Sandy and bright, p.1
Sandy and Bright, page 1
Contents
Other Books by MJ Duncan
Copyright
Title Page
Sandy and Bright
Acknowledgments
Other Books by MJ Duncan
Second Chances
Veritas
Spectrum
Atramentum
Heist
Unadulterated Something
Halcyon Nights
The Symphony Series
Symphony in Blue
Pas de Deux
Evolution
Novellas
Operation: Secret Santa
Champagne Kisses
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by MJ Duncan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior written permission from the author.
Cover art © 2022 by MJ Duncan
Quinn Haavik adjusted her right earbud as she rocked onto the balls of her feet to guide her skateboard in a lazy arc around a cluster of teenagers in baggy hoodies and ripped jeans. Once clear of the crowd that clogged the center of the boardwalk, she bobbed her head with the beat as she shifted her weight onto her right leg to push off strongly with her left.
With Christmas only a week and a half away, it was strange to be looking at miles of sandy shoreline instead of piles of snow. But as she dragged a hand through her short, pale blond hair and closed her ice blue eyes against the hazy, late-afternoon sun to bask in its warmth against her skin, she had to admit that it was pretty fucking awesome. She pushed off again to gather more speed and settled her weight over the center of the longboard, content to cruise as she pulled off the lightweight, long sleeve running shirt that she wore over her t-shirt.
Seventy-two and sunny in December. God, I needed this.
She tied the shirt around her waist as she swung around a woman walking beside a blissfully happy golden retriever who was carrying its own leash, and had just finished knotting it when her board was knocked from under her, and she was sent flying. Her brain had barely enough time to shout, Oh, fuck a duck! before her palms were scraping across the concrete in a painful bid to arrest her fall, and she gritted her teeth as she tucked and tumbled into a roll to save what was left of her hands.
“OH MY GOD, I’M SO SORRY!” an accented voice shouted in horror. Followed immediately by a frantic, “FORT, NO!”
Quinn winced as she crunched into a sitting position. “It’s fine,” she said as she glanced at her hands. The skin was rubbed raw, and she’d be feeling it for the next few days, but given how hard she’d hit, it could have been worse. Still…
That’s going to make work tomorrow interesting.
She sighed and hooked her elbows over her knees as she looked around for her board. “Have you seen my—”
She cut herself off. There was no reason to finish the question, because the blissfully happy golden retriever was now engaged in an energetic game of tug of war with his mom for possession of her skateboard.
“Fort, drop it!” the woman snapped as the dog threw its head from side to side in perfect counterpoint to its wiggling butt and yanked her forward.
Quinn chuckled, her stinging palms forgotten as she watched the pair. Her laughter caught in her throat, however, when the woman looked at her with apology written clear across her face.
Oh, she’s lovely.
The woman was petite, only a handful of inches over five feet at most, with light, golden-brown hair that carried hints of copper, fair skin, cheeks dusted with the faintest dusting of freckles, and full rosy lips. She reminded Quinn of a Rossetti painting she’d seen while visiting Tate Britain on her last trip to London, but before she could ponder which one, the pup, Fort, took advantage of the woman’s distracted state to rip the skateboard from her hands.
“Dritt!” the woman swore as Fort scampered off with his prize.
Quinn smiled as she climbed to her feet and watched the woman chase after Fort, who, having gained some measure of freedom, had dropped the skateboard and was now trying to climb on top of it. It’d been ages since she’d heard that particular swear word. Even in northern Minnesota, she didn’t happen upon too many Norwegians speaking the language.
“Aww, it’s fine. Give them a turn,” Quinn called in Norwegian. The surprise on the woman’s face as her head snapped back to look at her was priceless, and Quinn grinned as she gestured toward the dog, who had managed to get all four feet on the long deck and was looking distinctly confused as to why the skateboard wasn’t moving. She switched back to English as she suggested, “I think they need a push.”
“He needs something, all right,” the woman grumbled as she rolled her eyes at the pup. She swiped the end of his leash off the ground and slipped the loop over her wrist. “Fort, come on now. Get down.”
Fort gave her a look that said, Yeah, right, as he tensed his hind legs and ducked his shoulders down a bit as if that change in body position would make him zoom forward.
The woman brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Quinn laughed as she moved toward the pair. “He reminds me of my friend’s malamute.”
Fort’s tongue fell out of his mouth as he turned to give her a big doggy smile. “Woof.”
“Yeah, you’d love her,” Quinn told him. She propped her fists on her hips. “You wanna go for a ride?”
“WOOF!”
“You really don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” Quinn insisted with her most charming smile as she held her hand out for Fort’s leash.
For a moment, Quinn thought the woman would refuse, but she eventually relented with a wry chuckle, muttering, “Lykke til,” as she handed it over.
Quinn winked at her before turning her attention to Fort. “Aww, we don’t need luck. Do we, buddy?”
Fort wagged his tail. “Woof!”
