Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) (3 page)

Running until his heart pounded in his ears and sweat poured down his face, he stopped and hunched over to stretch his back and catch his breath. He hung his head between his legs to lengthen the stretch and saw Scooter nearly half a mile behind. He smiled. Years ago, Scooter lapped him. He straightened and jogged back. When Mark reached him, he put out a hand to stop Scooter and sank into the sand.

Scooter sat down next to him, nudging Mark’s arm up with his nose. Mark leaned in for a hug and rubbed Scooter’s belly. The dog had always been a source of comfort, giving his affection freely as long as his needs were met.

“Scooter, what do you think about me taking a different job? I could be home more. We could go to the beach, take more walks, play fetch?”

The dog gave him a wet smack from chin to forehead.

“Okay,” Mark dried his face against his shoulder. “Understood. I guess I’m getting a new job.”

“I am qualified. I am capable. I am smart. I am going to get this job,” Lizzie told her reflection as she applied her third coat of lip-gloss. Her hands shook, either from nerves or her second cup of coffee; she couldn’t be sure which. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, opened them and observed the woman staring back at her. It was all too easy for her, on her own, to forget the she was a grown woman and not some girl playing at adulthood.

Swinging her big purse over her shoulder, she left the door ajar to her half bath, slipped into the heels she’d left by the front door, and walked outside. She took in a deep breath of the briny, brackish marsh water and locked the door behind her. She’d strutted across her front porch and had begun her descent down the staircase to her driveway when she heard a catcall.

“Rose?” she called out, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight with her hand.

“The one and only,” her friend replied from the street in front of the house.

Rose power-walked over to the driveway. After embracing Lizzie in a warm, enveloping hug, she stepped back to survey her outfit.

“Nice. I like the dress with the blazer. And are you wearing heels? What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to drop off my resume for the job this morning. I thought I might do it in person and try to get some face time.”

“Good thinking. I like that,” she yawned.

“I’m surprised to see you up and about. I thought you might have a wild night after tap.”

“They wanted to, but I never touch booze. Staying up past ten was wild enough for me.”

She chuckled; she’d say the same about herself. She opened her purse to pull out her keys and stopped. Looking at Rose, the words
I met someone last night
hovered on her tongue. She’d been up thinking about her handsome stranger long after she should have gone to bed to rest up for today.

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked, peering closely at her.

A gust of wind circled the tall pines in her front yard and shook down their loose needles, Lizzie followed their lead and gave herself a shake.

“No, nothing, I’m just a bit nervous about doing this,” she replied, anxious to hide her treacherous thoughts.

Rose reached out to grab her hands and squeeze them both.

“You’ll be great.”

“Thanks Rose.”

“I’m off. I have another mile to go.”

Waving goodbye, Rose became a blur of pink and purple as she strutted back down the driveway and out towards the street. Having that much energy and good health at eighty, like Rose, was her new goal. They’d become friends not just because of their proximity as next-door neighbors and their shared love of dance, but also due to Rose’s enthusiasm for life. Her encouragement and ready smile endeared her to Lizzie and, from what she’d observed, the world at large as well.

Climbing into her car, she slid in behind the steering wheel and pulled away from her house. Driving, first under the dappled light of the massive live oaks, then passing the swaying tall grasses of the marsh, and finally soaring over the Golden Isles on the cable-stayed bridge, had become a pleasure all on its own. She turned onto Jekyll and slowed down to drive towards the northern end of the island.

She scoured the few faces of the landscaping crew working outside, looking for her stranger.
He’s not here today
. She frowned, had she been expecting to see him? Was she disappointed?
No time to think like that
. Glancing at the dashboard as she parked, she still had thirty minutes before her workday began. Why wait to hand in her resume?

Crossing the parking lot, she entered the hotel by one of the French doors and made her way towards a back hallway, discreetly hidden from view of the guests. She climbed the steps and collided with a red tie and a navy blue suit when she reached the top. The impact of her force pushed the man backwards and she stepped on his perfectly polished double monk loafers. Her cheeks heated and she closed her eyes, afraid to open them and assess the extent of her embarrassment. She sucked in air and breathed in the heady smells of wood and citrus, the unmistakable combination of Old Spice deodorant.

