Page 54 of A Shore Fling
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t fall easily, and that’s the point. You’re spiraling over this guy, and that’s not normal for you.”
“I’m not spiraling, and it’s not love. At this point, it’s barely a truce.” I didn’t come here looking for a romantic entanglement. But there’s something about Travis that sticks in my head, even when I try to shake him out of it. He's sharp around the edges but grounded. He’s literally someone who wouldn’t let me float away without grabbing my hand. And I hate how much I admire that quality in him.
“I think you should let yourself be open to a vacation romance. It might be just what you need.”
“And what happens when I leave?”
“You walk away knowing you had the summer of your life, and you return to work refreshed.”
“Yeah, somehow I don’t think it would be that simple. Sex only complicates things, and the no-strings relationships hardly ever turn out as planned.”
“Maybe it would be different for you. I hope you let yourself find out.” Irene’s blue eyes implore me to heed her words. “Just don’t shut it down before it even starts. You went there to hit pause on the chaos and to step out of your element. Maybe this is part of what that looks like.” She falls silent for a few seconds, and then her face lights up. “I just thought of the perfect name for what you need… a shore fling.”
Before I can respond, the call drops. I wait, expecting her to call back, but nothing happens. After a minute, I set the phone on the arm of the chair and take a sip of my coffee. I look around at the neighborhood that’s already starting to feel like my homeaway from home. I’m comfortable here with the cedar-shingle-sided cottages and the simple charm of the landscaped yards. It’s so quiet at this early hour, but by late morning the kids will be out and about, riding their bikes and skateboards. At night, the teenagers on this street play manhunt, and they don’t mind when the younger kids join in. It’s so wholesome, and it gives me hope to know not every teen is scrolling social media. Havenport is the type of town people move to when they have families.
My grip tightens on the mug. It’s hard not to wonder how different things might’ve turned out if I’d grown up in a place like this, with neighbors who knew my name, and a front porch that got used. Maybe I’d be the kind of person who trusts more easily and doesn’t assume everyone has ulterior motives for getting to know me. Maybe I wouldn’t live for my job or put up with my family pressuring me to fall in line. But that’s not who I am.Not yet, anyway.
The salt-laced breeze brushes my skin, and that’s when my thoughts wander to Travis, and I wonder if he’s already begun his workday. I’ve been trying to convince myself ignoring my growing attraction for him is the right thing to do, but after talking to Irene, I’m not so sure. What would be so bad about having some fun with the rough-around-the-edges harbormaster? Besides, so far he’s proven himself to be impossible to ignore.
I spot the dusty bike leaning against the far wall while rummaging through the garage in search of a better beach chair. It’s a pretty pale green with a wide leather seat and a little white basket on the front. The tires are flat, but a pump’s hanging froma hook nearby. Maybe it’s time I do something spontaneous and fun.
I inflate the tires, brush the dust off the seat and handlebars, and wheel it out to the driveway. The idea of riding it into town, exploring the local shops, maybe grabbing an ice cream, or poking around the bookstore seems kind of perfect.
Except for one tiny problem. I’ve never ridden a bike before. My parents weren’t the “let’s take the training wheels off” kind. They were the “extra tutoring and violin practice” kind. If it didn’t go on a college application, it wasn’t worth the time.
I grip the handlebars and stare down at the pedals, willing instinct to kick in. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Still, I climb on and push off, and for a second I get it rolling. And then it’s not.
The front wheel jerks sideways, and the whole bike tilts. I try to put my foot down, but it’s too late. Toppling over, I land hard on the sidewalk and let out a very undignified yelp. I lie there for a second, stunned. Then I sit up and brush gravel from my palms and the side of my leg.
“No big deal,” I mutter. “Just a grown woman eating pavement in broad daylight.” I untangle myself from the bike and then push it upright.I can do this, I tell myself as I try again. The results are about the same, only this time, I don’t fall. I wobble wildly before I give up and walk it toward town.
I make it about three blocks before I hear the rumble of a truck engine behind me. I glance over my shoulder and, of course, it’s Travis.Why wouldn’t he see me when I’m failing at something?
He slows to a crawl beside me, one arm resting out the window, with a dark brow lifted. “Taking the scenic route?”
“Don’t start.” I’m not in the mood to tolerate his sarcasm.
He pulls over and kills the engine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just enjoying the weather.”
He gets out and nods toward the minor scrape on the side of my calf. “You look like you lost a fight with a curb.”
“Technically, it was a sidewalk,” I mutter. “But thanks.”
“Want a lift?”
I hesitate, pride flaring for half a second before logic wins. I nod, and he hoists the bike into the bed of his truck like it weighs nothing. I climb into the passenger seat, still brushing dirt from my skin.
He pulls out onto the road, shooting me a sideways glance. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I sigh. “I thought it would be fun to try something new when I found the bike in the garage. I figured it couldn’t be that difficult to ride.”
“Like driving a boat?” he asks, smirking.
I scowl. “I’m glad you find my misfortune so amusing.”
He doesn’t reply right away, and I notice he’s not driving toward my cottage. I figured when he offered me a ride, he’d take me home.
