Beach Escape

By Tiffany Roul

Haunted by a traumatic event, witty Blaire Jones trades Midwest small-town potluck living for the laidback California lifestyle in New Beach. At her aunt’s insistence, she gets a job as a waitress at the local restaurant. Her first impression? Crashing into the deck and having a margarita fall on her head.

Of course, she would see the hottest guy she’s ever laid eyes on – until he opens his mouth. Something about Cam irritates her instantly. Not the way he’s gorgeous, can keep up with her sarcasm, or causes feelings to arise inside she never thought she’d feel again.         

It’s because he reminds her of him.

But it’s fine, because she can stay away from Cam, right?

Too bad he’s her boss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiffany Roul
• Release date: Oct 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386280552

Book preview

Chapter One

The rich smell of salt water permeates the air of the open car window, seeping into my pores. The warm ocean breeze lifts my hair in strings, tossing it across my face. The twang of a male country artist blares from the car speakers, as I feel relaxed. Free. Safe.

The dinging of an incoming Bluetooth call interrupts the song just as he was about to bellow out the chorus. My eyes ping off the radio screen, checking the caller ID, rolling my eyes as I press the button on my steering wheel.

Hello?

Blaire! I’ve been waiting half the day for you to call, but you never did. My mother’s voice floods through the speakers, tinny and loud. Not surprising, she adds under her breath.

I roll my eyes again. "Ma, we were talking twenty minutes ago. I just drove past the New Beach welcome sign. Give me a damn minute to get to aunt Linda’s house."

Do you have to curse like a hoodlum?

Ma, not only hoodlum’s curse, everyone does. I’ll call you back when I—

Is the weather nice? she interrupts, recognizing my routine of rushing her off the phone.

It’s New Beach, Ma. Of course, it’s nice. Listen, I really should—

"Linda told me they only get rain twice a year. Twice a year! Can you imagine? I’d be a bucket of sweat walking around all the time!"

Buckets can’t walk.

Oh, you know what I meant!

No, I don’t, because buckets can’t walk.

Blaire Lace! She grumbles something unintelligible. Are you wearing deodorant? 

What? Ma, yes. Jesus.

It’s a reasonable question to ask, honey. You’re a very forgetful person.

With names or places. Not hygiene!

Potato, potato.

You just said the same thing twice. I sigh, eyes landing on the street I just passed. Ma, I’ll call you back. You’re distracting me, I don’t want to get lost.

You better actually call me back, Blaire Lace or I’ll—

Come down here and drag me back, I know. Love you! I end the call before my mother can keep me on the phone any longer, or ask if I am wearing underwear.

Focusing back to the streets, I keep my eyes peeled for the signs pointing me to the street I’m supposed to turn onto. After reaching a cul-de-sac, I groan, twisting the wheel to guide the car to a stop outside a lavish stone home. Dread settles low in my stomach. Slamming my hand on the wheel, I exit the car, hands on hips. Reaching into the backseat, I fish through my purse for my cell, dialing my aunt’s number.

She answers on the third ring. Blaire, dear! Are you here?

I’m in New Beach, but the streets are missing a pretty crucial thing, aunt Linda.

What’s that, dear?

Street signs, aunt Linda. I have no idea which street is yours.

Oh, my stars! Aunt Linda clucks, then chuckles. I forgot to tell you. The mayor sent the street signs away to be re-designed. We’re getting all new ones! The whole town can’t wait. It’ll help the tourists when they come. The other ones, why they were simply awful!

Aunt Linda. I rub at my forehead. How do I find your house now?

Oh! Yes, of course. Where are you dear?

I press my lips together to stop the sarcasm from flowing through and stifle a sigh. I’m not sure, aunt Linda. There’s no signs, remember?

Silly me! Aunt Linda laughs heartily. Okay, I’ll come out on the back deck and see if I can – Oh, I see you! You’re not far at all. Can you see me?