“I am so sorry,” she rushed to apologize.

“Are you okay?” the man asked.

Something in the intonation sounded familiar. Lizzie opened her eyes to take in the man she’d nearly toppled over. Tall, slim, and impeccably dressed, looked at Mark.

“Mark?” Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped.

“Lizzie? What are you doing here?”

“Dropping off my resume for the new job. What about you? Do you work here?”

“I do.”

She nibbled on the bottom of her lip. What else could she say? She felt incredibly stupid for running into him, in that way, again. He probably thought she was the most klutzy girl he’d ever met. Tripping wounded her pride, as a dancer, she’d always valued her sure-footedness and grace.

He cleared his throat in the awkward silence.

“Do you think you’d be able to point me in the direction of Mr. Cade’s office?” she asked, pulling back her shoulders, sucking in her stomach, and raising her chin ever so slightly. It had always been her father’s advice to pretend confidence with good posture.

“Sure. Follow me.” He turned back towards the hallway and led her down it.

“Do you work for the hotel?” he asked. “When you’d said historic district, I’d rather thought maybe you were a shop girl.”

“Huh, that’s kind of funny. I’d assumed you worked outside, based on your tan.”

Mark chuckled. “No, no. But I do try to spend most of my time outside on the weekends. So where do you work?”

“I work in the weddings and events department for the resort. I’m in my own little cottage office. I’m not surprised we haven’t run into each other before. I’ve only ventured up here a few times.”

Catching herself rambling, she stopped. Her anxiety at dropping off her resume had been replaced by bumping into Mark. But that didn’t mean she needed to talk his ear off with a thorough description of her movements on the island.
It’s okay to be a little mysterious.

“And you work up here with catering?” she asked, steering the conversation to him.

“Yes, I’ve been here for a while. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Usually catering comes to me, on site. I don’t have time to walk over if we have a problem.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’re right.” He came to a stop at the last door in the hallway and opened it for her. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you.” Without another glance, she stepped over the threshold, into the office, and closed the door behind her.

Thank you? I’ve got to work on talking to guys
.

She stood in a small antechamber with another door to the left, probably Mr. Cade’s office, she reasoned. Before her, a secretary sat at a parsons desk, checking her computer, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

The desk bothered Lizzie. It was so entirely out of place with the character of the Victorian building, it was blasphemous. The resort had weathered world wars and economic crises to be resurrected and restored. Throwing a flimsy desk in it seemed disrespectful of the heritage of the place.

She approached the secretary, an older woman, dressed like a librarian with a blank face, devoid of any emotion. Lizzie smiled and waited patiently for acknowledgement. After a few minutes, the secretary turned to stare at her, offering no kindness in return.

“I’d like to see Mr. Cade.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t. I’d like to hand in my resume to be considered for the Manager of Special Events.”

The secretary held her gaze for an uncomfortable minute. Being a younger sister, she had never lost a round of the staring game. She had no intention of breaking her record today. At length, the secretary blinked.

“Leave it there.” She inclined her head to indicate the inbox on the edge of the desk.

Pulling the resume out of her purse, she scanned it quickly to make sure she hadn’t missed any spelling mistakes. She laid the resume on top of the pile in the tray and smoothed it out. She was eager for a good first impression, no matter how the first impression happened.

“Thank you,” Lizzie said and smiled.

The secretary looked at her for a few seconds before turning back to her computer. Confusion, Lizzie thought, had clouded the woman’s face.
She’s already forgotten I’m here.
Longing to grab her resume off the top of the pile, worried that it would never reach its destination if she didn’t hand it in herself, she walked back towards the door and willed herself to keep a normal pace.

No, I’m not doing that and I’m not going to make a scene. I’d rather be anonymous than infamous
.

