In the morning, I wake up in an empty house feeling like a thousand pounds of sand is pressing against my chest.
Oh my God.
What was I thinking?
Shame burns my cheeks as memories of last night flash in my head like a bad movie. Of me acting all sassy and brazen in front of my ex. Of me flirting with Dave. The way I stripped to the bone and skinny dipped in the dark knowing full well that there was a chance Nick sneaked a peek.
Me, kissing Nick.
I squint, pressing fingertips to my temples as I step out of bed and go to the bathroom, my hair a tangled cobweb of curls from sleeping on it wet. I stare hard at myself in the mirror, the enchanting, vivacious creature I had imagined myself being last night now resembles a wrinkled crypt keeper.
A pounding headache starts to form above my neck from the mixture of alcohol and constant tossing and turning.
Coffee.
I need coffee desperately, but there is no Allyse this morning, knocking gently on my bedroom door like she did the first morning we stayed together, carrying a tray full of coffee with a shy, hesitant smile. After I amble down the stairs from the attic, each step treads creaking in accusations, I pause at Allyse's open bedroom door, the bed now neatly made, and pillows aligned. She's done so many other things for me during the past two weeks, and how have I repaid her?
I kissed her boyfriend.
It doesn't matter that they had broken up. It doesn't matter that I was married to Nick first or that we had a child together or that all we did was kiss.
It was wrong.
And what would have happened had the kayak not crashed into my leg, breaking the moonlit spell between us?
I don't know the answer to that.
In the kitchen, I brew an entire pot of dark roast in hopes that twelve ounces of caffeine will give me the answer. The coffee pot soon hisses and fizzles as the last of the water peculates through the filter. I fill a mug and take it to the family room, sinking into a plush recliner and pulling a blanket over my bare legs. I'd like to think that nothing more would have happened, that common sense would kick in, making me back away from Nick before things escalated, even though he's the reason why I'm here at the beach.
Me, the self-proclaimed sand-hating non-beach person.
After all, that was my plan.
When Nick asked me to join him in Ocean City to work on Haven ... and to spend time together, just the two of us, it sparkled something within me. That whisper of reconciliation hope, however small, motivated my last-minute emergency makeover, spending a fortune on new clothes, spa treatments, and beauty products. Add in the insane amount of freebies Sonya gave me that I diligently used due to the slim chance Nick might see me as a different person ... a laid-back, adventurous, beach person.
Well, it worked.
What did he say last night? "Or maybe it's not too late for us, Marcie."
I should be ecstatic over this. Sonya would be. That's for sure. Maybe I should call her in case she can help me make sense of this.
I haul myself from the recliner and walk to the kitchen counter where I had tossed my tote bag last night. I dig out my phone and refill my coffee, calculating the days of her vacation in my head ... she left for Port Canaveral a couple of days after gifting me those products for her comped eight-night cruise. Factor in a day of travel, surely, she's home by now and she's an early riser, so calling her shouldn't be a problem.
Sonya answers on the first ring, as though she were waiting for a phone call.
"Oh, hey, Marcie, how are you? How's the beach?"
I sink back down on the sofa with Sadie nudging my toe, waiting for an invitation to join me. I pat the sofa, smiling as she struggles onto the sofa, flopping heavily beside me with her head on my lap. Stroking her gray-streaked fur give me comfort as I recount the past two weeks.
"Hey, Sonya, it's been ... great, actually."
This is the truth.
Well, finding out that Nick ditched me, sending Allyse instead without any notice and then finding out Haven had been destroyed by renters sucked. But everything else?
It's been amazing.
Going to Fish Tales with Sadie and drinking orange crushes with Allyse, toasting to fair winds and mermaids. Shopping for a bikini. Hanging out at the pool, and then meeting Dave at Coconuts. Eating chipped beef and meeting Gloria at The General. Meeting Hoda. Spence. Going to the beach and enjoying dirty banana cocktails on the boardwalk. Paddle board yoga, happy hours, and hanging out on Ryan's deck with bottles of wine and jewelry making kits.
Seeing Ryan on my doorstep.
Even the long hours working at Haven were fun, with music playing and pizza by the bay, laughing together as the sun set.
It's all been amazing.
"I'm so happy to hear that, Marcie! Does this mean things have worked out with Nick? Are you back together," Sonya asks, her voice laced with girlish excitement.
I finger the friendship bracelet still wrapped around my wrist.
Are we?
