Geoducks Are for Lovers (23 page)

“Yes, I love the variations and accessories you wear. Rib cage or monkey this year?”

“I thought I might mix it up and go as something Victorian. Is steampunk passé?” Selah holds up a top hat.

“If I know about it, it probably has reached mass market status.” Maggie puts the top hat back on its shelf.

“True. Like mustaches. I saw a toddler in a coffeehouse with a mustache and a monocle last week.” Selah rolls her eyes.

“You do live in Portland.” 

“At least I think it was a fake mustache. Maybe he was a very short man.” Selah taps her fingers on her chin.

“Like I said, you do live in Portland. You could always go as a pirate wench—a classic.”

“True. Such a cliché. An author of pirate smut going as a smutty pirate is very meta.” Selah seems pleased by this idea.

“You academics with your meta this and that. The rest of the world dresses as a sexy pirate, sexy nurse or a sexy cat.”

“The sexualization of Halloween is fascinating, that’s for sure. Think about it. What is scarier than women taking charge of their sexuality and sexual desires?” Selah steeples her fingers and taps them together like an evil mastermind.

Maggie shakes her head at her friend. “For some men, nothing scarier. Let’s be thankful we don’t have those men in our lives. Speaking of men in our lives, we should probably go meet the guys before they buy half a cow and ten pounds of bacon.”

“Men do love bacon,” Selah follows her out of the store.

“Who doesn’t love bacon?” Maggie asks as they cross the street.

“Orthodox Jews? Vegans? Pig worshipers?”

“It was a rhetorical question. Pig worshipers?” Maggie chuckles.

“Sure, if the Hindu honor the cow as sacred, odds are there is probably some culture that worships the pig.”

“Okay,” Maggie agrees, pulling open the door to the market. 

They find Gil and Ben with several steaks, and sure enough, bacon. Ryan and Quinn come over with another cart containing bottles of wine and a box of cling wrap.

“We have meat for the whole beach.” Maggie looks at Gil and Ben behind their cart o’meat.

“We’re growing men,” Ben declares, rubbing his stomach.

“Wine for everyone,” Quinn explains with a flourish, pointing at his cart.

“And growing alcoholics.” Selah rifles through the mix of red and white wines. “Nice selection of Washington wines there, Doc.”

“Can’t find most of these back home, so I thought it would be fun to taste several.”

“Speaking of not having things back home, I found Fat Tire.” Quinn holds up a six pack decorated with a red bicycle.

“That’s a Colorado beer, Q,” Gil comments.

“I know, but it’s still one of my faves, and you can’t get it in the Northeast, or some nonsense like that.”

“Weird. I don’t know how you think you’re the more civilized side of the country.” Gil frowns.

“We have rotaries,” Ryan says, as if rotaries explain everything.

Maggie eyes the cling wrap, and then Quinn. “What’s with the cling wrap?”

“I noticed you were out. Thought I’d pick up more, being a good guest and all.”

Gil picks up the box. “This is staying in the kitchen this time, right? I still don’t want to know why you had cling wrap in your bedroom in Olympia.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Quinn tosses the box back in the cart.

Maggie leaves the guys in line for a few minutes before returning with her arms full with bags of marshmallows and a box of graham crackers. A jar of Nutella is wedged under her arm along with several bars of dark chocolate.

“S’mores,” she explains when she sees Gil arch his brow.

“With Nutella?” He takes the jar and the chocolate from her.

“Yes, you haven’t lived until you eat them with Nutella. The chocolate goes with a raspberry puree.”

“I’ll have to trust you on this one for now.” Gil sounds doubtful.

“What doesn’t go with Nutella?” She pokes Gil with her elbow.

“Bacon?” He holds up a pack from the cart.

Maggie thinks it over. “Nah. I bet Nutella and bacon sandwiches on brioche would be delicious for breakfast. Maybe done in a panini press so the bread is all toasty and the Nutella kind of melts.” 

“Earth to Maggie.” Gil waves his hand in front of her face.

“Sorry. Got lost in some food porn there for a second.” She sighs.

