CHAPTER 8
REID
REID looked up at the front of the large yellow house, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. Since Harris blew into his restaurant, Reid had found himself at The Changing Tides Inn far more often than he ever had since Dylan opened the place.
He hadn’t seen Harris in a couple of days, not since Harris had broken down at the gym. Reid could understand if Harris was embarrassed by his behavior and maybe would want to stay away because of it. And really, Reid should be grateful for the distance. Maybe this would be a natural way to resolve the tension between them. But even as Reid thought it, he knew he wouldn’t feel right with that. He needed to see Harris, make sure Harris was alright, and that things between them were okay.
Reid liked Harris. All the attraction aside, he believed Harris was a good person. Smart, fun, and compassionate, which Reid could see just from hearing Harris talk about his practice or about Maggie. He had hoped that they could keep in touch after Harris’ stay, though Reid knew that wouldn’t be likely. Still. He liked Harris, and he wanted to make sure his friend was alright.
Gripping his clam gun in one hand, Reid strode forward with purpose. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but he had called Dylan the night before and requested he make breakfast early for them.
Reid had plans.
Dylan had unlocked the front door for Reid for which Reid was grateful. The morning was a cold one, the sky clear. Clouds usually kept the temperatures moderate this time of the year, but with a clear night, there was nowhere for the heat to go but up. A light dusting of frost bit at the grass and the tiny little flowers and daffodil sprouts that had already begun to make an appearance. It would still be a month or two before the temperatures would warm significantly.
Reid set the clam gun down in the enclosed patio next to the front door. His jeans had been tucked into rain boots, and he wore a thick cream-colored sweater beneath a denim jacket. Slipping off the jacket and his boots, a courtesy to Dylan as the boots had recently been used to wade through mud and dirt, he opened the front door.
“Good morning, Reid,” Dylan called from the hall that led to the kitchen. The titillating smells of coffee and waffles met his nose, and Reid inhaled deeply.
“Morning,” Reid called out, padding across the floor and into the hall, familiar with the house’s layout. It didn’t take long until he reached the kitchen. Reid leaned against the doorjamb, content to watch his friend work for a moment.
“You could make yourself useful,” Dylan said, pointing toward the loaf of bread that sat ready to be sliced on the wood cutting board.
“I would,” Reid said, tone apologetic, “but I need to wake up Harris. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Dylan glanced back at him over one shoulder. “You don’t have his phone number?” he asked.
Reid shrugged. “Never came up.”
Dylan shook his head. “I really shouldn’t give you his room number,” he said.
Reid grinned. “I could knock on every door. You don’t have any other guests staying here at the moment, right?”
Dylan narrowed his eyes at Reid. “He’s in G5. Good luck,” he said with an amused smile.
Wondering what Dylan meant by that, Reid turned and headed back out toward the opposite end of the house. He knew Harris had been in that quarter of the house, having seen him walk down the stairs just a couple of days ago, but having the room number was handy.
Reid climbed the stairs up to the second floor, the green carpet soft beneath his sock-covered feet. All at once, trepidation filled Reid. What was he going to say to Harris? What if Harris really wanted nothing more to do with him and asked him to leave? How would he explain that to Dylan?
Squaring his shoulders, Reid marched toward the door labeled “G5” and knocked. He waited a few moments, leaning closer to the door for any sounds of Harris rustling around. Nothing. He knocked again.
That time, Reid heard a grunt and the slam of what sounded like an elbow hitting the nightstand. Reid winced as he heard Harris groan in pain.
Suddenly, a mental image of what Harris must look like filled Reid’s mind. All that olive skin, contrasting beautifully with the white sheets. Harris, all rumpled and half-covered, his hair even more disheveled than Reid would have ever seen. He wondered how much chest hair Harris would have. If his nipples would be brown or a dusty pink. Was Harris hard with a morning erection? Reid felt saliva pool in his mouth at the thought. He swallowed hard and forced the image aside.
That wasn’t something he was ever likely to find out, and there was no use dwelling on it.
“Harris,” he called. “Breakfast is ready, come on.” He knocked again.
“Reid?” Harris’ voice was rough with sleep, but the confusion was there. Reid heard more rustling. “What’s going on?”
“Time to get up, Harris,” Reid prodded. “Hurry up, or I’ll drink all Dylan’s coffee.”