"No. I mean ... I don't know. Things are ... complicated." The last thing I want to do is talk about the kiss, so I steer the conversation in a different direction. For now, at least. "How was your cruise? Did you and Matt have a great time?"
"It was fantastic," Sonya says before snorting. "But yeah, I know what you mean by complicated. Things with Matt have gotten sticky again as well."
A jolt of concern runs up my spine. "Really? Even with your amazing vacation?"
One that was provided by Sonya for free, I might add, which I suspect was the reason why Matt wanted to get back together with her after their breakup.
She lets out a deep sigh. "Things were great on the cruise. At least I thought they were. We laughed, we danced, we watched the sunset on the balcony with wine every night, and we had a total blast on the excursions the cruise line comped me. But once we got back home, he said that the amount of time I spent taking photos and videos for content hurt his feelings ... like I didn't want to spend time with him or something."
Wait ... what?
"But that's your job," I say. "And the reason why you were gifted the cruise, so you could promote them."
I'm hardly a social media expert, but even my small Instagram account has taught me how much time it takes to gather and post photos. What did Matt expect, especially since I suspect a free trip was the only reason he wanted to reconcile, to begin with?
"I know," Sonya says, "it is my job ... one I'm so grateful for, but I could have paid more attention to him. I could have done things differently and— "
Her words cut off.
"Marcie, can I get back to you? Matt's calling me now!"
She hangs up before I can say goodbye.
Different.
That's what Nick said last night, how I was different. Did he mean that? Or did he only kiss me because of the moment, because of the seductive moonlight bay, or his jealousy over my friendship with Dave?
And am I different?
My stomach is tangled with anxiety as I finally force myself to leave the house at ten o'clock with Sadie by my side. All morning, I had stressed about Nick, fighting the urge to call him, wondering what he was thinking about our midnight paddle. Is he hung over? Regretful? Was our kiss just a combustible moment of passion as a result of too much wine and moonlight that offered the ultimate romantic setting?
And my skinny dippy.
God, I shouldn't have done that. I don't even think Holda would be proud of that.
"Hey, there, toots, how's it going?"
Speak of the angel.
Holda's lively voice pierces through my guilt like a bolt of lightning. The blazing sun shoots down hard, accusatory rays, as I turn to see Holda on her front porch, striking an impressive yoga pose on her mat, her wispy blond hair pulled up into her trademark ponytails.
Tears threaten my eyes, and my chest burns as she raises her arms and lifts her chin, smiling with eyes closed toward the sky. I want to rush toward her and confess the horrible thing I did last night but I can't.
Allyse was her friend, too.
We all were friends, a beautifully mismatched threesome of ladies from different generations who had so much fun together until Allyse left and I broke the girlfriend code ... something Holda would never do in a million years.
What if she only confirms I'm a terrible person?
Instead of confession, I lie. "Good, good, things are great! And you?"
Holda releases her pose, letting out a giant breath of air before stepping off her mat and resting her elbows on the porch railing, hands clutched. She studies me for a second as I usher Sadie onto the back seat. "Can't complain," she says. "How are things going with your ex?"
A shiver tickles my neck.
The way she's studying me, the slight raise of her right eyebrow.
Does she know?
Surely not.
"Fine, just fine," I lie again, making a show of looking at my watch. "We hope to be finishing up the painting today which means I better get going. I'll see you later!"
I duck inside my Jeep and slam the door before she can reply.
Haven's parking lot is empty when I arrive minutes later, bringing me both a sense of relief and dread at the same time.
Where is he?
And what the hell will I say to him?
I force myself to turn off the ignition and walk inside of Haven where I'm greeted by the lingering smell of paint. I stand in the foyer, marveling at how different things now is. Gone is the trash and battered furniture that greeted me two weeks ago. The rotted ceiling has been drywalled and painted. The decrepit kitchen cabinets that had sagged on loose hinges have been replaced with beautiful white cabinetry and brand-new countertop sparkles instead of stained, scratched Formica. The floors that were once covered with stained, tattered carpet are now covered with beautiful, engineered hardwood in a perfect shade of gray ... all because of Ryan.
Ryan.
I need to call him. I need to do something. He opened his heart to me ... at least I think he did and what did I do in return?
I ran.
I went out on another friends-only date with Dave, and I kissed my ex-husband, which might have been a huge mistake.
