I tell him. It's impossible to put on the falsely flirty tone I need for this to work. I feel like a desperate general, urging my soldiers into an unwinnable battle.

"Oh?"

He stands, forcing me back a step so we don't collide. I'm eye level with his collarbones and the way his cologne mixes with my massage oil is intoxicating. Focus, Clarice!

After he puts his shirt on and buttons it up, I help him to straighten his tie. Not that I care what he looks like for his meeting with my traitor uncle. And I'm not looking for reasons to touch him again. I've got a plan.

"Yes, there's a lot left on the tour. You really should see what you'll be buying before you sign anything."

He chuckles, the rich, low rumble sending shockwaves through me. His eyes are locked onto mine. "Okay. How about tomorrow evening?"

Will that be too late? All I can do is agree, and he leaves with a big smile on his face. I'm too shaken up to keep waiting for more customers. Because of Brian's overpayments, I'm already far ahead of the game anyway. It's not just the multiple blows I've received today that have me off kilter, it's the way he kept looking at me. The fact I wanted to keep touching him even after his fifteen minutes were up. The fact I'm much too hot for the current temperate weather. Not even the breeze can cool me off.

I'm pleased to see the waves are starting to kick up already, as if they know how much I need them. Locking up the jewelry and the cooler in the van, I grab my board from the storage shed and head down to the water to clear my head and devise a plan.

I'm much too excited, but I tell myself it isn't because I'll see Brian again tomorrow. This isn't a date I'm planning.

I'm going to make him hate this beach.