Eight Days in the Sun Read online

  “You didn’t.” I gesture to the beach. “This isn’t my thing, but I’m cool with it. As long as you quit being bossy and stop giving me unwarranted advice.”

  “Deal.”

  Mason isn’t the only fanatic. The guy next to him is cut from the same rough, sturdy cloth. What’s his name? Ah yeah, he’s one-half of the Jorgensens. They checked in right before me. His wife is there too, shoveling sand into her bucket absentmindedly while she looks longingly at the tiki bar. I hear you loud and clear, sister.

  Mason doesn’t build his sandcastle the way others do. He takes the largest bucket, packs it, and then tips it over. He does this many times until he has several neat rows. He builds it up until he has five tiers. He fills between the tiers and runs a plastic paint stick around the edges several times until it’s all smooth. The shape is a perfect rectangle of sand. It comes up just over my knees. It’s cool, but it doesn’t resemble a sandcastle.

  “I don’t understand your strategy.”

  “You will,” he says in a cryptic way.

  Mason takes one of the Dixie cups and tears out the base. He curls the bottom into a tight circle until it forms a round shape and packs it with wet sand. He places these on top of the ginormous rectangle. Then he makes a few that are rounder and longer. He takes the tool that looks like a tiny ice-cream scoop and makes a ball to go on top of each cone. They look like hot dogs with circles on top of them.

  “What are you making over there, Marine? A house of dicks?” Rob Jorgenson asks.

  I almost choke on the laughter.

  “Why are you so interested in my dicks, Army?”

  Rob opens his mouth to reply with some topper, but he stops when his wife gives him a sharp look. “Rob, there are children here.”

  Both men look contrite.

  Mrs. J and I catch each other’s glances a few times, both of us smiling, trying to be supportive, while our boys are planning a full-scale attack. It doesn’t surprise me that Mason is competitive, but I have never seen him this focused. It’s strangely erotic.

  I finish my cottage-style sandcastle, although that’s probably a stretch. It’s more like a large, grainy mound. I ditch my shovel.

  “Hi, I’m Melanie Jorgenson,” the pretty brunette says, holding her hand out to me.

  “Kiran.”

  She gestures toward Mason. “Is he yours?” she asks like someone would inquire if a child belongs to you.

  “Yeah, I guess he is.”

  “Looks like our fellows are friends.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Friends or foes?”

  “Maybe both.” She pats the sand off her shorts. “Want to take a break and get a drink?”

  “Break? Isn’t it almost over?”

  She takes her cell from her pocket and holds it face out. “Still over two hours left.”

  I smack my forehead. “Yeah, I can definitely use a break.”

  She offers her hand to help me up. “You guys ready for a break?” she asks the boys.

  “No breaks,” they say in unison.

  “Want us to bring you back something?” I ask.

  They both grunt a no.

  It’s probably ninety degrees out here and Mason’s been nonstop. He’s dehydrated and probably starving. I’m starving, and he eats twice as much as me. “We’ll fetch a few bottles of water and some fruit for you guys.”

  I’m not even sure if they heard us until I start walking away and Mason yells after me to get him a peach. I almost trip face down onto the sand.

  Melanie and I order some luscious frozen mango and coconut infused concoction. We order a plate of nachos with extra guac. I drop the waters and fruit in my knapsack. After dropping off the boy’s replenishments, complete with stern warnings they need to drink some water, we drag two lawn chairs over to our spot. Turns out, Melanie is a big fan of romance stories too. We bond over that while scarfing down a huge plate of nachos.

  I watch Mason’s creation slowly come to life. He made the solid mass first so he could chip away at it slowly, using the negative space. He blends the sand and water until it’s as smooth as concrete. The curvy slide thing on one side of the structure transforms into an elaborate staircase. On the other side he’s made an impressive drawbridge. The hotdog things become fancy turrets with arches in between them. There are several towers with long intricate bridges connecting them. He uses the chisel to carve even squares onto the walls until they resemble stone.