Outside, the deck creaks and groans as I walk down the steps toward the pier, looking out onto the bay. Last night, the water was mystical and romantic but now it's back to normal, a dark shade of gray blue with dots of white at the top of each wave. A pontoon rental boat inches toward the inlet, loaded with a family of six, each kid wearing a thick life jacket and bucket hat. The pier at Goose Island is now empty with Dave's boat gone, meaning he's off on some grand adventure. I want to talk to him, to tell him about last night, but no matter how friendly we've become, that topic doesn't seem appropriate. That's too bad. What I need right now is someone to talk to ... someone who might be able to help me make sense of this.
I can't talk to Holda ... I'm far too ashamed.
Not Ryan, whose name makes my chest tighten with guilt. Sonya was busy. I could never talk to Wesley. He's only made me feel more awful. There's only one person who I want to talk to right now. Allyse.
But now she's gone.
All I can do is text Nick, keeping things super casual and light to disguise the avalanche of emotions I'm feeling.
Hey, I'm just checking in. You okay? Will you be at Haven soon?
Is that casual enough?
Two second after sending, I'm certain it's not, but it's too late and the three dots beside his name means he's already seen it and is replying.
I can't help but hold my breath as I wait for his response.
Hey, Marcie, I'm REALLY great! I'm in a meeting now, but I'll stop by later tonight. I have the best surprise for you!
Oh my God.
He's great. REALLY great. And he has the BEST surprise for me?
Oh my GOD.
My stomach flutters at possibilities. Does this mean that last night's kiss did mean something to him? That he wants to reconcile? The mere notion is so mind-bending that I can't stand still. My fingers itch to text him back. No, call him and find out what the surprise is because waiting until tonight will be agonizing.
As two men in a motorboat chug by the pier, leaving behind the nauseating smell of fuel, I turn back toward Haven's deck with its sagging steps and weathered boards dyed to a nearly white gray by the glaring sun.
Hmm. Repairing the steps is out of my skill level, but Hank did say I could borrow his power washer. A deep cleaning would give it a world of good, and the hard manual labor might help me get my mind straight.
The local hardware store thankfully delivers, so I placed an order for deck water seal and stain in a neutral shade, some fresh rollers, citronella candles, nautical place mats, and a decorative lantern with fairy lights for a cute centerpiece. After paying, I make a mental note to at least discuss finances with Nick soon, since the repairs have eaten up most of our equity and there are other expenses that I should be reimbursed for after Haven sells, like the meals I had bought for our free labor.
Or maybe I shouldn't bring that up. I don't know, it seemed delightfully petty when Allyse suggested it but now it just feels ... petty, especially after what happened last night.
Too many thoughts swirl in my head as I unlock Hank's shed lock with the combination code he gave me and pull out the power washer. He also has an environmentally friendly power wash solution that's covered with dust and grime, meaning it's been around more than a few seasons, but I forgot to order some from the hardware store and it's probably fine.
I hope.
Two hours later, my arms ache from deep cleaning each deck board with powerful blasts of water, but the results are beyond gratifying. It's amazing how what looked like decrepit rot beyond repair slowly comes back to life with each back-and-forth swipe, turning the wood a golden amber color. This inspires me to also tackle the picnic table, forcing years of dirt and salty build-up to cascade toward the pier.
The deck railing takes even longer for me to wash each rail and riser on all four sides, but once I'm finished with them and the steps, I can't believe the transformation.
The deck looks brand new.
Well, not entirely new. There are still some nail pops and loose boards that need to be hammered down and plenty of sprinters to smooth out to make going barefoot possible, but it looks like it did back when Nick and I would bring Wesley here for weekend getaways, eating crabs on a paper-covered picnic table and enjoying the evening after the glaring sun goes down.
Nick isn't the only one with a surprise. He's going to love what I did!
And I'm grateful for that sun now, however uncomfortable it's now making me. From the way the parched boards are already drying, maybe I can apply the sealer stain tomorrow instead of having to wait forty-eight hours. Or better yet, Nick and I can do it together.
I can't help but imagine the familiar feel of his lips on mine.
And him saying he's great instead of feeling the shame and betrayal that I was earlier today. Does that mean he wants to get back together? I close my eyes, imagining the feel of his body pressed against my chest and the burning ache I felt when his hands were on my bottom ... squeezing them, wanting them.
Wanting me.