At that, Reid heard a sharp rustle of sheets and feet padding across the floor. Reid took a step back, preparing to turn and head back down to help Dylan with setting up breakfast, but the door to G5 swung wide open.
Reid’s jaw dropped.
Harris stood there, clad in nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist, held at one side with a fist. White fabric pooled around Harris’ bare feet and legs. Raising his gaze, Reid noticed a well-defined trail of dark hair disappearing into the sheet at Harris’ waist. Reid’s gaze continued to climb, admiring all that tanned skin, his palms itching to slide against it, caress it, feel the spry hairs beneath them. Then Reid’s gaze reached Harris’ chest.
He bit off the sharp gasp before it could escape, though he couldn’t stop his eyes widening at the sight.
A large, faded scar ran from the base of Harris’ throat down to the bottom of his ribs. Dark hair dusted all around it, reaching to cover most of it, though there was enough of a gap to reveal what it was.
“Like what you see?” Harris barked, not one ounce of the teasing tone Reid had grown used to present.
Shit.
Startled, Reid whipped his gaze up to Harris’ face. Harris looked irritated, though pale with dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Are you alright?” Reid couldn’t help but ask.
“I’m fine,” Harris said, narrowing his eyes at Reid. “Or I would be after another day of solid sleep, some ibuprofen, and ten gallons of water.” Harris lifted a hand to his head, rubbing at the temple.
It was Reid’s turn to narrow his eyes. He glanced over Harris’ shoulder, spotted the bottle of whiskey sitting, more than three-quarters empty, on Harris’ nightstand.
“You’re hungover,” he said, voice flat. He looked back to Harris, who had lifted an eyebrow, as though daring Reid to judge him for it.
“Yeah,” Harris said. “I finally found an open liquor store in this state.”
Reid clenched his jaw at the blatant sarcasm. “Why? Did something else happen?”
Harris shook his head. “No, nothing yet. Just drowning my sorrows and embarrassment as best as I could. And yet, it still managed to find me.” He gave Reid a pointed stare.
Reid huffed a breath. Then pushed himself forward, into Harris’ room.
“Excuse you!” Harris protested, stumbling backward, half-tripping on the sheet around his waist. Reid reached out to grip his arms, hauling him close to prevent an accident.
All it did was cause Harris to fall forward into his chest.
The last time Harris had been this close to Reid, he had been crying. It had taken all of Reid’s self-discipline to not make a move then, and Reid called for it once again. He began to count backwards from one hundred, hoping that Harris would right himself quickly. Before Reid’s control snapped and the both of them didn’t make it down to breakfast.
Harris reared back after a moment, hands thankfully gripping the sheet around him.
“Um, thanks,” Harris mumbled, busying himself with the sheet.
Reid didn’t say a word, just made his way to the bathroom. He ignored Harris’ sputtering behind him, trusting that the man would follow him.
Sure enough, Reid heard the door to the bedroom close before he reached into the shower and pulled the tap on.
“What are you doing?” Harris asked, his voice close and echoing off the bathroom walls. When Reid turned, he spotted Harris leaning against the doorjamb, the picture of nonchalance, despite being clothed in nothing but a bedsheet.
The initial embarrassment at catching Harris nearly naked had faded in the time it took for Reid to turn the shower on. Now, Reid kept his gaze strictly above Harris’ chest, meeting Harris’ tired, yet still unbelievably gorgeous eyes.
“Shower, then come downstairs for breakfast,” Reid said. He made his way to the door, which Harris was doing an excellent job of blocking.
“What, no offer to wash my hair?” Harris asked, peering up at Reid through his midnight-black lashes.
Reid wanted to. Oh, how he wanted. It would be so easy, too, to pull the sheet from Harris’ no-doubt ready body. To yank his own clothes off, let them pile on the floor, and follow the man into the warm, rushing water. Pin him up against the tiled walls, press up against him, rubbing, tasting. To sink into him, feel that tight heat all around him.
Reid cleared his throat, forcing the thoughts away. He had plans.
“Shower, Harris. We’ll talk.” Then Reid grabbed Harris and physically lifted him, bringing him fully into the bathroom before setting him off to the side. Doorway clear, Reid moved through it, reaching for the door handle to shut it behind him.
“That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was,” Harris complained, grabbing the edge of the door before Reid managed to close it. “You manhandled me. I should file a complaint.”
“File away,” Reid muttered. He fought to pull the door shut, but Harris held fast. He sighed.
