Geoducks Are for Lovers (8 page)

“Julien and I were…” She pauses. They weren’t too young for kids, so what were they? “The whole marriage was a mistake and never really had a chance. We both focused so much on our careers in our twenties, and the chef lifestyle isn’t exactly pro-babies. Plus, his mother hated me.” It’s been over ten years since her divorce yet the thought of Madame Armand still makes her stomach sink. “There hasn’t really been ‘the one’ since then. Mom got sick and it took over my life for a few years. Now here I am. Landowning spinster.”

“You deserved better, Maggie May. You deserve everything.”

Her heart skips.

“Maybe.” She gives him a soft smile. Lost in his sweet words, Maggie slows to a jog next to a field full of sheep when she realizes they’ve missed the three mile turnaround point. 

“Looks like we’re doing four miles today. The sheep are two miles from the cabin. We should head back.”

  “You use livestock as road markers?” He laughs at her.

“Hadn’t thought about it, but I guess I do. My other route has a turnaround point at some llamas.” Joining him in laughter, she heads back the way they came.

“Quinn’s probably passed out from starvation and Selah might even have dragged herself out of bed by now.” 

“My money is on her being up, but not dressed.”

“Agreed.” He nods, before picking up the pace.

The run back to the cabin is quiet. Both are lost in the ghosts of exes and relationships past. 

When they reach the hill down to the beach, Gil yells, “Last one to home doesn’t get any scones,” and sprints down the hill. 

Not one to be left in the dust, Maggie races behind him. She suspects he might be letting her catch him as they approach the cabin. When he stops short at the steps to the deck, she crashes into his back, which is warmed by the sun and their run. He smells of sweat and some familiar memory.

* * *

Quinn and Selah are sprawled out on the sofa in the living room with their laptops open when Gil and Maggie enter the house.

“Mind if I take a shower first?” Gil asks.

“Mind if I join you?” Quinn quips without looking up. 

“Sorry, Q. Still not my type.”

“Pfft. So you say. You could use the outdoor shower. I could walk by. Nature could take its course.”

“Think I’ll stick with the upstairs shower for right now to be safe.”

Quinn glares at Maggie, and snaps his fingers. “For the love of the Queen Mother, scones, woman, scones!”

“Can I help?” Selah offers from her spot curled in the corner of the sofa. Her uncharacteristically-tousled, dark bob is barely visible above the plaid throw wrapped around her. 

“You stay right there. I can make these scones with my eyes closed. In fact, there were probably many pre-dawn mornings at the bakery when I did. I’ll get these in the oven and then take a quick shower when Gil is done.”

“You and Gil should shower together and save water. Save the environment and all that good stuff you love.” Selah sits up, her red silk robe emphasizing the devilish expression on her face. 

“Or not.” Maggie blushes and heads into the kitchen.

Disentangling herself from her blankets, Selah walks over to refill her mug with coffee while Maggie takes out the baking sheet and ingredients.

“How was the run?” 

“Good. We chatted about ex-spouses and not having kids.”

“Before breakfast? Yikes.”

“I know. What was I thinking?” She swats Selah’s hand as she tries to steal a marionberry.

“I’m glad you two got it out of the way. Onwards and forward. With that sage advice, I’m going outside for a cigarette.” Selah steals another berry, then prances out of Maggie’s swatting range.

“I think you’re the last person I know who smokes. Didn’t you quit?”

“I know, I know. I need to get those fancy electronic cigarettes the cool kids have. Remind me to research them.”

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Quinn pipes up from the sofa. 

“Thanks for the judging.” Selah flips them off before heading out to the deck with her coffee.

Maggie mixes up the scone dough and puts them in the oven. After going upstairs, she turns the corner to her room, and runs into the wet body of Gil coming out of the hall bathroom.

“We have to stop running into each other like this.” Gil smiles down at her.

Speechless, she gazes down at Gil’s body wrapped only in a towel around his hips. 

“My eyes are up here.” He laughs.

She glances up at Gil’s twinkling brown eyes and sees he is barely repressing a smirk.