And if he's finally seeing me as the woman he always wanted ... could things between us go back to normal? My heart pounds at the possibility of having a family again ... a husband and a son who enjoy being around me. Of us keeping Haven and vacationing here together at our home away from home, with me doing everything right this time. We'd do happy hours and relax on the beach and enjoy a brand-new shared life as empty nesters who have raised their children and now are having fun in retirement.
No more empty beds or lonely holidays.
My mother was wrong.
It's not too late for me and last night, Nick proved it.
We'd be like the deck. What once felt dead and beyond repair is now renewed and restored. Not perfect, by any means, or as pretty as some of the brand-new decks on our neighbor's houses made from expensive composite boards and white vinyl railing. But it's safe. Familiar.
Surely Allyse and Holda would understand since we do have a child together.
And Ryan ... he knows how much the divorce hurt me, how I've missed the life we had together.
You're choosing a life that doesn't choose you.
And even though I'm not entirely sure what life I want, I can't help but be excited about the possibility that Nick is finally choosing me.
Four hours later, the deck is still damp but now a promising shade of golden oak.
The picnic table benches are dry enough to sit on with towels, and since Nick texted an arrival time of seven-thirty, I had time to shower, change into a floral dress, and do my hair and makeup. The placemats are set, each citronella candle is now burning with a pleasant lemony scent and the fairy lights in the lanterns cast a cozy glow against the darkened sky. My arms ache from the effort and I broke off most of my fingernails, but I can't help but marvel at the difference.
I select a calming jazz playlist from a music app and consider once again ordering some dinner to enjoy on the sparkling back deck, in case Nick hasn't eaten yet. But what if he wants to go out to a restaurant? Like maybe that new Spanish-style rooftop one with all the pretty white lights you can see from the bridge.
The sound of tires crunching on stones comes from the parking lot. I scramble to my feet, dashing down the steps and peering through the alley to see if it's Nick's car.
It is!
A thousand butterflies dance in my stomach as he opens his car door. I hurry back to my place on the deck, sitting with my legs crossed on a towel-covered bench with shaky hands in anticipation of my surprise. The muffled sound of Nick calling my name comes from the front of the house, causing Sadie to scramble to her feet, tail wagging wildly when she sees him through the sliding glass door.
Poor girl. She's been missing him, too!
Nick steps out onto the deck with a smile so elated and joyful that it makes every single one of my muscle aches worth it. As he leans down to pet Sadie's head, briefcase hanging from his shoulder, his eyes sweeping across the renewed deck in wonder, I spread my arms out wide with a dramatic, "Ta-da! Miracle deck makeover courtesy of Hank's power washer and yours truly!"
"Wow, Marcie, this looks amazing," he says, running his hand along the deck railing, and admiring the string of white lights I salvaged from the attic. "I can't believe you did all this! Now I feel bad!"
I stand, straightening out my dress and joining him at the railing, nudging him with my shoulder which sends shock waves up and down my arm. "Nah, don't worry about it, power washing is oddly cathartic! And you can help me tomorrow with the staining! It should be dry enough by then."
Nick leans into me, the smell of his musky cologne mixing in the salty air and citronella candles. I breathe it in deeply, remembering all the years I treated him to new cologne in his Christmas stocking.
"Besides," I add, "I didn't want you to be the only one with a surprise tonight!"
The corner of Nick's smile twitches.
He pulls away, taking the briefcase off his shoulder and setting it down on the picnic table, blocking the fairy lights and casting a shadow on the deck. A feeling of trepidation slowly morphs into a lump in my throat as he pulls out a manila folder, tapping one side on his palm and shifting his weight to the beat of my pounding heart.
"Well, Marcie, when I said that I can't believe you did all this was you didn't have to. That's why I feel bad."
The lump swells to a softball, choking my breath. "What do you mean by that, Nick?"
"Your surprise, Marcie, and the reason for my meeting."
He pulls a stack of papers from the folder, turning the top sheet toward me. Even without the sun or lantern light, the bold, black words on the top line give me the answer.
REAL ESTATE SALES CONTRACT.
"Mission accomplished, Marcie, I sold Haven!"
It takes a full minute for his words to sink in.
I stare at him, dumbfounded, my heart pounding as thoughts ricochet wildly.
Wait.
Did he sell Haven?
Did he sell Haven, just like that, without talking to me? Without discussing an asking price with our real estate agent or giving me a chance to process the offer, without even placing a FOR SALE sign in front of the house?
And mostly ... without giving us a chance, without even entertaining the option of keeping Haven and enjoying it together once more.
