CHAPTER 1
HARRIS
EVERYTHING looked so tiny. And cramped. The buildings and houses he passed, the rental car he drove, the streets. Especially the streets. Harris would bet his last dollar that he had seen bigger alleyways in Los Angeles. He had white-knuckled the steering wheel more than a few times when a semi-truck passed in the opposite direction on the narrow highway. Harris peered through the rain-slicked windshield. He should be at his hotel by now, not maneuvering this tiny Ford compact around impossibly tight corners.
The town itself was tiny, too, though he could practically hear Maggie call Seaside, Oregon “quaint.” He had driven through it before realizing that it wasn’t going to get bigger. He had his nonfunctioning GPS to thank for that. And now he was lost. Lost for the first time in his adult life. In the smallest town in America. The GPS had worked just fine on the drive over from the Portland airport despite the trees and mountains towering over the road. That had been on top of the windy, rough highway, full of blind corners and sunken grades. It was enough to make Harris feel claustrophobic and motion sick at the same time. And wonder where the hell Maggie had sent him.
Harris turned onto another spit of pavement that supposedly led toward the beach. That’s what he needed. The beach. His hotel was near the beach. Find the beach, find the hotel.
Miraculously, the town grew larger and yet more compact than ever as Harris approached the water. He found himself holding his breath as he squeezed past a gigantic Chevy truck, easily three times the size of his rental, complete with the dual rear axle. Harris rolled his eyes once they made it by each other.
He crossed over a river, floored at the state of the old stone bridge. It looked like it could collapse under the weight of any of these cars. The thought was enough to send panic racing through Harris, and he pressed his foot down on the accelerator. He vowed to find this stupid hotel soon, park, and never drive again.
Storefronts and restaurants passed slowly as Harris caught up with traffic, the stoplights seemingly more concerned about pedestrian welfare than driver patience. Harris tapped out the rhythm of the AC/DC tune playing on the radio. After leaving the Portland metro area, Harris had been shocked to find his radio choices had been limited to either classic rock, gospel, or country. He thought that kind of thing only existed in movies. Classic rock it was.
While waiting for what seemed like a permanent red light to turn, his attention caught on a tall, thick blond man jogging down the street. The man wore a simple white T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, but even that wasn’t enough to detract from the sheer size of the man. His shoulder to waist ratio was off the charts. Those biceps alone were worthy of angels singing.
Not to mention the shirt beginning to grow transparent in the rain.
A car horn bleated behind Harris, startling him from his ogling enough to see that the light had finally turned green. He inched forward, casting one last glance toward the blond man. He stood at the corner, bulging arms crossed over his chest, and smirked at Harris as he drove by. Harris flashed him his million-dollar smile and a jaunty wink before gunning it down the street. Then winced.
What the hell was he thinking? That kid was probably half his age. Young. Active. Virile. All things Harris was not anymore. Harris was a middle-aged man who counted everything, like calories and the gray hairs peppering his messy dark brown locks. He didn’t count conquests to his bedroom any longer. Those days were long gone. Thankfully, Harris could still run a mile or two, but that was only to keep the old ticker healthy. Being a heart surgeon with his own history of congenital heart disease, Harris felt a deep sense of obligation to keep himself healthy.
After inching down the tiny street, Harris reached the end, but it didn’t lead to any hotels that he could find. The street looped into a roundabout overlooking the beach. The tiniest roundabout he had ever seen. And each driver seemed content to take their time making the turn, though he didn’t understand what they could possibly be looking at in all this rain. Harris drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in double-time.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.
Harris entered the roundabout, noting with smugness that there was nothing to see. Just more and more gray. The GPS still not working, Harris decided to pull over. Or he would if there had been room. He drove one more block before turning onto a side street.
A large sign next to the smallest parking lot Harris had ever seen boasted The Changing Tides Inn, and Harris laughed with relief. By some miracle, he found it. Then, as he pulled in to park, Harris began to notice a few very, very wrong things.