  There’s a passion in the way he works. The chiseled planes of his face are locked in stern concentration. His fingers smooth and bend the sand into a shape. I get lost in watching him.

  Margie Fox and her crew stop a few feet from us. She relays a foreboding story of one of the 3D artists, a favorite to win, who had to bow out. Turns out, the shell he was using as the top of his five-tower design was home to an honorary crab. While the artist was getting more water, the crab in question found his house on top of a column of sand. He started crawling, dragging the heavy shell straight down the tower and causing a domino effect.

  The judges start their initial rounds and narrow it down to ten people to continue. Shocker alert—Melanie and I don’t make the cut. Of course, Mason and Rob do.

  “Kiran?”

  “Huh?” I turn to Melanie, realizing I totally missed what she’s said. “Sorry, what?”

  “I asked if you want to walk around and check out the competition.”

  It’s not a bad idea. Besides, I need to pry myself away before I jump Mason and ruin his gorgeous creation. Rob’s castle is impressive too, except it resembles a fort more than a castle. He’s hard at work shaping a huge scaly dragon that wraps around the front. There are a few other entries that are decent, but I think it’s between Mason and Rob.

  Melanie and I stop in our tracks as a little girl huffs her way across the sand with two dripping buckets. Her arms are limp as if they might give out.

  “Need some help?” I ask, stretching out my hand to take one of her buckets.

  She pulls them back, her bright red pigtails flying at the side of her face. “I can’t. I’ll be disqualified if I accept help.” She says disqualified without the Q, and it’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Her cheeks are covered in a mass of freckles. She has a gap in her teeth. She so freaking adorable I want to adopt her.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  She moves on. Curious, Melanie and I follow. Turns out Mason and Rob do have some competition. Her name is Abigail Helms, and she’s ten years old. Although her entry is not as intricately detailed as Mason’s or as precise as Rob’s, it’s as lovely as the artist herself. The construction is simple, just three layers tall, each one a slightly smaller oval like a wedding cake. She’s carved mermaids on the walls. There are small broken bits of coral and shells decorating the outside. The whimsical design tugs at the heart.

  “Uh-oh, we’re in trouble,” Melanie says.

  “Yeah, I think we are.”

  Abigail rolls sand and shapes animals to stand in front.

  “Is that a horse?” Melanie asks.

  “Think so.” When Abigail rolls the tiniest pointed horn, I know exactly what it is. “It’s a unicorn.”

  Melanie and I both ooh and ahh before we finally drag ourselves away.

  I plop myself down next to Mason. His castle is nothing short of stunning. “Hello, my handsome knight. May I ask what princess are you building that for?”

  He takes my hand and kisses the underside of my wrist. “This princess.”

  The judges make the rounds to pick the finalists. Just as I called it, Mason, Rob, and Abigail are the three finalists. They hand Mason and Rob gaudy gold ribbons. Mason promptly pins his on my shirt. He takes his sweet time, cupping my boob in the process.

  I give him a good luck kiss. At this point, each of the finalists have a half hour to put on the finishing touches and last minute flourishes before a winner is announced.

  “It’s down to the gritty
wire. Or as we like to say, the gritty sand,” Margie Fox announces.

  Mason and I watch as Abigail’s mom pins her ribbon on her shirt.

  He jerks his head in her direction. “You check her stuff out?”

  “She’s talented.”

  He stands to stretch. “I’m gonna see for myself.”

  When he comes back, I ask, “What did you think?”

  He shrugs. “Her horses aren’t to scale.”

  I place a hand on each of his shoulders. They feel stiff, so I rub them a little. “Firstly, they aren’t horses. They’re unicorns. Secondly, everyone knows the average unicorn is much larger than a horse.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is.”

  I take out a fresh bottle of chilled water. “Drink this.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stand on my toes and kiss him on the cheek before I take my seat next to Melanie. “You’re staying in the Sweetheart’s Suite, right?”

