Return to Cheshire Bay

  Return to

  CHESHIRE BAY

  Return to Cheshire Bay

  Published by H.M. Shander

  Copyright 2021 H.M. Shander

  Return to Cheshire Bay is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, are entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored, in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written consent of the author of this work. She may be contacted directly at hmshander@gmail.com, subject line ‘Permission Requested.’

  www.hmshander.com

  Cover Design: Eleanor Lloyd-Jones @ Shower of Schmidt Designs

  Editing: PWA & IDIM Editorial

  Shander, H.M., 1975—Return to Cheshire Bay

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Adrift in Cheshire Bay – sneak peak

  Awake in Cheshire Bay – sneak peak

  Dear Reader

  Other books

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  With a heavy sigh from hours of arduous backbreaking cleaning, I staggered sweaty and barefooted toward the edge of the beach where the cool blue water caressed the once heated sand. As I inhaled the fresh ocean air and stared out into the distance, there wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the late afternoon sky as the sun lowered itself closer to the horizon; its slumber quickly encroaching.

  A row of cottages to my left, a baker’s dozens worth, dotted the landscape between my place at the end of the lane and a grove of thick Douglas firs and other various coniferous trees where the nearest town lay beyond, nestled between the forest and the rolling hills. Cheshire Bay was the perfect trade off to a robust downtown core I’d snuck away from just hours ago; a vibrant city filled with honking, beeping, and a generalized hum to it.

  This was where I felt compelled to escape to.

  To think through the choices in my life that ended with me holding up in my childhood summer home.

  To clear away the cobwebs, both figurative and literal.

  To find myself.

  I dug my toes further into the cool, wet sand and let the waves lick at my ankles. Each rush up the shoreline grabbed a morsel of tension, washing it out to the Pacific. Yes, coming home to Cheshire Bay was the right thing. And so far, no one knew I was back. That in itself was a good thing. A damn good thing.

  Taking a few steps closer to the house, away from the ebbs and flows, I sat on the sandy beach and reached for my painted toes to stretch away the aches and pains. Airing out a stale and dusty house after arriving in the early morning from a six-hour drive, was not quite the plan I’d had. Insomnia got the better of me, but for once, I worked it to my benefit - now my summer home was ready for living in.

  At least temporarily.

  I had big plans for the hand-me-down. Time to update it and give it a fresh feel. I still hadn’t decided if I was going to sell it at the end of summer or hang on to it as an investment property. I wasn’t as emotionally attached to it, or unattached I supposed, like my sister was. Mona hadn’t been back here since Mom died, but insisted I hold on to it because that’s what Mom would’ve liked. Never mind how Dad willed the deed to the property to me to do with as I pleased. However, our feathers were already ruffled, so I told my sister at the lawyer’s office I’d take the summer to decide.

  That’s all I have to figure out what I need. Three months.

  Cheshire Bay used to give me the best summers of my life, and I was the reigning Miss Cheshire Bay my last summer here. Beach parties all the time. No boundaries. No rules. I just enjoyed a wildly exciting teenage life. Until my very last summer twelve years ago. Hopefully, no one still remembered that incident.

  As the sun dipped into the ocean, the air around me cooled enough to warrant needing a light sweater. I rose from the beach and dusted off my butt and legs, ambling up to the weathered porch stretching across the back of the house, and into a kitchen barely big enough for a family.

  After pulling my Under Armour hoodie on, I grabbed a mug of steaming apple cider tea and pulled myself up onto the wide ledge running along the deck and leaned against one of the posts, vacantly staring out into the twilight, ready to find the first star of the night. A cool evening breeze circled the coastline, and the occasional shudder ruffled my wisps of hair.

  The lights in the house next door flickered on and an unfamiliar shape walked through the kitchen. It was lit up enough inside to see the walls were a muted shade of mint and the cabinetry was as white as snow. The man inside walked back and forth, and finally emerged onto his deck with a long neck bottle of beer, sitting in the darkened shadows.

  Years ago, back when I was a crazy, stupid teenager, that house used to occupy the Morris family; a typical mom-dad-two-kids deal. Like us, and just about everyone on this strip, they were summer families – arriving right after school finished and leaving September long weekend. I never knew where they went after closing up, and never cared to ask, they were just other kids to play with when we were here. Until I became too cool to hang out with dorks and preferred the company of bad boys. Or bad men as it sometimes came to be.

  The memories flittered away as I gazed intently upon my neighbour. He most definitely wasn’t Mr. Morris, who last time I saw was an older father and certainly would not be moving with such speed. And based on the outline, it wasn’t either of the two boys who were gangly, paper thin, and maybe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. Perhaps, when the economy took its nasty turn, the Morris family sold, and a new occupant moved in. It had happened before. Not all on this section of the beach were lifetime owners anymore. Just me and a few of the others. At least, last I’d heard.

  Oh well.

  Tomorrow in the fresh light, after I cleaned myself up, I’d go over and introduce myself. If I was going to be here a while, may as well be the neighbourly one. Besides my house had been unoccupied for so long, seeing life within it may set off alarm bells.