“You want to.” Harris’ voice was quiet, all trace of teasing gone.
Reid didn’t have to ask to know what Harris meant. All he could do was nod, swallowing thickly.
“Why don’t you?” Harris asked. The question was simple. And Reid felt more tangled up in the response than ever before.
Every answer Reid had felt lacking.
“We’ll talk,” he repeated. And left without a backwards glance.
Reid made a beeline back to the kitchen, hoping Dylan could give him something to do to take his mind off the mental image of Harris naked and wet in the shower. How he could have just let himself have that.
Thankfully, Dylan had plenty for Reid to help with. He spent the next fifteen minutes chopping, sautéing, and slicing before Dylan threw everything together and shooed Reid out into the Sunroom.
Harris entered the room at the same time Reid did, on opposite sides. Harris stood stock-still, his gaze wary. Reid offered him a gentle, friendly smile, hoping against all hope that he and Harris could bridge this gap and figure out a way to move forward.
A moment later, Harris seemed to snap out of his trance and headed straight for the coffee pot. He grabbed the biggest mug out of the collection. Then he turned to Reid, lifting the mug and his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
Reid nodded. “Please.” He headed toward the dining room table and picked one of the two place settings.
Harris placed a coffee cup in front of Reid and took the seat opposite him. “I didn’t know how you liked your coffee,” he said.
“Black’s fine,” Reid said, lifting his cup. “Dylan gets amazing coffee.”
Harris grinned. “I know. Seems a shame to cover it up with cream and sugar.” Then Harris reached for his toast and the familiar-looking jam on the table. “Dylan told me you made this stuff,” he said, pointing to the jam with his knife. He dug out a healthy amount and slathered it onto the bread. “It’s amazing.”
“Thank you,” Reid said with a smile. “It was my mother’s recipe. She taught me how to do it one summer when I was pretty sick.”
“Oh?” Harris asked around a bite of toast. It would have been off-putting if Harris hadn’t looked so adorable doing it.
“I wasn’t the healthiest kid,” Reid said with a shrug, grabbing his own toast and spreading on the jam. “Asthma, mostly. It made getting the common cold an exercise.”
“I can imagine,” Harris said. “Grayson and Jake told me some about it a few days ago. Five foot three?”
Reid nearly dropped his toast and knife. His gaze met Harris’, and he found the sparkle of amusement lingering there.
“He was a runt,” Dylan said from behind Reid as he entered the room. “Poor Gail had her hands full.”
Harris laughed in delight as Dylan regaled him with tale after tale of Reid’s youth. Reid relaxed at the sight. Seeing Harris laugh at his expense didn’t make him upset in the slightest, though there was a strong twinge of embarrassment. Reid felt almost like he had a family again.
Breakfast wound down, and Reid began to help Dylan clear the dining room table. Immediately, Dylan began to shoo him away.
“Stop, I can handle it. Go take Harris away to do something interesting in this town so he’ll leave me alone to do my job.”
Reid laughed at Harris shouted in indignation.
“Come on. I need your help,” Reid said, pulling Harris away from the table and his coffee mug. He gave Harris the once-over.
Thick black sweater, jeans, loafers. Reid frowned at the shoes.
“Do you have shoes that you don’t mind getting a little wet and sandy?” Reid asked.
Harris raised an eyebrow at him, giving a pointed look toward Reid’s sock-clad feet, but nodded. “Yeah. Let me go get them. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be outside.”
Reid took his time slipping on his boots and jacket. Picking up his clam gun, Reid stepped outside to wait.
The sun was just beginning to peak over the hills to the west. Perfect. The tide would be low enough for Reid to get what he needed.
The front door swung open, and Harris stomped down the steps in the same running shoes Reid had seen on his feet before. Harris had also grabbed a leather jacket to throw over the top of his sweater.
“Excellent, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Harris asked; then his gaze zeroed in on the clam gun. “Is that what I think it is?”
Reid grinned, suddenly excited to see Harris get his hands dirty. “We’re going clamming. I need some razor clams for the special tonight.”
Harris narrowed his eyes at Reid. “And you’re actually crazy enough to go out and dig up your own clams. Not only that, but you’re willing to drag innocent people along.”
“You said quote, ‘sounds like it could be fun sometime,’” Reid said, his lips ticking upward. He turned on his heel and began to walk the one block toward the beach.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what I said,” Harris grumbled as he raced to catch up to Reid. Reid laughed.