I scan the horizon until I see a hand waving back and forth. I see your hand.

Yes, that’s me! Aunt Linda’s hand waves erratically and I laugh as I realize she’s jumping up when I can see her elbow. You just turn down that street and we’re house number four. I’ll see you shortly.

I end the call, get back in my car and point it down the street closest to where I had pulled off. Aunt Linda’s house is the second one on the right with a sprawling four car driveway. After parking my car, I grab my bag from the backseat, taking in my surroundings. Her house sits practically on top of the beach, close enough if I were to cross the road, I would already be on the sand.

The road in front of her house is narrow and doesn’t look big enough for two cars. Sand spilt onto it, leading me to believe the road wasn’t used for vehicle traffic. People walked past barefoot, footwear in hand while others roller-bladed or biked by. If ever a town screamed laid-back California lifestyle, it was here.

Blaire! Aunt Linda is outside on the wraparound deck, glass paneled railings allowing me to see her flowy red dress slap against her legs. She’s waving her arm, the other holding a martini, liquid sloshing over the rim.

I wave back, stopping at the trunk of my car to pull out my suitcase before starting toward the long set of stairs at the front of aunt Linda’s house. When I reach the top, she’s already there, rushing to grab hold of the bag I have hanging from my shoulder.

Blaire! She wraps me in a hug. My God, you’re gorgeous! Look at this hair! She holds strands of my blonde hair between her fingers before tucking it behind my ear. And those green eyes! They remind me so much of the green trees from back home!

She enters the house, martini held steady in her hand, my bag in the other. I follow her, suitcase clacking against the tile floor as I follow into a large living room. The whole back wall is pushed open, connecting to the huge deck. I can see the ocean and hear the waves as they roll in and out. Aunt Linda deposits my bag on a nearby chair, sipping her drink.

Did you call your mother? She called here four times. She rolls her eyes. I said, ‘now, Laura, she’ll be here when she gets here!’ Another sip. She worries too much. Always has. Did I ever tell you about the time when we were kids?

Which time specifically, aunt Linda?

Well, there was this day, we were all walking up the hill – you know the one, you broke your leg coming down it one winter – and your mother, she stopped us in the middle of the road and lectured us on walking on the right side of the road. Something about oncoming traffic or such nonsense. I called her a mother hen. She got so mad!

I smile, all my irritation from the past twenty minutes fading. Aunt Linda and my mother are more opposite than oil and water. My mom the mother figure, being the oldest of her siblings. Aunt Linda was more of the wild child. She married an architect, had two sons, divorced the architect after he cheated on her with someone twenty years younger and used the money from the divorce to retire to New Beach.

My mother, on the other hand, had two daughters, settled down in an old farmhouse in the Midwest and lived happily with her little family. She was a stickler on rules, but every now and then, her silly side shone through and she made me see where I inherited my sarcasm.

Aunt Linda is still talking, hand waving in the air.

. . . but that was fine. We never faulted her for it. She was the oldest of us all. Our brother, Humphrey, he could be a handful. Though she used to say the same about me. Aunt Linda downs the rest of her drink, setting the glass on the side table by her hip. Now then! She claps her hands, waving at me to follow her.

She leads me down a hallway adjacent to the kitchen. Windows are everywhere in this house. You can see the ocean from any direction you are heading. Aunt Linda leads me to the end of the hall, into a room facing the ocean. A four-poster bed with a white sheer canopy draped over the top greets me. A white and pink fluffy bedspread dons the bed, matching pink and white throw pillows piled on top. A mahogany dresser sits opposite the bed, white and pink décor covering the top.

The sliding doors are open, white curtains billowing inside the room. The deck from the front and back of the house reaches this room, allowing me a breathtaking view of the ocean. Aunt Linda deposits my bag on the bench at the end of the bed and faces me.

Is this room okay? It’s the second biggest in the house. I have another spare room downstairs, but I figured you’d appreciate waking up to this view every morning rather than the road downstairs.