“Sorry.” She manages to get out. His fingers softly graze hers as she shuffles past him to go to her bedroom. After shutting the door, she leans against it to collect herself. He still affects her the same way he did back in college. Gil is a friend, an old friend. He isn’t the same Gil she loved from not-so-afar in college, she reminds herself. 

No, he might be better.

Nine

Maggie walks into the kitchen as the egg timer sounds. Her damp hair is pulled into her typical bun and she’s thrown on a pair of jean shorts and a boatneck T-shirt since she doesn’t know what the plans for the day will be.

At the sound of the timer, Quinn bounds off the sofa and bounces next to her as she pulls the scones from the oven. Setting them on a cooling rack, she protects the pastries from Quinn’s grabby hands.

“You’ll burn your tongue off, young man,” she scolds in a mocking tone.

Gil appears on Maggie’s other side and reaches for a scone. He snatches his hands back after touching one. 

“Damn! Those are hot.”

“Did the two of you not watch me pull them out of the hot oven? We graduated from the same college, I know you aren’t stupid.”

“Perhaps not Dr. Morrow, but you know I skid by on my good looks.” Quinn grabs a napkin to hold his hot scone, attempting to cool it by blowing on it.

“Didn’t Dr. Morrow live on an island full of mutant animal-human hybrids?” Maggie asks as she retrieves butter and a jar of homemade raspberry jam from the fridge.

“Different spelling,” says Gil while sucking on his burnt finger. 

When she turns around and sees him, she thinks,
That’s hot
. Post shower he wears a pair of flat front gray shorts with an old button down white oxford with a frayed collar and the sleeves rolled up. He’s barefoot with wet hair.
Okay, he’s a lot hot.

Selah comes in from the deck and joins the huddle at the island. She puts her mug on the counter, saying “Hit me,” to no one in particular. “The scones smell amazing.”

Quinn moves to swat at her while Gil grabs her cup and refills her coffee. “Maggie, you want more?”

“Yes, I definitely need caffeine.”

“Milky but no sugar, right?”

“You remembered? Wow. Some things never change. I still can’t drink sweet coffee. Don’t even get me started with the fruit-flavored coffees.”

“Fruit should not be allowed to taint coffee. Ever.” Gil agrees.

“What about a white chocolate raspberry mocha?” Selah asks.

Both Maggie and Gil shudder. 

“That hardly even counts as coffee. Jonah at the coffee hut up the road refuses to make anything fruit-flavored or similar to ‘they who shall not be named’. When I first moved here, I ordered a venti and he scolded me for five minutes. Small, medium or large only.”

“Coffee hut? Like one of the huts from my game of Hut Island?” Quinn asks through a mouthful of scone.

“No, not a hut from your beloved game of Hut Island. I forget you come from the land of sidewalks and pedestrians. Jonah’s place, Fellowship of the Bean, is in one of those old Photomat booths in the parking lot of the grocery store up the road. Jonah covered the exterior in cedar shingles and added a corrugated tin roof, kind of industrial style. There are a few independent roasters and coffee huts around here. We take our coffee seriously.”

“I’m going to need to visit this coffee hut. Is Jonah cute?” Quinn waggles his eyebrows.

“May I remind you, you’re a married man?” Maggie says.

“Doesn’t mean he’s dead. He can still look. Looking is half the fun anyway.” Selah picks a berry off of one of the last scones.

“What’s the other half?” asks Gil.

“Flirting.”

“I love to flirt.” Quinn sighs.

“Who doesn’t?” Selah replies. “Flirting gets the juices going and that’s always a good thing.”

Maggie picks up her scone and slathers it with butter. As she takes a bite, melted butter dribbles down her chin. She looks up to catch Gil staring at her mouth and quickly wipes the butter away with the side of her thumb.

Gil continues to stare as she licks her thumb. She catches his eye and blushes when he winks at her.

“Maggie, if I wasn’t a married man, and if I didn’t already have Jonah on the side, I’d marry you for your scones.” Quinn reaches for his second one. “The best things ever.”

