Geoducks Are for Lovers (13 page)

The sun shining into his room wakes up Gil earlier than normal. He rolls over to see Selah still conked out in the twin bed next to his. Stretching and yawning, he remembers last night’s dancing and flirting with Maggie. He doesn’t stop the smile that crosses his face. Amazed how a song can transport him back in time, he hums a few notes and feels lighter, more optimistic than he has in a long time. 

Maggie’s door is closed when he walks by and he decides not to disturb her. Well, he does want to disturb her, but not for running. He’d like nothing more than to quietly crawl into bed with her. Unlike college, he isn’t even that bold, so he decides he’ll go for a run to work off some of the pent up energy and sexual tension in his body. Maggie has only been back in his life two days, he knows he needs to proceed cautiously.

* * *

The smell of coffee greets a very sweaty Gil when he walks through the front door. Heading into the kitchen, he spies Quinn and Ben by the stove, making what appears to be breakfast.

“Hey guys,” he greets everyone as he walks over to the sink to fill a large glass with water.

“So that answers the ‘where is Gil?’ question. Selah must still be asleep,” Jo says from her perch at the island. Jo has never been a morning person so an entire sentence from her is impressive.

“What wonder is this?” Maggie passes through the kitchen on her way to let Biscuit outside. 

“They’re attempting to make omelets,” Jo answers.

“Morning to you, too,” Quinn kisses Maggie’s cheek and swats her bottom with a spatula when she pours herself a cup of coffee. 

“Anyone else need a refill?” Maggie asks the room in general.

Jo holds up her cup.

Gil catches Maggie ogling him while she stands at the counter. 

“Morning,” Maggie greets him. “You look hot.” She pauses. 

He quirks an eyebrow at her inadvertent compliment and watches her cheeks pink. 

“I mean literally. You’re sweating.”

“I just got back from a run.” He tugs his T-shirt from his damp skin. Her eyes follow his movements. 

“How far did you go?” Maggie asks, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Not sure since I don’t know the island, but I ran for about forty minutes. Five, six miles maybe. I turned back at the donkey.”

“I knew you were flattering me by keeping to my pace yesterday,” Maggie comments, joining Jo at the counter.

Gil gives her a sheepish smile.

“Since when do you run, Maggie?” Jo asks. “In college you’d only have run if a clown was chasing you or there was free booze.”

“Ha-ha on the booze, and who wouldn’t run if a clown was chasing you?” Maggie laughs.

“Why would the clown be chasing you?” Quinn joins the conversation from his sous chef position at the stove. “This is the important question. Is he a demonic clown? Maybe the clown wants to give you a gift? And you keep running away and hurting his feelings.”

“Are you honestly analyzing the mindset of a clown chasing Maggie?” Gil laughs at Quinn’s crazy questions.

“Can we stop talking about clowns?” Ben says.

“Still have the clown phobia, Mr. Grant? What if it was a mime with a flower instead?” Quinn asks. 

Ignoring the clown talk altogether, Ben finishes chopping mushrooms for the omelet. Piled on the cutting board is a mound of grated cheese, another of ham, and now an equally impressive one of mushrooms. 

“What do you want to go with your omelets? Bread? Or maybe potatoes?” Ben asks.

“Oh, Gil can make his home fries. Those were the best hangover breakfast or late night snack ever back when we didn’t worry about what we ate,” Jo comments.

“Gil should definitely make home fries.” Maggie gets up from her stool. “I have potatoes and onions. Spices are in the drawer.” She begins pulling things together.

“I’m happy to help, but need a quick shower first. Mind if I use the outdoor shower?” He gestures at his sweat dampened self. 

“Like we’d ever say no to you using the outdoor shower,” Quinn scoffs.

“I need a towel,” Gil says, glancing at Maggie.

“I’ll grab you one out of the downstairs bathroom,” Maggie calls out as she walks down the hall. 

When she returns, Gil thanks her for the towel and heads outside. The shower stall sits off to the left side of the house, near the kitchen window. Three teak walls create privacy, but if someone wanted to peek, there is a narrow gap between the walls and the side of the house.

Gil tosses his T-shirt and shorts over the door of the shower to keep them from getting wet. He’s conscious of being naked outside and being steps away from Maggie. As he turns on the spray and adjusts the temperature, his mind wanders and his body responds to the fantasy of Maggie joining him in the shower.

