CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ben
I slammed my hand on the phone and stopped its incessant chirping sounds. Damn, it was five in the morning. I rolled under the checked comforter, not ready to leave the warm cocoon. I liked to keep the camper icy cold at night, so when I got in bed I could wrap up in the covers. It might not be energy-efficient, but I slept best that way.
The crickets started up again, and I groaned as I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. I turned the nozzle to hot as the water sputtered to life. The night hadn’t gone exactly as I planned. The last thing I wanted to have happen was what did happen—Chelsea ran out of the Sand Dollar as if I had scorched her with a hot iron. She wasn’t that kind of girl. I should have known better. I cursed out loud, knowing I had taken things too far too fast with her.
I pressed my hands against the shower wall and lowered my head, letting the water wash over my shoulders. The heat between us had taken me by surprise. The lights went down and so did my restraint. In the dark, I was surrounded by the scent of her shampoo. Her lips were soft, drawing me in for more. Damn if the way she moaned didn’t turn me on. I had fought those sounds when I tossed and turned in the camper’s master suite last night.
I didn’t know if I could make it up to her, but I would try. I wasn’t here to upset her. It got out of control before I knew what was happening. I pounded the wall with my fist, not proud of what I had done on the couch. The water slowed to a trickle. My seven minutes were up. Time to get dressed and get to work.
***
I parked my Jeep in the side employee entrance. I noticed Chelsea’s bike was racked in the stand. I exhaled. Today was going to be interesting. There probably wouldn’t be any kayak races after work. I would keep it cool and give her space.
I sauntered through the doors and grabbed an apron from the hook. She had explained that we wouldn’t open the stand until mid-morning. My first duties of the morning would include sweeping and getting the coffee ready. I could use a tall cup. The shower wasn’t long enough to wake me up.
“Hey, good morning.” I pulled the strings against my back. Chelsea was at the register, counting bills.
“Hey.” She didn’t look up and continued to stack the money in rows.
“What can I help you with?” I looked around for the coffee pot—my first choice.
“Ten—twenty—thirty—uh, why don’t you grab a broom from the closet and start on the aisles?”
“Got it.” I spun on my heels to fetch the broom.
If sweeping was what she wanted, sweeping she would get. I picked it up and tossed it to my other hand. I walked to the corner of the store farthest from her. The walk-in coolers hummed as I made piles of dirt. I had made it through five aisles before she walked toward me.
“So, after you finish with the floors, do you think you could unload some of the boxes that came in? They are kind of heavy for me to move around. I’ll put the merchandise on display. You don’t have to do that part.” Her gaze was steady, almost robotic.
“Absolutely. Just point me to the boxes. I’m your man.” I wanted to kick myself. That was a stupid thing to say. I had vowed not to flirt.
She turned away. “Let me just go ahead and show you where they are. You can come back to this.”
I followed her to a storage room off the hallway where the aprons hung. I could barely walk two feet into the room, it was so stuffed with mannequins, fishnets, and boxes.
“Wow. There’s a lot going on in here.” I looked at the shelves near the ceiling. Every single one was loaded.
She retrieved a box cutter and marked the boxes she needed help with. “All of the ones I need on the retail side have an X on them. Ok?” She hurried past me. “Just move those when you’re done sweeping.” She was gone before I could respond.
I looked at the stack and decided to haul a few to the retail side before rejoining the broom. T-shirt boxes were a lot heavier than I expected. I huffed as I placed the boxes on the floor. Definitely need to get back in the gym. Maybe Chelsea could tell me if there was one of the island.
I approached the counter where she was scribbling something on a roll of register paper. I recognized that look on her face. I had seen it before.
“Did a song hit you?”
She gathered the paper in her fist. “I-I was—”
“Can I hear it?” I leaned on my elbow.
Her blue eyes sparkled. “You want to hear it? Really?” Her tone softened. It was the first time she had countered my gaze all morning.
“Writer to writer. Let me hear it.”
She set her mouth in a determined line as if she was mentally sorting the pros and cons of sharing the words with me.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want. No pressure.” I backed off the counter a few inches.
“Ok. Yeah. Maybe you can help me. Writer to writer.” She smiled.
I liked that smile. It reminded me why I had taken the job in the first place—I was just trying to help a pretty girl. Nothing more than that.
She flattened the creases in the paper and held it up to read.
Holding you is like catching the wind
Breezing in and out of my arms
Before my heart can decide to let you in
You’re gone and maybe you’ll be back
But everything already feels lost and dark
She looked at me expectedly, her forehead creased with worry.
“Wow. You wrote that? How does the rest go? I want to hear the whole thing.”
She bit her lip. “That’s part of my problem. I get bursts of words, and then I can’t finish the songs.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m here all the time. I don’t have time to write. I have fifty of these partially written songs. I can’t finish them.”
“But you have to finish that one. It-it needs to be finished.” There weren’t many words, but there were enough to make me want more. It was like getting half a kiss—it just wasn’t enough.
“So, you like it?” Her teeth sank into her lip again.
“I do. I really do.” I looked in her eyes to reassure her that there was something to what she had created, but the minute I did, I felt like I was the one who needed reassurance.
“I-I’m going to go finish up with the floors.”
“Ok.” She folded the paper in half and tucked it in her apron. “Thanks for listening.”
“Sure thing.” I walked to where I had left the broom, and realized I had never asked her about the gym. Damn it. Women were the worst distraction—especially girls with beautiful blue eyes.