Geoducks Are for Lovers (14 page)

“I don’t think we have hipsters in Connecticut.” 

“No, probably not. Hipsters don’t do mortgages or good school districts,” Selah responds.

“I think Quinn is a hipster, we should ask him.” Maggie glances out toward the deck to where the guys are hanging out. 

Ben paces outside, giving instructions in some sort of code on his phone. “Marcus can’t. He’s busy on-boarding the new client. Have Neal handle the P&L reports, as well as the quarterly statements,” Ben says.

Gil and Quinn sit at the table with their coffees, half listening.

“Do you think Ben is in charge of the TPS reports?” Quinn asks. 

“He might as well be quoting
Office Space
for all I understand.” Gil looks at Ben in his polo shirt and madras shorts—the picture of success.

“Once Marcus is done with the on-boarding, make sure he finishes the new CMS upload.”

“See? He said TPS.” Quinn chuckles and drinks the last of his coffee.

“He said CMS,” Gil corrects.

“Does he ever stop working?” Quinn asks.

“I was just checking in with the office, not working,” Ben answers after ending his call. “My being in Vancouver for the week means everyone will have been slacking off and getting nothing but the bare minimum done. Zero focus.”

Maggie walks out on the deck. “Being the boss isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Everyone secretly hates you, some less than secretly.” 

“Try running a studio where people are living off of your creativity. Then having ‘critics’… ” Quinn makes air quotes around the word. “ …ripping your genius to shreds.”

“When I write a restaurant review I always try to say something complementary even when the food was horrendous and inedible. Sometimes I just focus on the decor.”

“Yeah, but art and food are two different things. Food disappears in a few minutes. Art lives on for the ages.”

“Bad food can kill you though,” Gil says. “Bad art will only give you nightmares.”

“True. Although I think one of Christo’s umbrellas killed someone,” Quinn says.

Ben joins them at the table. “So we’re hiking today? Do I need gear?” 

“Just comfortable shoes. We’re not climbing Rainier or anything,” Maggie says.

Selah and Jo walk outside. Selah wears Bermuda shorts and a colorful, gauzy shirt. Jo wears a pink polo and short khaki shorts, which show off her long, perfectly-tanned legs. 

“We aren’t doing anything strenuous, right?” Selah points down at her worn chucks.

“Everyone is dressed fine as they are. This is more of a beach walk with a big hill. Let me grab Biscuit’s leash and we’ll go.” Maggie follows Gil over to the door.

At the word ‘leash’ Biscuit runs to the door as Gil opens it to head inside. Biscuit practically tackles him to get inside where his leash is kept. As Gil reaches out to steady himself, he braces himself using Maggie’s arm, pinning her against the door jam. 

He hears her breath hitch while his heart races, and it isn’t from the adrenaline of almost face planting. Taking a moment to collect himself, he realizes they are still partially entwined.

“Someone’s excited to go,” he states the obvious.

“Biscuit loves going anywhere. He acts like he’s a shut-in who never leaves his house.” Maggie pulls away from Gil’s body heat and closes the door behind her, but not before he hears Ben say, “Get a room, you two.”

She rolls her eyes at Ben. 

“I feel like we’re twenty again around this gang. Is it just me?” she asks him.

“There is something about all being together that causes us to revert to old behaviors.” 

His words sting Maggie and he sees the hurt flash briefly in Maggie’s eyes, or at least he thinks he does. He’s not sure why she looks hurt by his words, but he wants to fix it. The two of them were always huge flirts with each other before the French Incident. “I mean some old behaviors aren’t bad things at all. We wouldn’t all still be friends if it was all bad. Some of the past was really good.”

“It was?” She sounds insecure and unsure.

“Of course it was. Some of my fondest memories are with this group of people.” Feeling bold, he adds, “Some of my best memories are with you specifically. I wouldn’t change those for anything.”

“Really?” 