“You’re just hungover.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Reid looked over at Harris, hunched inside his jacket.
“What else happened?” Reid asked.
Harris sighed. Then his right hand left the safety of his jacket pocket to run over the front of his face. Reid had a moment to admire the immaculately trimmed goatee, all trace of the earlier day old growth gone, before Harris began to talk.
“Maggie got my gift from Mick’s store. She called me to tell me she tore up her resignation letter.”
Reid frowned. “That’s… a good thing, right?” he asked.
Harris shrugged. “The fact that she wrote one at all makes me worried. I can’t,” Harris cut himself off. Shook his head. “It’s fine now. That’s all that matters.”
They walked in silence out onto the sand, heading further out than was usually available to them most of the day.
“I wanted to apologize,” Reid said, pitching his voice to be heard over the roar of the ocean as it crashed onto the beach. He saw Harris glance his way.
“Why?”
Reid blushed, hoping the cold wind rushing off the water would explain the redness. “I don’t sleep with people who are from out of town.”
Silence greeted his confession. Then, “Why not? Like, that would seriously be the best gig ever. Have some fun; then they leave. You’re not out anything.”
Reid huffed a surprised laugh and shook his head. “You would think, but that’s not what usually happens. People grow attached. They like the idea of staying in a coastal town, being with a restaurant owner, what have you. It gets ugly. So, I just don’t do it.”
“Oh.” Harris toed at the sand, then looked up at Reid. “You’re speaking from experience, aren’t you?”
Reid drew to a halt, began stomping around on the sand, staring intently at its surface. He gave a curt nod.
“Just for the record, I wouldn’t have grown attached,” Harris said, his tone so nonchalant that Reid couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “I wouldn’t! Have you met me? I’m the epitome of noncommitment. Here, let’s call Maggie for a character reference.” Harris pulled out his phone as Reid laughed more. Then Harris peered down at Reid’s feet. “What on earth are you doing, stomping around like a crazy man?”
Reid glanced up at Harris, whose face was furrowed as though he were trying to piece together the world’s most ridiculous puzzle. He looked utterly adorable. Reid cleared his throat against his suddenly dry mouth. “Looking for clams. You could help you know.”
“Oh, that’s where you look for the little holes that suddenly appear, right?” Harris said, his brow crinkling further as he began to look around.
“Yeah, like this one,” Reid said, spotting a hole. The surf licked at his feet threatening to cover the hole, but he took a moment to point the divot out to Harris. “Then you do this.”
Reid slammed the clam gun down into the sand, directly over the hole. He pulled it up, depositing a pile of sand next to the new, much larger hole. Nestled within the pile was a dark shell, slammed shut. Reid grinned, bending over and picking up the clam. He held it out to Harris.
“This is a razor clam,” he said.
Harris’ eyes widened. “Jesus. That’s huge.”
Reid lifted an eyebrow at the unintended innuendo. Harris laughed, then smacked Reid’s arm. “Shut up.”
Reid pulled out a mesh bag from his jacket pocket and attached it to his belt loop. He dropped the clam inside it and began to stomp around again.
“We need quite a few of these, so holler if you see any holes.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Harris said and began to stomp around.
They developed a system after a while. They alternated finding clams, and Reid’s pouch grew heavier.
They didn’t talk, though Reid knew their conversation wasn’t quite over. He felt as though Harris hadn’t accepted Reid’s reasoning, instead deflecting to the project at hand. And maybe that was Reid’s fault. They shouldn’t have had this conversation first thing in the morning while clamming, with Harris nursing what looked like a hell of a hangover.
“Wow, I think I got a big one here,” Harris said, just a couple of feet from where Reid had been stomping.
“Dig it up,” Reid said, holding out the clam gun. Harris gaped at the tool, and then at Reid before reaching out to take it.
“How do I do this?” Harris asked.
Before he realized what he was doing, Reid walked up behind Harris, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. He could practically feel the electricity snap between their bodies as Reid’s chest and abs met Harris’ back. He rested his hands against Harris’ on the handle of the clam gun.
“You gotta make sure you shove it down hard enough that it gets down to where the clam is. Like this,” Reid gripped Harris’ hands and pushed. The clam gun sank deep into the sand. He felt rather than heard Harris’ gasp. “You gotta do it fast because they’ll dig deeper into the sand as you’re trying to push through.”