“Exactly!” Quinn agreed, grabbing him by the sides to steady him. The last thing she wanted was for the adorable, goofy pup to get hurt. “You’re going to be a natural at this. I just know it,” she said as she gave the skateboard a gentle nudge.
Fort let out a delighted bark as he rolled forward a few feet. He looked unmistakably annoyed when his ride ended, and threw her a look that pleaded, Again!
“You okay if I give him a bit bigger push?” Quinn asked.
The woman rolled her eyes and waved a hand in a who am I to stop you? type motion. “Go for it.”
Quinn chuckled and nodded as she made her way back to Fort’s side. “Here we go, dude,” she said as she draped his leash over his shoulders. Fort gave a little wiggle when she grabbed him by the hips again, and she grinned at Fort’s mom. “The boy’s a total natural.”
Fort demanded her attention with an aggrieved, “Woof!”
Quinn gave him a playfully unimpressed look and drawled, “Yes, boss,” as she gave him a light push that propelled him a good six or seven feet down the boardwalk.
When the skateboard stopped, Fort looked over his shoulder at her with a wide, expectant smile, his desire to go again clear, and Quinn threw a look at his mom as she said, “I hope Santa has a skateboard stashed away on his sled for this guy.” When the woman huffed a laugh and shook her head, a perfect picture of amused resignation, she said, “I’m Quinn, by the way.”
The woman pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and held out her hand. “Nora.”
Quinn blinked as she found herself ensnared by a bewitching pair of hazel eyes that were more gold than green or brown. Her mind went blank as she drowned in the strikingly variegated depths, and her pulse stuttered as Nora’s fingers slipped lightly over her palm. The little voice of reason in the back of her head shouted that this was an absolutely ridiculous reaction to just shaking hands, and while she knew the voice was right, that knowledge did very little to stop the feeling that there was something special about this meeting, this moment, that buzzed across her skin.
Nora’s eyes darkened by a fraction as they stared at each other, and then they crinkled with a smile as she murmured, “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“I…” Quinn cleared her throat. “Yeah. You too.”
“Woof!”
“And you, as well, Fort,” Quinn added as she threw him a reassuring glance.
This seemed to satisfy Fort, as he wagged his tail and jabbered happily, but Quinn’s attention was pulled away from the pup when Nora flipped her hand over to inspect the scrapes that cut across her palm.
Even if she’d wanted to, there was no way Quinn could have stifled the shiver that tickled the back of her neck as Nora’s fingers caressed the shallow wounds, and she forgot how to breathe altogether when Nora murmured, “Oh, dear. Your poor hands.”
“It’s—” The fine Quinn had intended to say caught in her throat, her brain shorting out completely as Nora stroked a scrape that ran from the base of her index finger to the heel of her palm.
Oblivious to the effect her touch was having, Nora lightly traced the length of another scrape. “Does it hurt?”
Quinn shook her head.
The left side of Nora’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You sure
Quinn’s brain rebooted with a commanding, Oh my god, say something, you useless lesbian! “Yeah.” She grimaced at how rough her voice sounded, and cleared her throat before trying again. “Totally sure.”
Nora’s smile broke free, bright and radiant like the warmest summer sun as she continued to lightly caress the wounds on Quinn’s hand. “I really am sorry.”
I’m not sorry at all.
“Woof!”
Nora inclined her head in Fort’s direction. “He is, too, even if he doesn’t seem like it.”
“WOOF!”
Nora rolled her eyes and squeezed Quinn’s hand before letting it go. “I think he wants another push.”
Quinn’s stomach sank at the loss of Nora’s touch, but she plastered on a smile as she said, “I think you’re right.” She sighed under her breath as she turned to Fort, who was staring back at her impatiently. “Okay, bud.” Quinn grabbed his hips and gave them a little scratch. “You ready?”
Fort jabbered eagerly and snapped into position, his entire body quivering with hell yeah, let’s go! energy.
“You and Sasha would be such trouble together,” Quinn told him before she gave him the firmest shove yet that sent him careening a good thirty feet down the boardwalk. And straight toward a family with two little ones on bikes and one in a wagon. Fuck! “Head’s up!” she yelled as she took off after him.
Thankfully, it was impossible to be annoyed by the sight of a grinning golden retriever riding a skateboard because, by the time she caught up to Fort, the kids had ditched their bikes and were staring at him curiously. Which was fair, given that he was looking at them the same way.
“Can we pet your dog?” the little boy asked.
“He’s not…” Quinn’s voice trailed off when a light hand touched her shoulder.
“Sure,” Nora said, smiling at the kids. “Just go slow, okay?”
After a few minutes of scratches, slobbery kisses, and delighted giggles, the family resumed their late-afternoon stroll. Quinn shoved her hands into her pockets as she drawled, “I’m glad he didn’t take one of the little guys out.”
“Nah, he loves kids.” Nora pushed her sunglasses back up onto her head, using them to hold her hair off her face as she smiled at Quinn. “But you should probably grab your skateboard while he isn’t paying attention to it.” She laughed when Quinn nodded but made no move to retrieve the board, and bit her lip as she arched a perfect brow in a way that asked, Are you going to get it?