“Don’t you agree? I mean, I’m not one of those types who had their glory days in high school or college, and feel like everything since then has been downhill. But everything was bigger… more, back then. Everything felt deeper, more important when we were in our twenties.”

“Probably the undeveloped frontal lobe or something.” Maggie jokes.

“Maybe. Some feelings become deeply ingrained and never fade, even with time.” He squeezes her arm. 

“Maybe,” is all she can get out. 

“No maybes about it for me,” Gil says, looking into her eyes.

She blinks and he squeezes her arm again, then steps away from the door. The rest of the group walks in and busies themselves gathering their stuff to leave. 

Unspoken words bounce around his head as they head out to the car.

Fourteen

Maggie hooks on Biscuit’s leash when they pile out of Ben’s rented SUV in the parking lot of the trail-head. After Selah and Gil crawl out from the back row, Maggie giggles over the thought that they all resemble clowns getting out of a tiny car.

Gil stretches his arms over his head, then tugs at Maggie’s French braid. “So, island girl, where do we go?”

She points at the trail marker and starts walking in that direction. “We’ll head north up the bluff first.”

Gil walks beside Maggie and Biscuit leads the way up the trail through the tall grass. The rest of the group follows behind, with Selah and Jo trailing last, having an in-depth conversation about gray nail polish.

The trail narrows at the top of the hill as they approach the tree line, so they walk in a single line, with Gil following Maggie. 

Wondering if his eyes are on her, she teases, “Are you looking at my ass?” 

Gil laughs, knowing he’s been caught. “I’m so busted. I was just admiring your strong leg muscles from running.”

“Uh huh. Leg muscles.” To taunt and tease him, she wiggles her ass, and peeks over her shoulder at him.

“Are you trying to kill me, Maggie May?”

“Maybe.” She giggles. Flirting with him is like floating, effortless once she relaxes. 

Sweat dampens her neck from the sun’s strong rays. She hands Biscuit’s leash to Gil, then pulls her long-sleeve shirt over her head, and feels a light breeze on her stomach and breasts. Her face warms when she realizes she’s pulled both shirts over her head.

“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Gil softly groans as she tugs her T-shirt back down. 

Her head pops back out when she finally pulls off the thermal. “Sorry about that.” 

When she sees Gil staring at her chest, her face heats more while she ties her thermal around her waist. 

Even though he’s wearing aviators, she can tell where he is looking. Her breasts are fuller now than they were in college. He rubs his neck and pushes his hand through the back of his hair. Maggie smiles at his familiar gesture that reveals his discomfort. Her eyes wander down his shirt-and-shorts covered frame, stopping when she notices a telltale bulge.
Oh my
, she thinks.

When she raises her eyes up, he waves her to face forward and continue walking. “Nothing to see here. Let’s keep going.” 

“I wouldn’t say nothing.” Maggie flirts, seeing it’s Gil’s turn to have his face redden

“What’s the hold up?” Ben asks as the rest of the group stops behind them.

“Nothing,” both Maggie and Gil say at the same time.

“Then carry on.” Ben suspiciously glances between them.

After hiking along the bluff, Selah wants to wander over to the old cemetery. The goth girl in her still has a thing for death and headstone epitaphs. Selah convinces Quinn to join her, and they link arms as they walk away. 

The others beachcomb while Biscuit plays in the small waves. Gil finds a stick-size piece of driftwood and tries to get Biscuit to fetch. The attempt becomes a game of Biscuit watching Gil running back and forth fetching the stick, which amuses Maggie. She laughs at Gil.

Jo walks over to Maggie, who scans the beach for wishing rocks. “It’s good to see you laugh again. The past few years sucked.”

Maggie gives Jo a one-armed hug. “Thanks. It’s amazing to laugh and feel light after so much darkness and death, like the sun is out again after a long rain.” Her gaze wanders over to Gil. 

“I wonder if the sun has a name.”

Maggie realizes she’s been staring. “I’m happy to be with all of you. Old friends are the best. No need to explain yourself, you can just be.”