“Don’t you ever get sick of thinking, writing, and talking about food?” Ryan asks.

Maggie gapes at him for a moment.

“Never. I love my job. I love food.”

“I can appreciate good food, but I’m more of a fuel to survive kind of guy.” Ryan shrugs.

“Men are weird about food,” Selah comments.

Gil bags up their groceries as Ryan reaches for his wallet. Maggie tries to block him by insisting she’s the host. Ryan wrestles his card free from her flailing hand blocks and hands it to the teenage cashier, who is watching them like they’re crazy senior citizens on day release from the home.

“Hey now.” Maggie pouts.

“Maggie, you are letting us take over your home for the weekend. Least we can do is pay for some supplies.”

“He makes about a gazillion dollars a year, let the good doctor pay,” Quinn says, as he loads the cart with the case of wine. “I married very well.”

“I’m the one who married well.” Ryan gazes at him.

Quinn gives Ryan a quick peck on the mouth. 

The cashier’s eyes widen in surprise. His ‘have a good day’ comes out as a cough.

“Guess they don’t get a lot of mister and misters around here,” Selah comments as they head out the back door to the parking lot.

“Not many, but times they are a changing. We’re pretty open minded for redneck, country folk.” Maggie jokes.

“I wonder how open-minded the lumberjack is,” Selah says.

“Oh, do you think he’s ‘open-minded’?” Quinn winks.

“No, Q. Plus, I’m calling dibs.” Selah reminds him.

“Fine. I still have Jack.”

“Speaking of Jonah, let’s grab a coffee before we head back to the beach. Jonah’s hut is on the way,” Maggie suggests.

* * *

There are two cars ahead of them at the Fellowship of the Bean when they pull into line. Maggie sits shotgun next to Ben. Quinn fidgets in the seat behind Ben, his window already down, and he cranes his neck to see the elusive Jonah.

Gil and Selah sit in the very back, clearly trying to pretend they don’t know Quinn.

“Quinn, chill. He’s not even your type.” Maggie turns and shoots Quinn a look.

“There is no living with him at times like these,” Ryan explains from his spot next to Quinn. 

“What does everyone want? I don’t want to sit around like an idiot once we get to the window,” Ben says, sounding very much like the dad he is.

“I want a half caff, half pump—” Quinn starts to say. 

Ben cuts him off. “Do not make me order those crazy coffees. You want half pumps, half foam, you order it yourself.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy.” Quinn laughs and pats the top of Ben’s head.

Everyone else tells Ben their simple orders. When they pull up to the window, a man with a long goatee, wearing a black T-shirt, and what appear to be full tattoo sleeves, greets them.

“Hey folks, what can I get you?”

Maggie leans over the console and greets him, “Hi, Jonah.”

“Hey Maggie! Didn’t see you. What’s up with the jumbo sized vehicle?”

“Friends visiting. Friends, this is Jonah. Jonah, these are the friends.”

Jonah gives a friendly half wave. “Hey.”

From his vantage point in the back of the SUV, Gil can’t really see the coffee guy other than the tattoos and a stretched earlobe. “Hipster,” he mutters quietly.

Selah gives him a nudge. “Your retroactive, possessive caveman attitude is so charming.” 

“Thanks for your sarcasm.”

“First, the lumberjack, now the guy who stands around all day in a little box selling coffee? You can’t be jealous or threatened by these guys.”

“They have location desirability.” He grumbles.

“And you have history on your side. Shut it, Morrow. Or Maggie will think you’re crazy.”

“I’m beginning to believe I am crazy.” He rolls his head, before turning his attention to Quinn, who orders his coffee while leaning halfway out his window.

“Can you do a half pump of sugar free vanilla, too?” 

Ben grumbles in the driver’s seat while Quinn talks with Jonah.

“I think he’s got the order, Quinn. Put it back in your pants,” Ben scolds.

Ryan and Maggie crack up. 

“Ben, there’s no stopping him. You have to let him work it out of his system,” Ryan advises.

Jonah passes their coffees through the window. Quinn’s is last and has a large dome filled with whipped cream.