Reid pointed out a little vent on the side of the clam gun. “This helps keep the clam gun from creating a vacuum seal in the sand and allows us to dig that sand out of the ground.” He hefted the clam gun up and out of the sand, depositing the sand off to the side of the hole moving Harris’ body with his. Sifting through the lump with the edge of the clam gun, Reid groaned in disappointment.
“Nothing. Sorry, Harris. Those clams start moving fast,” he said. It was then he realized just how close his mouth was to Harris’ ear. He could smell the faintest hint of spice from Harris’ shampoo, feel the heat radiate off his skin and into Reid’s. The temptation to let his lips rest there, at the juncture of Harris’ jawline and neck, overwhelmed Reid.
He pulled away before he could give in to that temptation. Hadn’t he just explained to Harris why he didn’t sleep with tourists? What kind of man would he be if he went back on everything he had said?
He gave Harris the clam gun and put some distance between them. “Here. Let’s try again.”
They stomped around for a few moments before Harris found another hole.
“Go for it,” Reid said, a smile on his face. He watched as Harris shoved the clam gun down into the sand. He pulled it up quickly, depositing the sand to the side.
And there, atop the pile, sat the largest razor clam Reid had seen that morning.
“Wow, look at that,” Reid said, grinning over at Harris. Harris stared at the clam in disbelief. “Well, pick it up.”
Harris sprang into action. He bent and snatched the clam from the sand, then looked up at Reid with a wide grin.
“I did it,” he said, voice breathless with excitement. Then he let out a surprised laugh and jogged over to Reid, brandishing the clam in the air.
Reid’s heart leapt to his throat when Harris drew close enough to slip the clam into Reid’s pouch. Then it began to race as Harris drew even closer, his eyes hot and heavy with intent.
It threatened to stop altogether when Harris slanted his mouth over Reid’s.
Reid couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The warm pressure against his lips sent equal hot and cold chills up and down his spine, making him shiver.
Harris was kissing him!
Before Reid could raise his hands to… what? Push Harris away? Pull him closer? Before Reid could do any of those things, Harris withdrew, giving Reid a wide grin.
“Wow. That’s a rush.”
Reid exhaled, his system slowly rebooting. Harris turned to walk away, already stomping on the ground.
Watching Harris walk away from him, after a kiss like that, made something snap inside him. In two strides, he caught up to Harris, grabbed one arm and yanked him around. The clam gun clattered to the hard sand.
“Wha –” Harris managed to get out before Reid lowered his mouth to Harris’, swallowing the sound.
Harris melted against Reid, raising his hands up and into Reid’s short hair, teasing the tiny strands that dusted the nape of his neck. Harris’ mouth opened beneath Reid’s, and Reid licked his way inside, tasting coffee and mint and something else that was entirely Harris. He heard Harris groan, the sound of it shooting heat straight to Reid’s lower abdomen.
He clutched at Harris, bringing him flush against Reid’s own hard body. The surf brushed up against their shoes, the cold air all the colder for the heat building between them. The last of Reid’s inhibitions fell away, and he lost himself to Harris’ mouth, hands, body.
Why had he denied this for so long?
The loud caw of a gull directly overhead startled Reid back to reality. He gasped as he withdrew from Harris, his lips wet and warm. Panting, Reid stared down at Harris, shock and embarrassment warring within him.
What had he done?
“I’m so sorry,” Reid managed to get out, his voice hoarse. Wrecked. He felt like he was barely hanging on to the edge of something he hadn’t wanted to jump off of.
Harris shook his head as though to clear it and stepped back. He looked away, toward the ocean. To Reid, it felt as potent as a slap.
Harris was blocking him out.
And Reid knew he should let him. He needed to let Harris block him out. Hadn’t he just made his case for that earlier?
But he didn’t want to.
“Harris,” he began again.
Harris shook his head forcefully this time. “No. Don’t.”
Helpless, Reid clenched his fists at his sides. What else could he do?
With a sigh, Harris turned back to Reid. Those eyes that had been so full of lust, desire, passion not ten seconds ago were blank. “I’m going to head back. I’ll see you later?” His tone was too casual to be real.
And still, Reid nodded, needing to go along with it. If only to preserve whatever tentative friendship they had.
“Come by the restaurant later, if you want,” he offered, the invitation falling flat between them.
Harris nodded before turning and walking away, toward the inn.
Reid watched him leave, feeling for all the world like he’d lost something.