The hotel wasn’t a hotel at all. It was a house. A large Victorian-style house painted a pale, sunny yellow with white-ruffled trim. The property was even surrounded by the quintessential white picket fence. A neon sign propped up in the window claimed they were open and had vacancies. Harris just bet they did. What was more important, this house was a full block away from the beach. Meaning no ocean view from whatever room they would stick him in. Best part, a demolition team had set up shop right across the street, ready to tear down some old houses that had fallen into disrepair. Who knew what was going in there.
Harris snatched his phone out from the cradle attached to the dashboard. He closed the clearly inept GPS app and dialed Maggie.
“Now what?” she answered. Harris had already called several times on his way out to Seaside to complain about the car, the roads, the lack of tunes, and a truly deplorable sandwich he had picked up in a gas station because there was nothing else nearby.
“What is this place?” he asked without preamble.
“What place?” She sounded exasperated. Par for the course when dealing with his antics. But she had worked for him for over ten years so he figured she must like it.
“It’s not a hotel, Mags. It’s a house. What did you set me up in?”
“It’s a bed and breakfast, Harris. You remember my friend Jason? He recommended it. Said it was the best place he had stayed in years. The breakfasts are absolutely divine.”
“A bed and breakfast,” Harris repeated to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding her. “Am I on some romantic getaway I didn’t know about?”
Maggie cleared her throat, no doubt stifling a giggle. “No, Harris. You’re not. You simply need to stay somewhere comfortable for a few weeks. A bed and breakfast seemed like a better option than an impersonal hotel.”
“I could really go for impersonal right about now,” Harris said, squinting up at the house out of his increasingly rain-covered windshield. Then he sighed. “There’s no getting out of this, is there?” he asked.
“No, Harris,” she said, sympathy filling her voice. Suddenly, Harris felt like they weren’t talking about the bed and breakfast anymore.
“It’s fine, Mags. As long as they have clean sheets and a comfortable mattress, I should be fine. I’ll call you at breakfast and report if your pal James was right.”
“It’s Jason,” she said, the exasperation returning. “I’ll keep you posted on any developments here.”
“Thanks, dear.” He hung up and dropped the phone in his lap before burying his face in his hands.
He could do this. He’d slept in worse places. And really, the house wasn’t all that bad. As long as there weren’t too many china dolls with lace covered with dust. Worst-case scenario, if he couldn’t stand the place, he’d check out and Maggie would find him something else.
And really, he trusted Maggie. If Maggie said this was a good place to stay, then it was a good place to stay.
But just for good measure, Harris picked up his phone, snapped a picture of the house, and sent it to Maggie with a couple of middle finger emojis. She responded immediately with a grinning devil’s face and several hearts.
He loved Maggie.
Tucking the phone into his pocket, Harris took a deep breath and recited the words his old butler, Pierce, had always told him.
“Chin up, chest out, and buck up.”
Harris opened the door and slid out of the car. And immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Jesus, it’s freezing!” He dove for his jacket, discarded hours ago on the front passenger seat. Harris had discovered that Oregon held a distinct chill in the air when he had left the airport to grab his rental car, but that had nothing on this. The vicious breeze straight off the ocean sent needle-like rain shards right through his thin clothes, sending the cold deep into his bones.
Why couldn’t he just jet off to Hawaii or somewhere more tropical than this? Oh, that’s right. Because his lawyers wanted him to “stay close.” And Seaside, Oregon had been deemed close enough.
He was going to need a thicker jacket.
Harris pulled his large suitcase from the trunk of the car. It had enough clothes and toiletries for a month, according to Maggie. And it certainly felt heavy enough.
An uneven brick path led from the parking lot to the front of the house. Harris struggled to keep the suitcase steady as he rolled it along before finally opting to pick it up. He hauled it up the wide, sturdy stairs, though they looked a little weather worn. Opening the front door, Harris discovered it led to an enclosed porch, complete with white wicker chairs and a coffee table. Harris rolled his eyes, not surprised in the slightest. The main door to the house stood straight ahead, wide and dark. Harris strode toward it and pushed it open, finding it heavy enough to knock somebody out. A blast of much-welcome heat surrounded him.
