To the Beach and Back

Chapter 11

"So where are we going?" I ask Dave.

"I thought we'd head over to Sunset Grill for drinks and dinner. Plus they have a great band playing tonight. Have you ever been there?"

Sunset Grill? Why does that name sound so familiar?

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, if any place will make you fall in love with Ocean City, it's there!"

Yikes. I had forgotten about me over-sharing my firm status as a non-beach person yesterday. "I don't hate Ocean City .... I just ... I don't know. I never quite fit in here, I guess."

Lame.

Great date conversation, Marcie.

But Dave only smiles, sweeping his eyes over me, from the top to tiptoes. "Well, you seem to be fitting in quite fine to me."

His sultry gaze causes my heart to flutter.

"But I get it, about feeling like you don't fit in," he says while heading toward the main bridge that leads to West Ocean City. "I used to live in Manhattan when I was a kid. Great city with so much to love, but to me, it always felt too busy, too hectic. Then during my wild college days, some buddies and I took a road trip here for the week. Something about Ocean City spoke to me. So when they went home, I stayed!"

And stayed? Just like that?

He left his family, his home, everything he was accustomed to, for an unknown land with nothing but question marks? Sticking with the familiar just feels safer.

I want to ask how he went from a college student to the owner of one of the most popular bars in town but I'm too distracted by a familiar sight. The canal ... my canal, a large, broad one with a long row of condos and townhouses on one side.

After I point out Haven, Dave turns left, stopping the boat beside my weathered, saggy deck with discarded furniture, empty beer cans, and trash that shames me, even though I didn't cause it.

"Jesus. Is the inside just as bad?" he asks.

"Yep. Even worse."

"I can give you a list a local contractors, folks I trust, if that would help."

Would it? Absolutely! I'm not comfortable playing the damsel in distress role, but when it comes to finding reliable contractors, all bets are off. "That'd be great, thank you!"

After he loops around the canal, passing Fish Tales and the side canal lined with massive beach homes, another familiar sight comes into view.

Along with possibilities.

"Hey, do you know who owns Sandpiper Island?" I ask, motioning toward the impressive three-story house with floor-to-ceiling windows, fire pits, three boat docks, and a pool on the island attached with an arching bridge. "My ex-husband and I always had this oddball challenge to find out who lived there."

"Ah, you like challenges, eh?" Dave takes one hand off the wheel and lowers his aviator-style sunglasses. "Off course, I know who lives there. I know nearly every local in this town, but how much of a challenge would it be if I told you?"

"Oh, come on!" I swat his arm, that's surprisingly muscled and strong. "Tell me. A politician? Silicon Valley tech mogul? Pirate?"

"Aye, matey, no pirates, unfortunately." Dave chuckles and turns left again, heading toward a line of boats waiting at the drawbridge. "I'll tell you what. I can give you the list of contractors ... or I can tell you who owns Sandpiper Island."

Jerk.

One backward glance to Haven gives me the answer.

"Fine. The list, please."