  I listened to the waves caressing the shoreline as I inhaled nice deep breaths of air hinted with the apple cinnamon scent from my tea. Every breath I took, my shoulders fell, and I melted into the pillar. It was too easy to give into it all.

  The deep staccato beats from Darth Vader’s theme blared out of my phone, echoing off the wood, and I jumped, tossing my hands out to the side. In a rush to rebalance, I knocked my mug clear off the edge where it landed with a crashing crack and the sound of liquid spraying about.

  “Damn you, Parker.”

  Why was my ex-boyfriend calling? What the hell did he want? Didn’t he get everything he wanted when he walked out on me?

  The spicy scent drifted in the air. The shards of ceramic. Tea everywhere. Shit.

  My feet were naked, and I wasn’t about to step anywhere until I could see properly, so I rolled off the ledge and jumped into the sand six feet below. Butterflies swirled in my gut.

  “Who’s there?” The gruff voice called over the darkness.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I swore under my breath. Not the way I wanted to introduce myself to the neighb
our. “Sorry. I live here and when my phone rang, I knocked my mug off.”

  I walked up the stairs and stayed as far away as possible from where I predicted the mug had shattered, and stretching out my step, I used my toes to grip the edge of the doorframe. Once inside, I slipped into my shoes and flicked on the porch light, pinching my eyes closed to the brightness.

  After a second or two when I was no longer blind, I grabbed for the broom and greeted the lack of a mess I was expecting.

  “Everything okay?” The male voice called out with concern lacing his words.

  I bent down, back to my neighbour, and picked up the mug, spying a crack in it but nothing more. “Yeah. Amazingly enough, it’s all good.”

  In the house, I trashed the old cup, while also turning on the under the cabinets lights to give a muted glow to the area and switched off the harsh deck light outside – it was bright enough to act like a lighthouse beacon.

  I headed over to the far end of the patio, closest to my neighbour’s. “I was going to wait until tomorrow to introduce myself, but since I’ve ruined the quiet vibe of the evening, may as well do it now.”

  “I think Darth Vader can take the rap.”

  A slight chuckle rolled out of me, pleased he knew the familiarity of the musical clip. “Yeah, we can totally blame him. I’m Lily, by the way.”

  “Lily, as in Lily Baker?”

  My jaw dropped. That was a name I hadn’t used in years. At least not professionally. That name belonged to a wild child, and clearly, this person remembered the rebellious teenager who believed she was invincible. The weakest response rolled out. “None other.”

  “Wow. You sure grew up.”

  Wish I could say the same about him as neither his voice nor his shape was at all familiar. I took a chance. “Mr. Morris?” But it couldn’t be. This voice was younger, with a sexy undercurrent to it.

  A deep laugh filled the air. “Only at doctor’s appointments.” His feet shuffled across his wooden deck. “Don’t you recognize me?” The patter of feet faded into the sand, and his shadow made his way in my direction, into the glow of the light. “You still don’t know who I am, do you?”

  I stared, shaking with disbelief. “How can I? You’re in the shadows.”

  The man before me was fully filled out and quite tall, something neither of the Morris boys had ever been. As he fully entered the light, I gasped as the boy had become a man. And damn, a good-looking one at that too. Long gone was the baby-faced, pimple-filled, gangly teenaged boy.

  Having a 50/50 shot between the brothers, I took a gamble. “Landon?” He was the baby, a year younger than me.

  “No,” his voice fell in disappointment, something I related to when people found out it was me and not my goody-two-shoes sister. “Just Eric.”

  Ohmygod. Just Eric was a full-fledged hottie. A caterpillar who’d burst out of his cocoon into a handsome, buff butterfly. Enough to cause my own in the pit of my stomach to swirl in excitement over seeing him after all these years.

  “Mona here too?”

  “No, she couldn’t make it.” Couldn’t be bothered was more like it, even if she wouldn’t let the place go.

  “Cool. Can I come up? It’d be great to catch up with you.”

  “Sure, I’d like that.”

  He stepped onto my deck and the sight of him up close made my jaw fall and my heart responded with an uptick in speed. Just Eric had sprouted a good twelve inches since the last time I’d seen him and easily stood over six feet tall. “So… who’s the Star Wars fan?”

  “Me.” Assigning a fitting John Williams score to my top ten callers was fun. Giving Parker the Sith Lord theme was even better. He was such a tyrant and had no mercy.

  “Who’s the Darth Vader for?”

  “No one important.” Because he made it that way. Ended our relationship without warning because the terms and conditions had changed, and he wasn’t onboard with any of it.

  Eric seemed to have sensed my tone and eased away from the inquiry. He leaned on the edge of the deck, his leg muscles tight beneath his shorts. “You back for a couple of weeks?”

  “Actually, just like the good ole days, I’ll be here all summer. I think.” Hadn’t worked through all the details completely, but it sounded good to say it regardless, and I hoped the mock confidence rolled out.

  A little flutter took flight in my gut as a wanderlust expression filled his handsome face. It was still hard to believe a gawky teenager like he’d been, was now a stunningly gorgeous guy.

  “You here for the summer too?”