  She nods.

  “How is it?”

  “Over the top and gaudy, but it’s weirdly romantic. Hey, do you need any candles?”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are hundreds of them everywhere in the room.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Melanie sits up in her chair. “I’m torn here. I’m rooting for my husband to win, of course, but the idea of a grown man beating out an adorable little girl seems unfair.”

  “I’m having the same dilemma. Plus, the poor girl has to take a break every half hour so her mother can slather sunscreen on her. It’s not really fair.”

  Mason walks over to Rob. They talk for a bit.

  “Wonder what’s going on there?” I ask.

  “More smack talk.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, except I don’t see any macho rivalry. It’s as if they are conspiring. They shake hands after.

  Mason’s knees are pretty beat up from kneeling on the sand for hours. A few splotches of red cover his usually tanned skin. He resumes work on his sandcastle. He pauses only to take a drink of the fresh water. When he puts the cap back on, the half-full plastic bottle falls. I scream as I watch it crash onto the longest turret.

  “Fix it,” I yell, as if he needs the guidance.

  Mason shakes his head and points down the shoreline. The judges are making their final rounds, clipboards in hand. He gives me a crooked grin and a one-sided shrug. “Too late, darling.”

  I’m so sad for him. He put so much hard work into this.

  “Sorry you broke your dick, Cutler,” Rob says.

  “It’s a turret. What happened to your giant cat?”

  Rob shoots him the same cynical look. “It’s a dragon, and I accidently crushed it.”

  The head and tail have fallen off the creature that was the main focal point of Rob’s creation.

  It’s official, little Abigail Helms takes the top prize. We all clap as Margie Fox places a huge gold crown on Abigail’s tiny head. It won’t even stay straight. The girl dances around, fighting back a yawn. She falls asleep in her daddy’s arms before the ceremony is even over.

  Rob elbows Mason. “Too bad, Cutler. That crown would have looked good on you.”

  “Me? You’re the one playing with kittens.”

  “Dragon, dude.”

  Chapter 17

  Mason

  I know what a lobster feels like when he’s boiled alive. It’s equivalent to spending four solid hours knee deep in gritty sand with the sun beating against your back.

  The long, cold shower helps. But it’s Kiran who brings me the magical cure by rubbing a healing tonic of cold, blue gel on my back and shoulders.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Melanie. She said it works wonders.”

  “I have to agree.”

  I lean back and close my eyes.

  “Mason, did you ruin your sandcastle on purpose?”

  “The bottle just slipped. I’m clumsy.”

  “No, you’re not. I watched you carve an entire building from sand today. You’re not clumsy. But you are a very bad actor. A man doesn’t just say ‘oh, well’ and move on if that wasn’t intentional.”

  “How about we take a break on the grilling, Sherlock, and do a little more work on the massaging? You missed a spot.”

  She kisses me on the cheek. “You’re a really good man, Mason Cutler.”

  “What else could I do, darling? Did you see that kid? She could barely stand. Maybe I wouldn’t have won, but if there was even a chance, I could not in good conscience take that victory. I gotta be ten times the size of her.”

  “I don’t care how many excuses you make. It was a very special thing to do. Rob did the same thing, right?”

  “He took one look at her and ditched his shovel.” My stomach growls. “Hey Kiran, I’m starving. Do you want to get room service?”

  “Sure. I’ll get the menu.”

  I can tell by the way she says it, she’s disappointed. I pull her arms. “What do you want to do tonight?”

  “You’re tired. We’ll stay in.”

  I crack my neck. “I’m feeling better. You’ve got healing hands.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  “Then I have an idea.”

  “I’m up for anything as long as I get to eat and get my favorite dessert.”

  “And what dessert would that be?”

  I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Peaches, of course.”