I nod. I love it. Thanks, aunt Linda.

Aunt Linda moves over and envelops me in a hug, her perfume filling my senses. She draws back, squeezing my arms. Her gaze softens and I stiffen. How are you, Blaire?

Her question makes me squirm. I back out of her embrace, attacking my suitcase, throwing clothes on the bed to be packed in the dresser. I’m fine.

It was the right move to come here, Blaire, she continues. I know you’ll heal—

Thanks, aunt Linda. I appreciate you letting me stay here. I hug a pile of clothes to my chest, pleading with my eyes to drop the subject of why I’m here in the first place.

Aunt Linda smiles. I’ll run out and pick up dinner. Call me if you need any help settling in.

I will. Thanks.

With another small smile, she turns on her heel and glides from the room, dress flowing behind her. I drop the pile of clothes on the bed and walk out onto the deck. Below, aunt Linda is getting on a pink adult sized bike, turning right to head down the street. Leaning on top of the deck railing, I watch the waves, letting the sound soothe me. A fresh start. A new beginning. Like a boulder has been dropped in my stomach, I try to picture myself back home again, but the image remains dark. Impossible to imagine.

Chapter Two

Praise the Lord, she called back!

Ma, I’ll hang up.

Did you make it alright?

No, I died on the way. This is me calling long distance from Heaven.

Blaire Lace! I ought to smack you silly!

You’re too far away, Ma.

I’ll find a way, don’t you worry about that. I hope you’re not being sarcastic to your aunt Linda.

No, I save it all for you. I smile.

Is it nice there?

It’s gorgeous. I have access to the deck from my room. The ocean is so close, I can see people wiping out on their surfboards.

I hope you don’t get on one of those things. They say they’re just as bad as cars!

Who says that, Ma?

People.

What people?

The ones in the magazines down at the salon.

What magazines, because I’d love to read one.

It wasn’t in a magazine, but Sally – who was reading a magazine – told me her son’s friend’s cousin got into an accident on a surfboard.

Ma, you’re exhausting you know that? Just because one person you don’t even know got into an accident, it makes them worse than cars?

My mom huffs. Fine, Blaire. But you should still avoid those things. You could break a leg!

I have no desire to stand on a wooden plank and balance myself on a wave, so don’t worry.

Fine. Did you meet anyone yet?

While driving here? Yes, I rolled down my window, hung my head outside like a dog and talked to this lovely girl all the way down. She’s amazing. Loves yoga. You should meet her.

You’re something else, Blaire Lace.

If I had a dollar for every time you said my full name, I could buy a beach house next door to aunt Linda’s.

My mother laughs and my heart pangs. I’m homesick. But I’ll never admit it. My leaving to live with aunt Linda for the summer was already hard enough on my family, especially my little sister. Is Brittney there?

She’s playing outside with the calf. Trying to teach it to walk. She laughs again. She’s even got a little waving stick, like she’s directing traffic . . . Hang on, Blaire. A pause, then, "Brittney Jane! You put that stick down right now! Right now!" Another pause. I don’t care, it’s full of cow poop! More silence. I can see it!

My mother grumbles, the screen door slamming through the phone. Sorry, Blaire. Where were we? I can hear the oven door squeak open and closed and my mouth waters. My mother is the best cook I’ve ever tasted and I’ve tasted a lot growing up in a bake sale and potluck bingo town.

What are you making for supper?

Brittney requested lasagna and your father requested an apple pie. I made homemade vanilla ice cream, but it isn’t freezing properly. Your father still hasn’t fixed the freezer. Cows will be flying before that man listens to a word I say. Why, if he ever fixed something within a day of my asking, I’d drop dead of a shock attack.

I cross the room and flop on my bed. A slice of your pie would be amazing right now.

What are you having for supper?

I don’t know. I pick up a pile of clothes and walk it over to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, I dump it in. Aunt Linda is getting takeout.