‘Oh, God,’ Harris thought, taking in the sight before him.
Wood paneling. The entire first floor had rich, dark wood paneling that looked like it fit the rich style of the house. It gave the entire room a warm and inviting feel, contradicting the plethora of stiff chairs that must have been found at several of the antique shops Harris had driven by in town. Or it might have just been one he had passed over and over.
“Welcome to Changing Tides.” It was a pleasant enough greeting, given by a man with a pleasant, if somewhat vacant, smile on his face. He looked to be around the same age as Harris, mid-forties, with light, sandy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. But what stood out to Harris the most was the fact that the man was wearing a suit jacket. It was paired with jeans and a colored T-shirt, but the jacket looked like something Harris would have worn to a party, an iridescent gray that caught the eye. The man stood behind what looked like a front desk, not unlike one would find at a hotel. It seemed oddly out of place in the house, yet gave a sense of professionalism that put Harris at ease.
“Hi, um, thanks,” Harris said. He set his suitcase down on the floor, hardwood covered in various jewel-colored rugs. “Is that Versace?” he asked, gesturing to the jacket.
The man’s lips quirked up a little further. “It is.”
Harris smiled in response. “Good choice. Though you might want to have it taken up at the wrists just a little bit.”
The man nodded. “I’m being fitted for it now. I’ll make sure to let the seamstress know.”
“Good.” Harris stared at the man for a moment before realizing he was waiting for more information. “Oh, uh, I have a reservation under Harris Brewer.”
The man’s smile warmed. “Welcome, Mr. Brewer. My name is Dylan Kirkwood, owner and operator. Feel free to let me know if you need anything. We have a few other guests for the weekend, but then the house will be pretty much yours for the next week or so, it seems. You’ll be in room G5.” He plopped a set of honest-to-God, real-life metal keys with a tag that read “G5” on the desk. “The oval-shaped key is for the side door, which is just down that hallway, at the foot of the stairs.” He pointed off to somewhere behind Harris, and Harris turned to look. Just through a narrow doorway was an even narrower set of stairs in a brightly lit yellow hallway. “You’re welcome to use the front door anytime, which remains unlocked until 9 PM. The square key will unlock your bedroom door. You have an en suite bathroom, with a detachable showerhead. The house does only have two water heaters, so hot water may be limited while other guests are here. I’m working on getting a tankless water heater.”
Harris nodded, mentally screaming at the primitive state of hot water manufacturing in this house.
“Breakfast is served between 8:30 and 10 AM daily,” Dylan added. “Do you have any food allergies or sensitivities that I should know about?”
Harris shook his head, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. He just wanted to get to his room and hide under the blankets for the whole next month.
“Great. I’ll see you in the morning then.” With that, Dylan turned and walked back into a darkened doorway Harris had noticed nestled in the wall behind the desk. “Oh,” Dylan called back through the door. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Thanks,” Harris said to the empty space before him, though he had never put much stock into the holiday. It was just an excuse for people to drink more. And he didn’t need an excuse. He picked up his suitcase again. It seemed a shame to roll the dirty wheels over the rugs.
Harris squeezed himself and the bag through the narrow doorway Dylan had pointed out, catching sight of another door at the end of the hall that let out to the side of the house. The hallway had several other doors along it, more bedrooms with tiny wreaths made of twigs on them boasting a name written in beautiful calligraphy. Harris was sure those names were important in some way, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.
The flight of stairs loomed on his right, wide enough for maybe one and a half people and covered with thick green carpet. The steps themselves were barely big enough to accommodate his foot. Harris climbed the steep staircase, wrestling his suitcase in front of him. By the time he reached the top, Harris was sweating and slightly out of breath, suddenly too warm.
