I’m Ellis Probert. I don’t get hung up on guys I only just met.
“We open in less than an hour. I’ve got an errand to run, and I’m taking an early lunch.” I pause before delivering the sucker punch. “And I’ve left the onions for you.”
“Motherf—” The swing door cuts off Iris’s curse as I leave, and I can’t help the nervous anticipation that takes root in my gut.
At five this morning, I stopped outside Macsen’s door on my way to another early morning surf and slid a note underneath it.
Two days of not getting to talk to him were taking their toll, and so I’d decided to be the Ellis who took charge of what I wanted. If he were any other guy, the chase would be on. Only, I’m trying to pursue Macsen with a touch more subtlety, and less obvious desperation.
I’ve initiated contact. I’ve laid down the rules in my head and will play this my way. As much as I’ve tried to kid myself all morning that I’ll be okay if he doesn’t show up, I know better.
I think you promised me lunch. 11am. Stella’s Seafood Shack on the harbour.
Yeah, smooth. Real smooth. How could he resist such a well-worded invitation?
I haven’t seen Macsen since I caught a brief glimpse of him sitting at the bar last night, and he hasn’t come looking for me, which has left me irrationally annoyed.
Not knowing where I stand with him, or even if he’s interested, has been driving me crazy. What happened between us the other night was probably no more than a minor flirtation. Yes, it felt more to me, but I’m hardly an expert on human connection. I fucked and get fucked. I don’t yearn for any more than that.
Until him.
Since the second I left him in his room Friday night, the door softly closing behind me, I’ve all but vibrated with the need to search him out and demand answers—make him tell me why I feel this way.
I don’t know if the offer he made that night still holds, but I’m determined to make sure he knows where my interests lie.
On shaky and unfamiliar ground, that’s where they lie.
I check my watch, see I have ten minutes until it’s time, and without a word to anyone, I slip out the side alley door and head to the harbour.
The town centre is slowly beginning to fill, but it’s not packed like it has been the last few days. Most of the families who were visiting for the weekend have gone back home. School holidays aren’t for a few more weeks, and the mid-week holidaymakers tend to consist of couples, retirees and families with babies and toddlers.
Lily Bay’s old-world charm draws a diverse crowd. Here, people find solace in a less commercialised environment. We don’t have a nightclub, there are no arcades filled with slot-machines or rides, and no holiday camps with year-round entertainment. The nearest theme park is almost an hour’s drive away, but what Lily Bay seems to lack only serves to enhance the town’s appeal.
Here you can spend a relaxing day on one of the three unspoilt beaches. You can take one of the many boat rides around the coast and search for seals and dolphins or walk miles along the cliffs and coastal paths renowned for their stunning views, wildlife and scenery. You can fish from the harbour, or book one of the many fisherman’s trips to find your catch out at sea. We have jet-ski and kayak hire, a sailing club, a lighthouse, and lifeboat station. There are tearooms and ice-cream parlours. Fine dining mixed in with small cafes. Local art galleries nestled next to bookstores and shops selling trinkets and crafts.
No, Lily Bay isn’t commercialised in the way some coastal towns are, but it holds its own because of its beauty and atmosphere. People flock here simply to relax.
This place is so much more than my home. It’s a part of me and everyone who lives here, and it leaves a mark on anyone who visits.
But none of this explains why a hotshot like Macsen Evans has relocated here. Something tells me that finding out the reason he’s in Lily Bay will be the key to all the answers I need.
I say hello to the few locals I pass, mostly keeping my head down not wanting to be stopped and drawn into long conversations about the upcoming Lily Bay festival or the travesty that the town didn’t win this year’s ‘Village in Bloom’ competition.
Each smack of my feet on the cobbles takes me a step closer to him.
If he’s there.
When I crest the hill and take the winding bend that leads to the harbour, the view of the sea and all the bobbing fishing boats opens up before me.
I see old Jack Walters and his nephew Simon hauling in their nets. I can see Gwyn Gifford cleaning the deck of his glass-bottomed tourist boat. I see a line of customers beginning to build outside Stella’s Seafood Shack, but I don’t see Macsen.
Disappointment threatens to burrow under my skin, and I take a quick look at my watch to check the time.
Ten-fifty-eight.
I get to the harbour wall and look down on the people below. The small harbour church is opening its doors for morning service, and curious tourists flock to step into its sun-warmed flagstone interior.
Ten-fifty-nine.
I turn and lean against the old, weather-beaten bricks hoping I don’t look as anxious as I feel. I want to search in all directions. I want to check every nook and alley. Instead, I slip my hands in the pockets of my shorts and stare out across the bay, watching as gulls drift on the eddies revelling in their untethered freedom to glide and float, letting the sea breeze dictate where it takes them.
“Have you found what you’re looking for?”
Macsen’s smooth voice comes from my left and my eyes close briefly in relief.
“I have.”
He leans facing forward, hands pushing into the top of the stone wall, body curved towards me.
“Me too.” A confession.
I can feel his gaze resting intently on my face, ignoring the serene beauty of the view spread out before him. The intensity of his stare thrills me. That this man finds me more appealing to look at than a coastline that has inspired hundreds of artists, sculptors, writers and poets alike, sends sizzling sparks of need across my skin.
How can he affect me so?
“Why did you come here?” The question is out before I can censor it.
“You invited me. For the best fresh crab rolls. Remember?”
His tone tells me he knows I was asking a different question, and so I wait.
He shifts, his body coming within an inch of mine before finally ending his intense perusal to look out over the bay. The loss of his eyes on me leaves me feeling oddly bereft. The sensation only adds to my inner turmoil, fuelling the senseless anger that bubbles and spits in my gut, demanding I set it free or else it will explode sending emotional shrapnel at anybody in harm’s way. The way he affects me has me spinning. The greater part of me wants to grab it with both hands and embrace it, but the tiny part of me that finds this all so unbelievable wants to fight and curse. Standing here in a place that usually brings me solace, with a man I’ve inexplicably yearned for all weekend, only serves to feed that small kernel of anger.
He sighs softly, sensing the turbulence in the air between us.
“Do you believe in fate, Ellis?”
Now it’s my turn to watch him. “Not in the slightest.”
“Yet you feel the connection between us. I know you do.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and my initial instinct is to brush it off, tell him what he’s talking about is lust, nothing more, nothing less, and that a quick fuck will soon get it out of both our systems. Instead, I grind my teeth together and remain mute, watching the breeze ruffle through his hair and wishing it was my fingers.