“If you’re good, I’ll make them again tomorrow. I was thinking Selah and I could pick more berries after lunch. Have a little girl time.”

“Sounds good to me, but you know I don’t believe in the charm of the whole farm/manual labor/back to the earth thing like you do.”

“What if after picking berries, we go to Langley for dinner and drinks?”

“Better.” 

“What should Quinn and I do while you are being gatherers? Hunt something?” Gil asks with a smirk.

“Hunt? Me? I could rock an orange safety vest and goggles.” Quinn laughs as he pretends to fire a gun.

“You could go hit golf balls at Holmes Harbor. Or hang out here. The water is going out, so the tide flat will be exposed mid-day. People walk their dogs, ride horses, play volleyball, and go clamming out there during the low tide,” Maggie says, gesturing out at the bay extending between two bluffs. 

“Sounds like a tampon commercial.” Selah’s face shows her disdain for outdoor activities.

Ignoring the tampon comment, Quinn pipes up with, “Or visit Jonah.”

“Leave Jonah alone.” Maggie throws a berry at Quinn, which he catches in his mouth.

“Speaking of flirting with the natives, where’s your hunky neighbor?” Selah turns toward John’s house as if he will miraculously appear.

“Probably working. He said he’d drop off the firewood for a beach fire tomorrow morning.”

“Did he ask about me?” Quinn asks.

“Actually, he asked about Selah. She made an impression on him at the funeral.” 

“Lucky bitch.” Quinn scowls at Selah.

“Paul Bunyan is the hunkiest of hunky neighbors. Probably much hotter than even Jonah.” Quinn dramatically sighs.

Maggie laughs. “You’ve never seen Jonah, Quinn. I guess John is hunky.” She tries to nonchalantly shrug off John’s hotness. There’s no denying it.

“I wonder if he’ll pose for one of my book covers.” Selah muses out loud.

“I thought you wrote about smutty pirates, not sexy lumberjacks, Ms. Suzette Marquis?” Maggie asks, using Selah’s pen name.

“Maybe I should start a new series on lumberjacks. Think of all the wood euphemisms!”

“I’d like to saw Paul Bunyan’s wood.”

Maggie scowls at Quinn. 

“If I were single. Please. Like I’d ever cheat on Dr. Gooding?”

“I know you love him, Quinn. You’re lucky to find your person.” Maggie sighs.

“Some of us aren’t meant to be lobsters, Maggie. Lots of fishes and lots of seas, but you need to have your hook in the water to fish,” Selah says.

“You sound like Bert on the ferry with the fishing references. Although, the hook reminds me of Captain Hook. Didn’t one of your pirates have a hook?” Maggie asks

“Am I the only one who doesn’t read Selah’s smut?” Gil asks as he pours the last of the coffee into his mug.

“Erotica, not smut. Erotica. I’m crushed you never read my books.” Selah attempts to look crestfallen.

“I don’t think I’m your target audience. Pirates aren’t my thing.” 

“Gil, You don’t celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day?” Quinn asks.

“There is such a thing?”

“Yep, in September, matey. Might want to try to keep up with what the young folks are doing these days, Captain,” Quinn declares in his best fake pirate voice.

“On that note, shall we get on with our day?” Still laughing, Maggie puts the dirty pan and mugs in the sink.

“Leave those and I’ll do them while you’re gone.” Gil volunteers.

“Really? Last night wasn’t a fluke? A man who wants to wash dishes? You are the best thing ever.” Maggie hugs him without thinking. His warm, summer, Gil smell is intoxicating.

“I told you I want to earn my keep around here. I figure if your coffee taste hasn’t changed, neither has your abhorrence of washing dishes.” Gil looks down at Maggie still hugging his arm. 

At the mention of the time they all lived together between sophomore and junior years, Maggie drops Gil’s arm and steps back. She tries to quell her reaction to Gil mentioning that summer and walks past him to let Biscuit out on the deck. “Selah, you going berry picking in a robe or are you getting dressed? And be sure to wear long sleeves to protect your arms from the thorns.” 

Selah dashes to her room down the hall. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she calls out.