Whether Nick notices my shock or dismay, I can't tell. He plunges headfirst into how Sheryl called him early this morning.
"She has some clients who have been looking for a property on the water with two boat slips," he says with glee, sitting on the picnic table bench that I had worked so hard to clean, casually crossing his legs and helping himself to the wine I had purchased. "So I met them here at around eight for a tour. They loved the place! Especially the husband. He's a big fisherman with a pretty sweet Tidewater boat and pontoon for the family. He showed me quite a few pictures."
What?
Is he really that naive? Does Nick truly think that I give two shits about some stranger's boat while he totally bypasses the subject matter?
"They loved the place so much," he continues, "that they offered twenty thousand over what Sheryl thinks would be a good asking price. Can you believe it?"
No.
I can't believe it.
I can't believe any of this. I sink down onto the bench opposite him, my legs like jelly. "Hold on, Nick, because ... I ... I ... you sold Haven? Just like that? Without talking to me first?"
Nick's gleeful smile drops, a disappointed look filling his eyes like a child who just dropped their lollipop in the dirt. "Huh? I thought you'd be excited! This is what we both wanted, right? Why are you being so negative?"
This feels like a familiar punch to my stomach.
"I'm not being negative, Nick," I say, fingering one of the new placemats. "It's just that I ... I ..."
I, what?
What did I expect, for us to reconnect again after only one magical midnight kiss on the bay? For us to live happily ever, visiting Haven on the weekends and spending long, lazy summers together?
A part of me didn't expect this.
But hoped? Maybe. I don't know.
Nick continues to stare at me, his forehead starting to crinkle in annoyance. "That what, Marcie?"
I swallow hard, deflecting another few seconds by opening myself a beer that only tastes stagnant in my mouth. A thought pops into my mind. Thankfully. "Well, I mean ... can Sheryl act as both buying and selling real estate agent? Is that ethical?"
"Of course, it is," Nick says, raising his eyebrows as though I accused him of being shady. "As long as both parties are aware."
"I wasn't made aware, Nick," I blurt before I can stop myself. "I wasn't aware of anything. You should have talked to me about the offer before committing to the sale!"
"Oh my God, seriously, Marcie?" Nick jumps to his feet, the towel I had so carefully laid on the bench falling to the deck floor in a heap. "The opportunity fell in my lap. What was I supposed to do? I told you the buyers had two other places they were interested in!"
My head spins. "No. No, you didn't say that you only told me how much they loved the place!"
At least think so.
"I'm sure I did, Marcie," Nick retorts. "But even if I didn't, it doesn't matter. The truth remains. I had to act fast, and I thought it'd be a great surprise for you, okay? I thought you'd be happy."
Tears spring to my eyes.
Maybe I never was much of a beach person in the past. Maybe I wasn't totally on board with Haven when we first bought it. But I was never happy with the notion of selling it. I was never happy with severing that last tie between us forever. And despite the softball-sized lump forming in my throat, it's time to let him know.
"Nick, it's just that after last night ... I thought that ... maybe ..."
The lump cuts me off, making it impossible to talk.
Nick turns to me with a look in his eyes that I can't recognize. "Oh. You thought ... oh, shit, Marcie, did you think we were getting back together?"
No. Yes.
I don't know.
Nick sits back down beside me and takes my hand. "Look, Marcie ... last night was fun. And it was great seeing how you might have changed for the better, that you might be different now. But that kiss was just a combination of alcohol and you flirting with me, okay?"
Flirting?
Is that what he called me finally being carefree and relaxed ... flirting?
"And now that Wesley has graduated college, I'm just at a selfish stage of my life. No serious relationships, no children, no second mortgages on a beach house. And with the sale, we will each have a nice profit to have fun with."
The front doorbell rings.
Nick smiles and stands, hooking a thumb toward the sound. "Speaking of which, that's Sheryl with some papers for us to sign to get the ball rolling. So. Are we cool? You good?"
No, I'm not good.
I'm stupid for believing for even a nanosecond that our marriage could be saved. I'm stupid for thinking that a makeover would ever turn his eye and I'm stupid for that damn kiss.
And it was great seeing how you might have changed for the better.
Might be.
As in, I'm not.
For the next thirty minutes, I listen numbly to Sheryl's words as she lays out all the details of the offer. Nick was right. It is an amazing offer. One that can provide me with retirement security and more. I should be happy.
My work here at Ocean City is done.
Haven is sold.
And it's time for me to go home.