Shutting the door quietly, she stepped back into the hall. Her phone vibrated in her purse, reverberating the entire bag against her chest. Lizzie smiled as she pulled out the phone and saw a bride’s number flash on the screen. She knew her job and she did it well. She’d get this position. What other options were there?

* * * * *

Mark wanted to follow after her. He asked her name when they met the other night. He’d been too distracted by her mahogany brown eyes and lithe figure to make the connection. But he knew her, or rather her contracts well especially after analyzing them over the last month for Frank.

Somehow he didn’t think opening with
you could expand your profit margin
would get him more than a scowl. Her brown eyes had sparkled when she recognized him, even as her cheeks reddened. He grinned; he liked her blush. He liked that she gave away what she felt so easily. Mark found himself walking away from Frank Cade’s office and back down the stairs.

In many ways, she was unremarkable, he surmised. She was average height, had brown hair, and the barest hint of a golden tan. But she’d been almost effervescent and she’d glided down the hall, a mix of determination and bravado. He smiled at the memory. He’d like to run into her again, he decided.

Jogging down the stairs and out the doors, he strolled in the bright sunlight towards the parking lot. He’d taken the day off to help his buddy with a project, but an urgent call from the office had him at his desk working at seven am. Maybe that had been kismet, he decided. If he hadn’t shown up to work out a problem for a couple of hours, he’d never have known that she worked at the resort too.

Or that she was interested in the job. He exhaled and leapt into his car, turning the engine over, and taking off for home. What did it mean that she wanted the job? His stomach lurched. He couldn’t lose an opportunity or hesitate because some girl that had smiled at him wanted it. But he felt uneasy all the same.

The phone rang and he reached down for his Bluetooth headset.

“Hey, where are you? I just dropped off Charlie at preschool and you aren’t here yet?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, sorry man,” he sighed. He hated letting anyone down, but especially his best friend, Phil. Since meeting in college, they’d become closer than brothers in almost a decade of friendship. “I thought I’d be there by now. I got called into the office, but I’m almost to the causeway. I’m coming straight over.”

“Okay, take your time. I’ll feed you as payment.”

“As long as you’re not cooking.”

He grimaced remembering Phil’s legendary dish, tuna and eggs. If the smell of tuna coming out of a can wasn’t pungent enough, adding it to a frying pan somehow enhanced it.

“No, no. Trish won’t even let tuna inside of the house.”

“Smart woman. I knew I always liked your wife. I’ll be over soon.”

He hung up the phone and took in a deep breath of the salty, sea air. Summer had arrived, or at least the temperatures he’d always associated with summer, growing up in the Midwest. With a few months before the oppressive heat and life-draining humidity of a true Georgia summer set in, he tried to avoid his air conditioner as much as he could. But come August, the tourists went home, local kids went back to school, and those with means left for the mountains, he’d be chained to it.

Driving through the Pier Village, he parked his car in the small alley behind Phil’s bar. He grabbed an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the back of his Jeep, let himself in through the backdoor and climbed the stairs to the landing and door at the top. He knocked three times and Phil opened the door with one hand and extended a mug of coffee with another.

“Thanks, I needed this,” he replied, throwing his clothes inside the door to grab the mug.

Anticipating him had always been Phil’s specialty. Somehow, unnervingly so, he knew what Mark wanted or needed before he did himself. Mark drained the mug of coffee like he was downing a shot and handed it back. After the rough start to his day, getting called in as he headed out for a morning walk with Scooter, he hadn’t had a chance to get his morning fix yet.

“You ready? We have a lot to do in here.”

“Just let me get changed first.”

Phil nodded his consent and stepped back to give Mark more room to enter the apartment. He picked up his old clothes off the floor and wandered down the hall to the full bathroom. Locking the door, he pulled off his wool pants and slipped out of his Oxford shirt. When Phil had first told him of his plan, to sell the cozy beach house he owned near Mark’s and give up his law practice to open up a bar, he’d been incredulous. Why did he want to give up everything he had worked so hard for?