The staircase let him out at a small circular landing, surrounded by three doors and a hall closet. Harris found the door with a gold placard that stated “G5” directly in front of him. His tiny twig wreath said, “Matthew.” Whoever that was. Harris stuck his key in the doorknob and pushed it open.
Another blast of heat nearly suffocated Harris as he set his suitcase down. He spotted the thermostat on the wall right above the light switch and slammed his hand against it, turning it off.
Harris took in the room, which was admittedly much bigger than he anticipated. A corner room, it had two windows sitting kitty-corner to each other and two large blue armchairs situated beneath them. One of the windows even faced the ocean. Walking over to it, Harris let out a huff of a laugh when he realized he could see a sliver of the ocean down at the end of the street.
Turning back, Harris marveled at the size of the bed, complete with a wrought iron frame. Simple white linens and more pillows than Harris had ever used covered the bed. He walked over to it, running a hand down the duvet. Not scratchy, which was good. He pushed down on the bed. Soft, yet firm. The real test would be when he tried to sleep, but so far it wasn’t as bad as he had imagined.
A tall, rustic-looking dresser and a pair of mismatched nightstands completed the furniture selection of the room. It didn’t look like there was a closet of any kind. Harris frowned at that. Did nobody hang up their clothes around here?
Harris turned back toward the open door on the opposite side of the room. The en suite. Light brown marble tiles and white porcelain met his inspection. Even the shower looked luxurious with its rainfall showerhead, complete with detachable arm mounted on the wall. It would do.
Harris spent the next half hour unpacking his suitcase, trying not to dwell on the fact that he had nothing else to do. Usually, he would be reading up on the latest studies in heart medicine or preparing for an upcoming procedure. With all of that temporarily taken away from him, Harris felt at a loss.
He laughed when he found the books Maggie had tucked away in his suitcase. No wonder the bag felt so heavy. She had included a selection of modern thrillers as well as biographies and large history tomes. A note had been tucked away in the first book of the pile.
These poor things were gathering dust on your bookshelves. Do them a favor and read them. ~M
Harris vaguely remembered being gifted a couple of these books and buying a few himself in a fit of optimism that he would have a chance to read them.
And now he did, though he wished he didn’t. Funny how that happened.
Unpacking complete, Harris sat in one of the armchairs and stared out the window at his sliver of ocean. His fingers tapped against the arm of the chair. His leg bounced. Harris could feel the need to move and do something productive burn through him. Frustrated, Harris stood and picked up a book off the dresser to his left, then set it down again without even reading the title.
He wanted to go home. He wished he hadn’t agreed to run away to Seaside, Oregon in the first place. But then the hospital placed him on mandatory leave, effective immediately, and Maggie had managed to convince him to take this break while she sorted out the mess he had left behind.
And didn’t that just grate against every ounce of his being? He was a surgeon. He was the one who fixed problems. He didn’t have others fix his problems for him. His lawyer and insurance group were already working around the clock to fix this one, with Maggie orchestrating everything.
He knew the hospital had been right to place him on leave. He couldn’t even walk into surgery without seeing blood everywhere. Every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he was met with nightmares full of panic, frantic beeping, and the eventual flatline. And no matter what Harris tried to do, he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop death.
It hadn’t been the first time he had lost a patient. He worked with high-risk patients regularly. It was an unfortunate reality in his line of work. But he had had a lot more successes than not in his tenure, and this had been a case that shouldn’t have gone wrong. It was an open-and-shut, by-the-books procedure. And it ended in tragedy less than an hour into the surgery.
Harris shook himself, clearing the thoughts that he had been trying to keep at bay. A glance at his wristwatch told him that it was still a little early for dinner, but it would be something to do if he wanted to get out of the room. A distraction. He could use one of those.
His mind’s eye flashed to the blond hunk he spotted jogging down the street earlier. He wondered if the town was small enough that he’d run into him again. He hoped so. Nothing said vacation louder than no-strings-attached sex. Even if he was getting up there in years. He was old, not dead.
Grabbing his jacket and keys, Harris spent five extra minutes fluffing his hair to hide the gray, then left.