“Thanks, Jonah. If I lived here, I’d visit your hut every day,” Quinn says, waving good-bye while Ben rolls up his window from the driver’s controls.

Maggie turns around in her seat. “Was he everything you’d hoped?” She winks at Ryan.

Quinn takes a long sip of his iced concoction. “And more. I need a hut boy to call my own. Or maybe Ryan will role-play hot barista with me when we get home.” He dramatically sucks his drink, and winces. 

“Frozen headache.” He cringes and rubs his forehead.

“Quinn, never ever change.” Maggie faces forward, giving Ben directions back to the beach.

Gil thinks the same about Maggie.

Twenty-two

Biscuit runs to greet them when they walk up to the deck with bags of groceries and wine. Jo lies on her stomach on the chaise, but stirs when their footsteps sound on the deck.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Ben walks over to her, bends, and kisses her head.

“Mmmm,” is all that comes from Jo.

“I hope she put on sunscreen,” Ryan tuts.

“I heard you,” Jo mumbles as she turns, shielding her eyes so she can see them. “You’ll be happy to know I did.”

“Good girl.”

Inside, Maggie puts the bags on the counter and glances over at the Scrabble board.

Someone played “HUMP” and a few other words.

“Is that how you spell jizm? Is jizm even a word?” Gil asks, looking over her shoulder.

“I honestly don’t know. You’re a guy, shouldn’t you know these things?” She turns her head. He’s standing right behind her and their faces are only inches apart. Her breath hitches. She wants to kiss him, but doesn’t want an audience.

“I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘jizm’ before this conversation.” Gil blinks.

“Jizm isn’t a sexy word. You should probably avoid saying it.” Maggie’s voice drops to a whisper.

“I agree. Jizm is a terrible word.” He gazes down at her lips.

“Can we agree to stop saying jizm? Make some sort of pact?”

“Done. I’ll never say jizm again.” He sticks out his hand to shake on it. 

Maggie grabs his hand.

“Say what again?” Quinn interrupts. “Ew, who played jizm? Is that how you spell it?” He grabs some tiles and spells “TWAT,” and then walks away.

“Twat? Really, Q?” Gil asks. “Whose idea was this game anyway?” He strokes Maggie’s palm with his thumb.

Her eyes flutter briefly. The feel of his touch runs down her spine. “What?” she asks, realizing she hasn’t been paying attention since Gil took her hand.

“I asked whose idea was this anyway.” 

“What idea?” Maggie furrows her brows. Is he talking about them holding hands?

He squeezes her hand. “I was talking about the debauched Scrabble game. Not this.” He squeezes again.

Her Gil-induced fog clears and she looks at the board.

“Oh, right. Dirty Scrabble was much more hysterical in college.”

“I agree. Nothing shocks us anymore.”

“You still surprise me,” she says softly.

“I do?”

She glances down at their joined hands. “You do.”

He brings their joined hands up to his lips and kisses the back of her hand.

“That’s a good thing. I’ll take it.” He lets go, walks over to the counter, and begins unpacking the meat, putting it into the fridge.

Maggie stands at the table, staring at the board, and trying to calm her heart. She sees a word and plays it.

* * *

A few hours later people are spread around the house and out on the deck. Jo has given up her sunbathing for a shower and proper clothes. Selah sits outside with her iPad, scrolling through lumberjack sites. Ben takes out his phone on the sofa. Jo takes the phone and threatens to remove the battery if he doesn’t stay off of it for the rest of the evening. Gil and Ryan sit at the table outside while Quinn stacks rocks on the beach. 

Maggie looks outside from where she makes sangria in the kitchen. She smiles seeing all her favorite people in one place. A contented sigh escapes and she realizes she hasn’t felt this happy in a long time. She adds a few blackberries and green apple slices into the pitcher of Rosé sangria, and puts it in the fridge to chill.

Cranking up the volume, she blasts Alicia Keyes on the wireless speakers for her iPod. Looking out to the deck, she sees Gil turn around and signal for louder. 

She grabs the speakers and brings them out to the deck with her, placing them on the railing

“Better?” She sits down next to Gil.

“Definitely better.” He squeezes her knee.