Page 42 of A Shore Fling
“The box says to take two.”
“I know. However, I’m a big guy, and three works better. Trust me. I’ve done this before.”
“Okay, but this is your idea,” I remind him.
“Yep. You’ll only be held responsible for trying to off me with almond flour.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, guilt washing over me. “I was trying to impress you, not poison you.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t take any pictures.”
Pressing my lips together, I stifle my laugh. “But you look like a model. A very pouty one.”
He shoots me a flat look, which would be more effective if his mouth didn’t look like an octopus tentacle has been suctioned to it for hours.
“I feel ridiculous,” he growls out.
“Here. Let me make it better.” Leaning in, I gently kiss his soft, swollen lips. He stills, and I pull back. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I… couldn’t help myself.”
He leans forward, and my pulse races.He’s going to kiss me.But instead, he swipes his hand over his forehead. “Meds are kicking in now.”
I grab hold of his arm and lead him to the living room couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thanks.” He lowers to the cushion and then lies down.
I grab a blanket from the closet and drape it over him. “Sleep tight, harbormaster.”
His breathing soon evens out, but I remain standing next to the couch, taking advantage of the opportunity to study him unguardedly. With his face softened by sleep, he looks younger. This wasn’t the night I imagined, but despite the almond flour fiasco, it turned out better than I expected.
CHAPTER 12
TRAVIS
Iblink at the white ceiling. There’s a faint wood grain I’m not familiar with. My head’s a bit foggy, and my mouth is dry as sand. I notice the lobster print blanket drawn up to my chest and the leftover scent of lemon.Fuck.I lift my head and instantly regret it. It’s like waking up from a night of heavy drinking, which I haven’t done in years.
I sit up, moving more slowly this time, and squint against the soft morning light spilling in through the cottage’s front windows. The blanket falls to my lap, and I toss it over to the other end of the couch. I roll my neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks while I replay the highlights of last night. Dinner was delicious, and so were the lemon bars until I had a bad reaction to them. I raise my fingers to my lips, thankful to discover they’re back to their usual size. I remember Nina giving me some Benadryl and then kissing me. It was only a brief meeting of our lips, but it still packed a punch.
I swing my legs to the floor and spot a glass of water and a sticky note on the coffee table.
You’re alive. Congratulations. Coffee’s been brewed. I went for a walk.
P.S. Don’t eat the lemon bars.
Nina
With a smile teasing my mouth, I stand and stretch, twisting side to side to loosen up my forty-year-old spine. Spending the night on her couch has made it feel twenty years older. I shuffle toward the kitchen on sock-covered feet, and realize she must’ve removed my shoes at some point. That’s embarrassing, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I pour coffee into a large mug and then lean back against the counter, taking my first sip. I moan at the bite of the potent brew. It’s the perfect remedy for my antihistamine hangover.
My gaze flicks over to the lemon bars sitting traitorously on a plate wrapped in plastic. Dammit, they tasted so good, but they did me so dirty. I shift over to the spot I was standing in when she kissed me, and replay the memory a few times. I would’ve liked to kiss her back, but I was too busy getting knocked out from a bit of wine and a heavy dose of meds.Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I take another sip of coffee, enjoying the quiet. This cottage feels like Nina—sunny, warm, a little chaotic—but in a way that makes me want to stay longer than I should. She blew into town like a hurricane, shaking up my predictable life. And for the first time since my ex, I might be interested in discovering more about a woman beyond her sexual preferences and what color underwear she has on.
I hear the front door open and close, and a moment later, Nina enters the kitchen. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and her cheeks are flushed from walking. With her hair piled on top of her head and a hoodie shrouding her lean frame, she looks more like a college student than a New York City executive.
She smiles at me. “Hey, it’s good to see you’re alive.”
I grunt. “Barely. I woke up feeling twice my age.”