* * *

Standing at the kitchen sink, Maggie tells herself she is not thinking of Gil in the outdoor shower. No, not at all.

“Ten dollars if you go outside and offer to wash his back,” Quinn stage whispers to Maggie as she drinks her coffee, obviously lost in a daydream.

“Ten? I bet she would for five,” Ben teases from the stove.

“Who would do what for five?” Selah asks as she walks and heads straight for the coffee maker. 

“Quinn was betting Maggie ten dollars to go offer to wash Gil’s back in the outdoor shower.” Jo fills Selah in on the teasing.

“Gil in the outdoor shower? Mmm, nice.” Selah hums as she pours her coffee.

“Have you ever had sex out there?” Quinn asks Maggie.

“That’s none of your business, Q,” Maggie laughs, snapping out of her daydream.

“Can Ryan and I have sex in your outdoor shower? Someone needs to. It’s a shame if it’s never been christened. Outdoor showers are made for sex.”

“I think outdoor showers are intended to wash the sand off after being on the beach to avoid clogging the septic system, or track sand through the house,” Ben explains.

Quinn frowns at Ben’s literal reply. “Is he always this stiff, Jo?”

Without looking up Jo replies, “Only in the morning.”

Quinn bursts into laughter. “Oh, the lady is hysterical.” He high-fives Jo, who can’t hide her smirk.

“You have my sympathies.” Selah takes Maggie’s old stool at the counter.

“Thanks. Such is the reality of middle age.” Jo sounds resigned.

“Doesn’t have to be. There are these delightful pills now, like
Valley of the Dolls
, only for boys,” Quinn says.

“Hello? Me and my middle-aged penis are standing right here.” Ben waves his spatula.

“According to Jo, the standing is the issue.” Quinn continues to tease.

“Okay, let’s leave Ben and Big Ben alone,” Jo says.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “And which one might Big Ben be?”

Maggie observes the visible tension shimmering between Selah and Jo—they both know the answer to the question.

“No comment.”

“No complaints,” Jo says.

“Okay, I think we’ve exhausted the conversation about Ben’s genitals.” Maggie laughs. “Sorry, Ben.”

“No worries.”

“What did I miss?” Gil walks back inside, wearing a white towel around his waist. Water drops from his wet hair making slow rivulets down his bare chest.

At the sound of his voice, Maggie turns to glance at Gil. Her mouth drops open. Looking at Selah and Jo at the bar, she sees similar expressions on their faces.

“Nothing much. Just talking about Ben’s penis. Typical pre-breakfast conversation,” Quinn, who is staring too, says.

“Okay. That’s normal.” Gil looks between everyone in the kitchen and smirks. “I’ll get to work after I put on some clean clothes. I have home fries to make.”

“No need to get dressed on our account,” Selah suggests. 

“No, no need at all,” Maggie mumbles to herself, regaining the last shreds of her composure as she watches Gil’s retreating back.

Hearing a knock on the door, Maggie looks up and sees John standing outside with a cooler at his feet. She waves him inside. “Morning,” she greets him. 

“Hiya. Hope I’m not interrupting.” John smiles at the group.

“No, of course not. The guys are making breakfast. You should join us,” Maggie suggests.

“Nah, I already ate.”

“Are you sure? We have coffee,” Selah offers, gesturing toward the coffee maker. 

“I’ll take a cup, but I can’t stay for long. I wanted to let you know I chucked the wood down by the fire ring for you.”

Quinn snorts. “Woodchuck.”

Maggie, Jo, and Selah make eye contact. 

“Roger.” Jo stifles a laugh behind her hand.

“Are you all fourteen?” Selah asks them while pouring a cup of coffee for John. 

“Sometimes, yes, yes I am.” Maggie blushes at the memory of Roger and his legendary “wood chucking” skills in the freshman dorms.

Ignoring her giggling friends, Selah asks John, “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” John answers Selah. “I also have a few crabs I picked up in my traps. Thought you might like them for dinner tonight.”

“Yum!” Selah claps. “Can I see them?” She hands John his coffee.

“Sure. Not much to look at, but they’re in the cooler on the deck. Probably shouldn’t leave them in the sun for too long.”

Selah follows John outside and Maggie joins them.

“Of course the lumberjack is here,” Gil says under his breath as he walks into the kitchen and sees the women now fawning over John. 

“He brought over some crabs for dinner,” Ben explains.