Don’t you eat too much takeout while you’re down there this summer. It’s bad for your heart.

I begin packing up the clothes. I won’t, Ma.

"Brittney Jane!" My mother’s shrill voice nearly busts my eardrum. I have to go, Blaire. Your sister is out jumping in cow poop. Tell Linda to call me when she gets back.

Love you, Ma.

Love you, sweetie.

I hang up, shoving the cell in my back shorts pocket. A bicycle bell rings, drawing my attention to outside. Running out on the deck, I see aunt Linda riding her bike into her driveway, a bag swaying from the handlebar. She rings the bell again, a huge smile on her face, waving at me. I wave back and walk across the deck and cross into the living room. She’s entering the front door with the bag of food when I reach her.

What a gorgeous day! I have a spare bike if you ever want to go for a ride, darling. It’s in the garage. She lays the bag of food on the kitchen island and begins pulling containers out.

Thanks, I’ll definitely take advantage of that. I’m assuming cars aren’t allowed to drive on the road in front of the house. I grab the container my aunt shoves across the counter, opening it to see fried chicken and fries smothered in gravy.

Aunt Linda is opening her container, grabbing a gravy-soaked fry and eating it. Chewing thoughtfully, she picks up another fry and swings it in the air as she spoke. Normally, no. It’s not a law, you’re absolutely allowed to drive on the road. It’s more of an unspoken rule or a mutual understanding between everyone in New Beach, it’s a vehicle-free road. She shoves the fry in her mouth and takes another. Eat up!

I’m a little surprised to see this type of food here. I pick up a fry and eat it, savoring the flavors. Oh, shit. This is good.

What did you expect to see? Aunt Linda passes me a can of diet soda.

Salads and avocados.

Aunt Linda laughs. There are some who definitely live the California diet – as I call it – but this place caters to the out of towners. The traditional pub food, if you will.

No shit. I grab a plastic fork, spearing several fries, eating them all at once. It’s so good!

They’re looking for a waitress, you know. My aunt’s subtle inability to meet my eyes has me nodding my head with a smirk.

That’s why you got takeout. Just a way of pointing out I need a job? I stab another fistful of fries. Okay. I can take a hint. Where is this place?

Aunt Linda claps her hands together. Great! Your mom had tasked me with getting you a job, but you know me. I’m not pushy like your mama. She points a finger at me and waggles her brows. Don’t tell her I said that.

I cross my heart and pick at the chicken. I wouldn’t dare.

She claps ecstatically and rushes toward the fridge. This calls for a celebration! Mimosa’s for all! She twists with two glasses in her hands, eyes narrowed. Wait, how old are you again?

Twenty-one, I reply with a small smirk.

Aunt Linda’s eyes squint as she studies me. Liar. You’re eighteen. She stares at the glasses thoughtfully then glances at me, putting her finger against her lips. I won’t tell your mama if you don’t!

Giggling, she mixes the drinks and hands one to me. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ve already been drinking since I were sixteen behind Billy Becker’s daddy’s shed. I take a small sip and am pleasantly surprised by the juice-like taste of the drink. This is pretty good.

Those are the ones to watch out for, my aunt chuckles. They go down a lot faster and then before you know it, you’re dancing on a table with your underwear wrapped around your head like a hat.

You speak from experience, I gather? I take another sip, fixing her with a knowing look.

She holds a hand up. I plead the fifth. Waving her hand, she takes a huge gulp of her drink before speaking. Anyway, as I was saying. The restaurant – Wet Willy’s – is looking for a waitress. I may have suggested my beautiful and talented niece for the position to the owner when I was down there.

Wet Willy’s? I raise an eyebrow. Am I allowed to work in a bar?

You won’t be working on the bar side, but rather the restaurant side. In any case, they’re expecting you in an hour.

I nearly choke on my drink. An hour! I’m not even unpacked yet, aunt Linda.