  * * * *

  Kiran’s idea was a moonlight picnic on the beach. It doesn’t get more romantic than this. She’s barefoot in a teal sundress that hugs every curve.

  The discarded sandcastles still line the beach. She stops in front of mine. “This is the spot.”

  “In front of my damaged sandcastle?”

  “Damaged but not destroyed.” She takes out a blanket from her knapsack. I help her lay it out. She lights a few small candles and carefully sets them inside each opening of the castle. Against the sand, they cast a soft glow, highlighting each detail.

  We purchased a couple sandwiches, drinks, and snacks from the café. I hold up her options. “Chicken salad or turkey?”

  “Turkey please.”

  We chew on our food, lost in our thoughts, watching the flickering flames grow higher and listening to the music of crashing waves. I finger the strap on her dress. “This is a nice dress.”

  “Thanks. I wasn’t planning to bring it, but I grabbed it at the last minute.”

  “Why not? It looks gorgeous on you.”

  “I haven’t worn it since high school.”

  “Well, I’m happy it made its way into your suitcase.” I move the strap and kiss her shoulder. “Now it just needs to make the journey to the floor of my room.”

  She feeds me a grape. “In due time, Cutler.”

  I hope that time is soon.

  She stares at the sandcastle as if she’s trying to memorize every line and curve.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing, just picking out my room.”

  “Your room?”

  She points to one of the still erect turrets. “You said you built it for me. So if this is mine, I want to live right here.”

  “The west turret, huh?”

  “It’ll be the sunniest place. It looks spacious too. Of course there are a ton of stairs to get there.”

  Her tone is wishful, and God, I don’t know if I want her to stop talking or never stop talking. “What are you doing, Kiran?”

  The candles flicker for a second before going out. She frowns. “I’m dreaming for a second. It’s silly but…”

  “I’ll build you an elevator. It’ll be a damn sight safer than the one at the hotel too.” I don’t care. I’ll buy into her dream. Dreams are cheap. Hell, they’re free, aren’t they?

  She’s relieved I’m playing along and honors me with one of her luscious smiles and sligh
t bow. “Thank you, good sir.”

  “So this room of yours… Is it spacious enough for two?”

  She taps her lips. “Yeah, Mason, there’s always going to be a space for you.”

  I swallow the thick lump that forms inside my throat. Pull yourself together, Cutler. I drag myself from the edge of despair and back into the beauty of this dream she’s building for us. I pull her onto my lap. “I got a question for you.”

  “What?”

  “How in the hell do you propose we pay for this gigantic castle? The utility bills alone will kill us, let alone the property taxes.”

  She laughs and wraps her arms around me. “Only you can be practical when we’re talking about moving into a sandcastle.”

  “One of us should be.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Mason. We’ll make it happen.”

  I nod at Kiran’s castle. “Or we can always move into your thing. It’s a cave, right?”

  She punches my arm. “It’s a cottage.”

  “Oh, I see it now.”

  “You do?”

  “No, darling, I’m sorry. It really looks like a cave.” I angle my head to sneak another peek. “Or maybe a large, soft, lopsided—”

  “Mason!”

  “What? I was gonna say cage. A lopsided cage.”

  She laughs, her mouth against my neck. “Let’s dream a little bigger. I want the castle you built for me.”

  “Then it’s all yours, princess.”

  “Just to set your mind at ease, I have a plan.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll peddle my stories. If I don’t make enough, then I’ll sell jewelry made from seashells to the tourists.”

  “You make jewelry?”

  She frowns. “No. I’ll learn, though.”

  “That’s reasonable. For my part, I’ll find work at some garage.”

  Her head tilts. “Or you can always be a professional sandcastle builder.”

  “Is that a career option?”

  “Why not? We’re dreaming, right? There aren’t any limits. We can live on the beach in a shack, and I’d be ecstatic.”

  “As long as it’s got four walls and a roof to shelter us.”

  “And maybe a couple windows so we can look out at the world once in a while.”