Page 20 of When We Are Falling

“Morning, everyone.” She takes a croissant and tears off a piece for Bandit. “I brought coffee. Grab a cup and let’s save our beautiful coastline!”

“Glad you’re here,” Tom calls out, blowing her a kiss. “Did you walk all this way with the thermoses?”

“I sure did. And it wasn’t far.” She flashes a grin. “Can’t wait to get started!”

Her positive energy is contagious, and it’s exactly what we need right now. I think most of the volunteers assumed we’d have made a bigger dent in the clean up effort by now, and enthusiasm has been waning.

“All right everyone.” I clap my hands a couple of times until they’re all staring at me. “Time to get going.”

I give them all their tasks for the day, and soon my group is hard at work. We’re like a well-oiled machine by now, and the rhythmic sound of shovels scraping against oily sand fills the air, mingling with the pungent scent of crude oil and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

Hunched over in bright reflective vests, they meticulously scoop up blackened clumps of sand, their figures outlined against the early morning sun, while seagulls cry overhead, some with feathers slicked with oil.

As the morning progresses, I move through the beach, checking on each volunteer and their work. “Hey, Tom, those booms need to be tighter.”

He drags a sleeve across his face. “Sure thing.”

“And Carlos, we need more absorbent pads over here.”

I continue to give pointers, my eyes scanning every detail. The beach is dotted with orange cones and stations for cleaning affected animals, everyone hard at work, and we continue on for a few more hours until I declare a break.

Tom shares the rest of the pastries, and I grab a chocolate tart and a bottle of water, heading straight for Blake where she’s standing on the beach, facing the sea, hands palming her hips. I ignore Tom’s sniggering—I’m being obvious, but I don’t even care anymore.

She’s wearing a pensive expression as she looks out at the water, and I watch from a few feet away. Pretty doesn’t even begin to describe how gorgeous she is. There’s a grace to her movements, a fire in her eyes. Her beauty, her body, is like a song that plays on repeat, a melody that’s both soothing and electrifying. The way her hair catches the light, the curve of her smile, the lines of her nose and high cheekbones.

She’s strong, a force of nature, a blend of strength and vulnerability that pulls me in. And I’m in deep already, not wanting it any other way. She said she doesn’t want a relationship, but the attraction between us, the chemistry… I’m not imagining that.

“Hey.” I finally step up beside her, passing her the tart and water. “Take this. You need to keep your strength up.”

She takes a bite. “You’re sweet.” Her voice is soft, and her tongue darts out, swiping over her lower lip at a stray crumb. She winks at me. “But I can take care of myself.”

Before I can respond, Bandit bounds over, a stick in his mouth, eyes bright with anticipation. Blake laughs, finishes the last of her tart, and tosses the stick. He races after it, kicking up sand.

I want to invite her for dinner tonight, the words right on the tip of my tongue, but Joy is chatting with some of the other volunteers nearby, and Blake might be more likely to give me an excuse if they can hear every word. I’ll wait until the end of the day. Blake’s usually the last to leave and we’ll have some time alone.

“Did you need something?” She leans down and picks up the stick again, one eyebrow raised.

A hand dragged through the curl of my hair. “No, I just wanted to make sure you were eating.” The excuse sounds dumb even to my ears, but I’ve honestly got no game as far as she’s concerned.

I walk over to Joy and the other volunteers, their conversation light and easy, and see how everyone is doing. At the same time, Carlos heads toward Blake, stopping beside her. They both watch Bandit as he tears across the beach again.

“Hey, did that guy ever come back again?” Carlos’ voice is tinged with concern and my attention snaps to them. Carlos works part-time at the Tavern when he’s not working in the hardware store his family owns.

Blake’s expression tightens, knowing instantly who he’s talking about. “No, he hasn’t. I’ve actually been trying to get hold of him, but he hasn’t called me back.”

“Probably a good thing.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” And there’s a sadness in her eyes, something heavy settling over her.

My curiosity is piqued—whoever this guy is, Carlos is concerned about him being near Blake.

Carlos looks at her for a moment longer: “Just be careful, okay?”

“You know me.”

“Yeah,” he replies, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I know how stubborn you are.”

Soon we’re back at work, Blake and I shoveling oil-slicked sand into bags. The shoreline is a hive of activity, with teams working in unison, me calling out instructions periodically. Part of me wants to ask Blake about what Carlos said, but it’s none of my business. Not yet, anyway.

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