“Uh, huh. You don’t get a dreamy expression when you look at me or anyone else.” Jo nudges her with her elbow.

“Hmmm, maybe.”

“What’s going on with you two anyway?” 

Maggie bends down to pick up a beach rock with a white circle. The ring doesn’t connect on the bottom, so she tosses the rock down on the sand.

“I’m not sure. This is the first time we’ve seen each other in years. It’s nice to hang out with him again. I’d forgotten what an amazing guy he is. So easy to be with.”

“And single.” 

“I don’t know if Gil is single. What happened to the girlfriend?”

“What girlfriend? You need to verify your information with him, since you refuse to join the world of social media world. I was surprised there isn’t a rotary phone at the cabin.”

  “There’s a rotary phone in my bedroom left over from my grandparents.”

Jo laughs. “This place really is a time capsule.”

One of the things she loves best about living here is the timeless beauty. Maggie stares out over the water toward the dormant volcano of Mt. Rainier in the distance. Closer, a large container ship moves out to sea with cargo destined for faraway ports. 

“Slowing down and not being a slave to consumer living are good things,” Maggie says.

“Cutting yourself off from the world and letting life move past you are not.” Jo’s words are clearly about more than the island. “You are an amazing woman. You can’t hide away on an island for the rest of your life. You’re young, beautiful, fit, sexy—stop trying to deny who you are.”

“Aw, thank you for the compliments, but I’m not hiding away. I write reviews and articles read around the world. I’m very international. In fact, I might be up for a big magazine assignment for my former editor that could push me to the next level.” She picks up a small rock with a whole circle and rubs off the sand. She holds it in her hand as they walk, gently stroking its smooth surface.

“Your work isn’t hiding, but you are.”

“Lumberjack John is right next door.”

“Yes, but you’ll never have a real relationship with him. What is he? Twenty-eight? He’s a child.”

“He’s thirty-two, and hardly a child. It’s good to flirt with someone who brings me food and wood, and can change a light bulb. What more do I need?”

“Maggie, you know I love you, but life is short. Lizzy reminds us of that. I want to see you happy and whole.” Jo’s exasperation comes out in her words.

“Meaning married with kids and the whole shebang? We don’t all get the American dream wrapped up in a neat box with a pretty bow. Not all of us want the box or the bow.”

“Sometimes the pretty box is more of a cage. I’m not saying you need the kids and the ring on your finger to be happy. Lord knows it doesn’t guarantee happiness.” Jo’s eyes drift over to Ben. “But I think life is better when you have love. Not a friendly neighbor, or old friends kind of love either, but a love that causes your heart to race and your toes to curl.”

Maggie glances back toward Biscuit and Gil playing behind them in the distance. Ben sits on a large driftwood log tapping away on his phone. They’ve walked further than she realized. 

“Does anyone still have that kind of love at our age? Do you and Ben?”

“Some people do. Sometimes it’s more a day or even an hour of happy, giddy love. Ben and I have our moments. It’s hard with the kids and his career. But yeah, he can still make my heart race.”

Maggie tucks her arm into Jo’s as they walk. “I’m happy to hear that. You two have been together forever. I would hate to think what was once a great passion is only an ember now.”

“I’ll be honest, most of the time it’s the ember. But every now and again the fire reignites. The trick is to keep the ember alive. You can’t have a roaring fire every day.”

“No, not a roaring fire. Especially not in front of the children.” Maggie chuckles.

“Fires and children aside, everyone needs love in their lives. Real love between lovers. Not friend, parent, child, or even dog love.”

Maggie knows what she means. She’s shut that part of her heart off for so long.

“Life’s messy, with no guarantees, but you still need to live and love. None of us know how long we have here.”

“That’s the truth. Mom’s death reminded me of that and it’s why I sold her share of the bakery. It wasn’t my passion. But her death is also why I’m here on the island. And being here makes me happy in ways living in the city, with its paper dragon wealth chase, never did. I can live more in the moment.”