Page 30 of The Ruse of Romancing
Fine. I believe she was going to the beach. I recommended a couple of options. Not sure which one she picked, but all the ones I suggested were north of town.
Beaches north of town was a broad list to work with, but it at least gave me a starting point. Grabbing my keys, phone, and water bottle, I headed to the garage where I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes I kept specifically on hand for walking on the beach. I shot a quickthank youtext to Joane and climbed into my car.
I paused as the garage door opened, wondering if I was making a mistake. But then the comparisons to Grey and my grandparents’ worries about my future came flooding back. I reversed out of the garage and pulled onto the road as I pushed any hesitations aside. I was going to build a successful career, no matter what, and I needed Dani’s help and connections to make it happen.
Chapter 16
Dani
Iwokeearly,potentialstory lines a jumble in my head. I’d attempted to write again after the sourdough therapy session and meeting my landlords, but hadn’t found much success. Instead, I’d had a series of dreams where Hypatia turned Petros into a loaf of bread. Not exactly the riveting sequel to a romantasy novel Avery was looking for but maybe it would get traction for its unique, groundbreaking approach?
Yesterday before leaving her house, I’d asked Joane for recommendations of beaches in the area and this morning I planned to check one of them out. I couldn’t believe it had taken me two days since arriving to find beach time. What was the point of a trip to the Oregon coast if I didn’t actually visit the coast? It was a travesty that needed to be remedied immediately.
As I drove, I tried to remember Joane’s directions, following a winding road past restaurants and old houses until the trees cleared and the view of the ocean caught my attention. It wasn’tthe spot I was looking for, but the cliffside overlook was too tempting to ignore.
I found a place to safely pull over and observe the blues and whites of the ocean waves as they crashed onto the shore, the sound making the tension melt from my shoulders. Breathing in the sea air was the most relaxed I had felt since I submitted my final draft ofOf Curses and Pomegranatesover a year ago.
I took in the initial sensations of being near the ocean before registering the rest of my surroundings. I was standing on an overlook perched on a cliff above the beach. There wasn’t an easy way down to the shore, but up here there was a bench, which could be a promising location to write. I wouldn’t be able to dig my toes into the sand, but I would be able to write to the soothing sounds of waves punctuated by the occasional passing car without fear of sand or water ruining my laptop. I also couldn’t imagine the random bench on the side of the road being a happening place, except maybe during sunset. From its perch on the cliff, this bench would offer the perfect view of the vibrant hues I was sure filled the sky most evenings over the Pacific Ocean.
I turned to head back to my car to snag my laptop, which I’d stashed in a bag in the trunk, when another car stopped near me, a family spilling out and exclaiming over the view.
Then again, maybe the spot was too visible and too close to the road. While I wasn’t looking for a perfectly silent place to work, I’d prefer one that didn’t include a small child screaming about how they wanted ice cream at full volume in my ear.
I quickly retreated to my car, determined to find the beach access Joane had recommended. Fingers crossed it came with a beautiful view and a bit more space between me and any other tourist who might also be visiting the beach.
Ten minutes later, I pulled into a nearly full parking lot, managing to snag one of the few remaining spots. While it wasstill early, it looked like I wasn’t the only one who had attempted to beat the crowds. The beach goers at this time of day looked to be of the more active variety wearing sports bras, spandex shorts, and tennis shoes. I could see several figures running on the sand, dogs in tow.
I debated finding a spot to set up writing, but their movement looked inviting. Maybe a workout would jog a few more ideas loose, no pun intended.
Deciding to join the many runners at a more sedate pace, I grabbed my headphones, put my phone and keys in my pocket, and made my way to the beach. Once I hit the sand, I slipped off my sandals, eager to feel the sand between my toes. This would be more of a leisurely walk than a workout. But in my book, exercise was exercise, even if my pace didn’t exactly raise my heartrate.
I started off in one direction, walking on the damp sand close enough to the water for the occasional wave to run over my toes without risking the water soaking the bottom of my leggings. The cool temperature was pleasant while still making my breath catch in surprise. As I carefully picked my way along the shore, I scanned the ground, keeping an eye out for interesting seashells or rocks.
After a moment of listening to the waves, I stuck in one of my earbuds and turned on the audiobook I’d started on the plane. I quickly became immersed in the story and my search for beach treasures. I only picked up a couple of shells and rocks here or there, recognizing that I would be here for a while and didn’t exactly have the desire or luggage space to bring home an extensive seashell collection. However, I wouldn’t mind bringing home a few to remind me of this trip and my time on the coast. I also wouldn’t mind placing a few in the kitchen windowsill of my rental, bringing in a reminder of the beach to add a small personal touch to the bright space.
I was so absorbed in my book and the romantic scene that was building between the two main characters that I didn’t hear someone approaching until he’d fallen into step beside me.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a deep familiar voice said.
I gave a small shriek, throwing my hands up in the air and launching any seashells I’d been holding at my potential attacker, though I somehow managed to hold onto my shoes.
A heart-stopping chuckle and sounds of protest followed the kneejerk reaction and I looked up to find Allen standing next to me, his hands attempting to shield his face from my unintentional projectiles.
“I come in peace,” he said, taking a step back from me.
“Allen! I’m so sorry.” I quickly took out my earbud and slipped it back into its case.
I attempted to brush off the sand I’d flung his way along with the seashells and rocks. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I tried to help, running my hands down his arms and chest to chase away the specs of sand I could see dotting his dark t-shirt. I was mortified, though not so much that I couldn’t appreciate the well-defined muscles I felt under his shirt as I worked to rid him of any evidence of my freak out.
So much for my carefully cultivated seashell collection or for impressing Allen the next time I saw him. Now the shells were scattered back onto the beach, likely broken, just like my pride.
I’d have to remember this exchange for the autobiography I’d be writing someday:How Not to Woo a Man and Other Life Advice from Danielle Baldwin.
“I’m fine, I promise,” Allen said, stepping out of my reach and holding up a hand to stop any further assistance I might have offered. “Note to self, don’t sneak up on Dani.”
I bit my lip and ducked my head.
“It’s a lesson most people in my family have had to learn the hard way. My cousin Chloe still teases me about the time Ispilled an entire pitcher of lemonade on her in high school when she snuck up behind me at a family party.” Chloe had been wet and sticky, and I still cringed when I thought of the photo our cousin Kaden had captured of Chloe’s outrage in the moment, splashing it all over social media because Kaden was legitimately the worst.