“Lumberjack and fisherman. Is there anything he can’t do?” Quinn asks, sounding dreamy.

“Apparently not,” Gil grumbles.

“Someone sounds jealous,” Ben comments.

“I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?” 

“Not saying you are, only that you sound jealous.” 

“The growling is hot, though,” Quinn says

“I wasn’t growling.” He growls.

“If she was going to fuck John, she’s had plenty of chances. Even if she did fuck him, or does fuck him, he isn’t ever going to be more than that. Too young and too much of a lumberjack. Just sayin’,” Quinn says.

Gil stares at Quinn like he’s grown a second head. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Thanks.” He realizes he needs to rein in his bad attitude toward the lumberjack. He doesn’t hold a claim on Maggie. Ben and Quinn probably aren’t the only ones to notice his growling, not that he admits to growling.

Gil stirs the home fries and puts on the lid. Grabbing a coffee, he joins Jo at the counter.

“What’s up with you and Maggie? I’m having deja vu back to us all living together. You can cut the tension between you two with a butter knife.”

“I’m not really sure to be honest.” Gil shrugs. There’s been enough meddling in what is brewing between he and Maggie. He doesn’t need more.

“Whatever is going on, I hope you get yourselves sorted out right this time. Stupid French Incident ruined everything.”

Jo’s words surprise him. He wonders if everyone in the house knows what happened twenty-two years ago.

* * *

They decide to eat breakfast outside in the sun. John waves off another offer to join them, for which Gil is grateful. Maggie and Selah have been gushing over his crabs and resourcefulness while Quinn muttered sexual entendres under his breath about wood and crabs. Even cool, collected Jo seems to be under the lumberjack’s spell. Gil is two seconds from rolling his eyes. 

“He’s just the sort of guy you’d have an affair with.” Jo notes after John walks back over to his house.

“Oh, trust me, you are right about that.” Selah sighs.

“You two sound like most of the women who summer on this beach.” Maggie rolls her eyes, causing Gil to smile.

“Does he fuck around?” Hope twinkles in Selah’s eyes.

“Not with the married women. The island is a small place, so if he were a slut, we’d all know. My guess is he’s a good guy or discreet.”

“Good guys can be sluts too, you know,” Quinn says.

“He’s a good friend. And a neighbor.” 

“Locationally-desirable is a bonus,” Jo agrees.

“Yeah, but a little close if things got awkward. He’s sweet. And where would I get free crabs if we weren’t friends?”

“I am resisting making any commentary about getting crabs from John. I just want you to know that,” Quinn says.

“Thank you,” Maggie replies.

Ben and Gil quietly watch this exchange as they finish their breakfast.

“Since I didn’t cook, and it’s my house, I’ll clear and do the dishes.” Maggie gets up from the table and starts gathering plates. “If we want to hike Ebey’s Landing, we should head out sooner rather than later.”

Selah and Jo help her clear before following Maggie inside.

“Look at us being 1950s women washing dishes whilst the menfolk digest,” Jo declares.

“More like the Victorians.” Maggie unloads the dishwasher.

“If we were Victorian ladies, we’d have servants,” Jo says as she scrapes food into the trash.

“Wait, you do have servants, don’t you?” Selah asks.

“A babysitter and a housekeeper, who comes once a week. Hardly ‘servants’.”

“What about a gardener? Groundskeeper?” Selah continues to tease as she rinses the dishes.

“True. We do use a landscaper and someone deals with the pool during the summer. Neither Ben nor I have green thumbs. Or the time.”

“These days, who does?” Selah muses. “I have a cleaning woman who comes twice a month. Otherwise it would look like meerkats shared my house.”

“Are meerkats notoriously messy creatures? Don’t they live underground? Do they hoard things?” Maggie asks.

“Who knows? I’m more of a magpie. I like bright shiny things and useless trinkets.”

“Shiny trinkets sounds like pirate booty.” Maggie chuckles.

“Speaking of pirate booty, how are those books you write doing? Still selling on Amazon?” Jo asks.

“I won’t be retiring on them, but they sell surprisingly well. Apparently, I am not the only woman, or man, who has a thing for eye patches and beards.”

“Johnny Depp as a pirate helps the fantasy, that’s for sure.” Jo loads the dishwasher.

“I wonder if eye patches will be the new hipster eyewear,” Maggie says.

“Did I miss the monocle trend? I figured that was next with the whole nerdy glasses going on these days in Portland,” Selah says.