That’s okay. What you’re wearing is fine. They’re a really laid-back establishment.

I gulp down a few more bites of food before rushing for my room. Calling over my shoulder, I ask where the bathroom is located and a moment later, my aunt appears to point me to a room between the front entrance and my room. This room is also facing the beach, with its own set of sliding doors opening onto the deck.

Pulling the doors open, I let the ocean sounds soothe me as I jump in the glass shower. Once I’m done showering and towel drying my hair, I brush it out and shove my hand through it until it falls over one side. Rushing to my room, I pull on a clean pair of light blue shorts pairing it with a light-yellow tank top with the words beach life splattered across the front in pink.

I rush for the front door, only twenty minutes to get to my interview. Aunt Linda? I call as I shove my feet into my blue and white flip flops and open the front door. She appears beside me on the deck outside. Where’s the bike?

Take mine for now. The other one is hooked and locked to the wall. I’ll call my neighbour’s son to come and get it down while you’re gone.

Okay, I shout, already in the driveway by her bike. How do I get there? I ask as I straddle the bike, looking over my shoulder.

You turn right, and keep going until you reach the bar. The sign is out front, and it’s only about five minutes from here.

Okay! I start peddling in the direction she pointed, passing the beach homes like my aunt’s. The sun is beginning to set, casting its pink-yellow glow over everything. The beach is still packed but I can see the lifeguards jumping down from their seats, packing things up for the day.

People are still walking up and down the road in various states of dress, most in bikinis or shorts and a bikini top. None of the men are wearing shirts and it instantly relaxes me. My mind begins to drift to that night – the night that changed my life, and the reason for my being in New Beach. Before I can get too far, I squeeze my eyes shut against the barrage of images being hurled at me like thousands of arrows flying from an army.

I turn my thoughts to imagining what Wet Willy’s will look like instead. Is it set directly on the beach or further back on the other side of the—

Whoa! I lose control of the bike and it’s then I realize I still have my eyes closed. Opening them, I bite back a scream as I see the deck of Wet Willy’s rushing toward me – or more accurately, I toward it. I squeeze my eyes shut again and brace for impact, throwing my hands up, which of course is not the right thing to do because then I just fall off the bike and my limbs are tangled.

But not before I have a chance to slide forward in the dirt and bang my head off the deck while a drink – yeah, a drink – falls, bouncing off my head, pouring thick, freezing slush-like liquid over my hair that reeks of margarita. I untangle myself from the bike and catch a glimpse of about a dozen onlookers all wearing similar expressions of contained laughter.

Getting to my feet, I hold my arms out from my sides, facing the crowd. "My name is Blaire and I’m happy to have provided your early evening entertainment. Please, hold the applause until after I die of embarrassment." Laughter rumbles from everyone and a few people dart forward to help, but I hold my hand up and smile a quick thanks before limping my way through the front door of the bar.

Wet Willy’s is nothing like I expect as the décor of the bar greets me upon entering. Fake palm trees are everywhere, along with waitress’s wearing floral short skirts in different colors and white tank tops. Lei’s are around their neck and a matching flower is pinned in their hair. Trays balancing precarious drinks are held above their shoulders and they’re wearing huge smiles as they maneuver around the tiki booths and tables throughout the dining room.

A long bar stretches across the entire span of the room with a large colorful sign above stating it’s Wet Willy’s Tiki Bar. A bartender has his back to the front door, arm shaking vigorously with a martini shaker in hand. He turns and I suck in a breath. The most gorgeous guy, who looked like he just stepped out of a magazine for women with his tan sculpted arms, biceps flexing. His black hair is wavy and styled atop his head, some hanging in his eyes. The sides are shaved down and shorter than the rest.

He’s incredibly tan and fit. When he looks up, the breath is knocked from my lungs when his blue eyes fixes on me. An indescribable blue reminding me of waves crashing against rocks lining the shoreline. His arm