Quinn blushed and muttered, “Yeah, sure,” as she made to retrieve the skateboard. Fort put up a fight when he saw she was stealing his ride, but she distracted him with a vigorous scratch between the ears. “That’s enough for today, buddy.”
Fort inclined his head and let loose a soft sound that seemed to ask, Can I do it again later?
“We’ll see, pal,” she told him. It wasn’t a lie so much as wishful thinking on her part, and she gave him one last scratch before she swooped the board up over her shoulder by its front truck and turned to Nora. With Fort no longer riding the skateboard, there wasn’t a reason for her to hang around. The realization was nearly enough for her to set it down and usher the pup back onto the deck, but she somehow managed to restrain herself. “Right, well…”
“Yeah,” Nora agreed, her gorgeous golden eyes glowing with the warmth of the setting sun. “Thanks for humoring this goofball.”
You really are exquisite, Quinn’s brain noted with more than a hint of wistfulness. But she also knew it was a good idea to end this now. After all, she’d be returning to Mystic in less than a week, and there was something about Nora that told her she wasn’t a woman she’d be able to walk away from easily.
“It was my pleasure,” she insisted, offering Nora her hand. The ripple of desire that coiled low in her belly as Nora’s hand gently slid into her own one last time was enough to confirm she’d made the right decision. But as she watched Nora lead Fort past a gigantic inflatable Santa Claus that someone had set out on their thin strip of a back lawn facing the boardwalk, she still couldn’t help but wish they’d cross paths again so she could get to know her better.
Quinn sang along with the Christmas music pumping through the speakers spaced throughout Marina Park as she finished setting up the booth she’d be calling home for the next four nights. While palm trees, golden sand, and a picturesque cerulean blue bay didn’t exactly scream Christmas, the colorful lights wrapped around the trunks of the trees and draped artistically over the fronds did wonders to create that magical, holiday vibe.
And, she had to admit, the music didn’t hurt, either. After all, how could you not get into the holly, jolly spirit when you were belting out your best fa-la-la-la-la?
She’d been skeptical when the holiday market’s organizers had first reached out in late June to see if she’d be interested in coming out and anchoring this year’s celebration. Not because it was an unusual request—she traditionally spent a good chunk of December traveling from one such event to another—but because she wasn’t sure the über-affluent pocket of Newport Beach was a good fit for her particular brand of art.
In the end, it’d been her friends Emerson and Mari who’d helped her see reason. Emerson had been the perfect sounding board as she talked her way through what had seemed like valid points of consideration, and she had already been slowly working toward agreeing that it was a good idea when Mari stepped in with a rolled-up magazine to, quite literally, knock some sense into her.
How in the world is this even something to think about? Mari smacked her on the top of the head with the magazine in an emphatic fit of pique. You’re being offered an all-expenses paid trip to Southern California! They’re going to cover a rental for you at the beach and pay you to set up a booth where you can probably drum up a ridiculous amount of business from an entirely new demographic. Haven’t you been bitching about always having to carve bears and shit? This is your chance to branch out. Maybe do a sea turtle or a dolphin or two. Email them right this minute and tell them you’d love to do it, or I’ll never make you my famous tamales again.
If the reason in Mari’s argument hadn’t convinced her, the threat of never getting another tamale most certainly would have. And, as she looked around at the booths laid out in perfect lines across the lush, soft grass of the park beside the bay, she had to admit that Mari was right.
She would have been a fucking idiot to have passed this up.
She plopped a fuzzy red Santa hat onto her head as she surveyed her display of hand-carved ornaments. The earthy wood tones of the ornaments contrasted beautifully with the aquamarine cloth she’d draped over the two large folding tables that anchored the front of her booth, and once the sun set, the little white lights dangling from the frame of the pop-up tent would add the perfect amount of holiday cheer to it all.
“Not bad, Q,” she told herself with a little nod.
“Whoa,” a small voice interrupted her thoughts.
Quinn turned to see a little girl of perhaps five or six with sandy blonde hair pulled into a slowly disintegrating ponytail standing beside her. The girl’s eyes were wide as saucers as she looked from Quinn to the display and back again. Quinn smiled as she asked, “You like those ornaments?”
The girl nodded and pointed to the tattoo sleeve that covered Quinn’s right arm. “Your mom let you color on your skin?! Mine says Santa won’t bring me any presents if I do it!”
“Bethany!” a new voice, older and distinctly horrified, interjected as a woman Quinn assumed was Bethany’s mother joined them. To Quinn, she added, “I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” Quinn assured her with a little laugh. She turned to Bethany and said, “Well, your mom’s probably right. It’s been ages since Santa’s come to my house.”
The look of wonder in Bethany’s expression faded into pity. “Really?”
“Mmhmm.” Quinn shrugged and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Y’know, you’re a pretty lucky kid. I wish my mom would’ve known Santa had a no-coloring-on-yourself rule.”
Still focused on the big-picture, Bethany asked, “So you don’t get any Christmas presents?”