  “Nah, I live here year-round.”

  “Wow, really?” I couldn’t imagine the seaside summer village being very busy during the cool, winter months.

  “I work at the airport.”

  “You’re a pilot?” I tried to hide the pitch at the end of my question but was sure I failed miserably.

  “Charter flights, mostly around the island.” There was a twinkle in his voice along with a hint of pride. “A life-long dream. Sort of. I’m not flying the big jumbo jets, but I’m still taking to the air.”

  Not only had he sprouted, but he’d figuratively earned his wings. Impressive. “Well, there’s lots to see and do on the island. I’m sure the tourists love it.” At least I hoped the list of things to do had expanded, although all I ever did as a teenager was drink and smoke too much weed on the beaches.

  “Fair bit. I do the occasional run to YVR.” Airport code for Vancouver. “So, if you ever need anything from your place while you’re here, gimme a holler. I can fly you over. Less than an hour gate to gate.”

  That would be a first - being shuttled around by a kid who was uber annoying and a giant pain in the ass. Whenever we were on the beach, him and Landon would follow my friends and I around like pitiful puppies. If I knew then he’d turn out to be a nice guy, maybe I would’ve been nicer to him.

  Darth Vader’s march sounded out again, and I quickly yanked my phone off the ledge, silencing it and flipping it face down. Parker could wait–forever–for all I cared.

  He glanced at his watch. “Tomorrow night, would you be interested in having supper? We can catch up.”

  It would be nice to chat with a friendly face.

  He kicked at the weathered floor of my deck. “I’d invite you out tonight, but I’m going to a friend’s and…”

  “Oh, that’s okay, honestly. Tomorrow works or even the next day too. I’m kind of exhausted anyway and need to catch up on my sleep.” I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a month, and especially not over the last week.

  “Perfect, it’s a date.”

  He walked off my porch, and I waited until his sand-covered soles crossed the floor of his patio before I laughed at the thought and headed inside where he couldn’t see me. A date? In his teenaged fantasies. I wasn’t back in Cheshire Bay to relive my glory days; I was here to figure out my life. And apparently, Parker was advancing up the to-do list with impressive speed.

  Chapter Two

  “Whatcha doing?” Eric asked, popping his head out his car as he pulled up in front of his place.

  I lifted a can of paint from the rear of my Jeep and waved it in front of me. “Renovating.”

  He walked over and retrieved a couple bags of supplies and the other two cans of paint, following me into the house. “Sorry I didn’t come and grab you for our supper date the other night. An emergency popped up with a friend, and by time I got back here your lights were all off.”

  “It’s all good, I promise.” I hadn’t expected much anyway. Figured he blew me off like I had him so many times before. Besides, this wasn’t the right time in my life for a date-date. A friendly coffee, as wonderful as the thought was, was almost too much to handle. Especially since being back in the bay area.

  “I’ve been working more with the incoming tourists.”

  “Eric,” I paused and rifled through the bag of supplies sitting on the kitchen island. “Trust me, it’s okay.” Right at the bottom was the package of pl
astic tarps I needed.

  A look of relief tugged his shoulders downward and pushed a smile into his cheeks. “Whew.” He mocked wiping his brow and turned to take in the change of scenery. “Wow.” A high-pitched whistle blew through his lips. “You’ve totally changed the looks of this place.”

  I narrowed my eyes. As far as I remembered, I’d never invited him over, so how would he know?

  He set a paint can down on the floor. “On occasion I’d pop over and make sure everything was okay – no water lines busted, that kind of thing. Your dad hired me to keep an eye on the place. By the way, is he coming by at all? I’d like to touch base with him.”

  I froze in the spot for a heartbeat and swallowed down a rapidly forming lump. “No, he’s not coming.” Quickly, I averted my gaze.

  “Ah, well, too bad.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “This looks amazing, and you’ve given it a modern spin. I like it.”

  “Excuse its current disaster though.”

  Normally, I was a neat and tidy person, but being here, there was the overwhelming urge to declutter, clean and repaint, and the result was a temporary pigsty. Sure, the walls were freshly painted in an interesting choice of grey, which wasn’t my first pick, but the floors were littered in nightmare of weathered books, knickknacks and items that desperately needed to never see the light of day again.

  “I promise, it’s not permanent. I have big plans for this space.” I lifted the can of paint at Eric’s feet, twisting and debating where precisely to put it.

  The main floorplan was open concept, and the sitting area only had three walls. One had an empty, but unpainted, bookcase from the 1950’s that took up the length of the wall and filled three-quarters of the height. The other two walls were half windows; one gazing out to green hilly seaside, and the other stared out onto the covered deck which faced the ocean. Painting those two walls had been easy. It was the bookcase wall providing some challenges since it was firmly attached to the wall and I couldn’t just slap a paint roller on it and be done. The wall needed to be painted, as did the bookcase, but I wasn’t sure if it should match the wall, or something different to make it pop. While I figured it out (and waited for a call from my best friend and interior decorator), I’d painted the kitchen but without her returning my call, I’d started painting the upstairs. And that’s when I ran out of supplies.