Free Geoducks Are for Lovers by Daisy Prescott

house as if he will miraculously appear.
    “Probably working. He said he’d drop off the firewood for a beach fire tomorrow morning.”
    “Did he ask about me?” Quinn asks.
    “Actually, he asked about Selah. She made an impression on him at the funeral.” 
    “Lucky bitch.” Quinn scowls at Selah.
    “Paul Bunyan is the hunkiest of hunky neighbors. Probably much hotter than even Jonah.” Quinn dramatically sighs.
    Maggie laughs. “You’ve never seen Jonah, Quinn. I guess John is hunky.” She tries to nonchalantly shrug off John’s hotness. There’s no denying it.
    “I wonder if he’ll pose for one of my book covers.” Selah muses out loud.
    “I thought you wrote about smutty pirates, not sexy lumberjacks, Ms. Suzette Marquis?” Maggie asks, using Selah’s pen name.
    “Maybe I should start a new series on lumberjacks. Think of all the wood euphemisms!”
    “I’d like to saw Paul Bunyan’s wood.”
    Maggie scowls at Quinn. 
    “If I were single. Please. Like I’d ever cheat on Dr. Gooding?”
    “I know you love him, Quinn. You’re lucky to find your person.” Maggie sighs.
    “Some of us aren’t meant to be lobsters, Maggie. Lots of fishes and lots of seas, but you need to have your hook in the water to fish,” Selah says.
    “You sound like Bert on the ferry with the fishing references. Although, the hook reminds me of Captain Hook. Didn’t one of your pirates have a hook?” Maggie asks
    “Am I the only one who doesn’t read Selah’s smut?” Gil asks as he pours the last of the coffee into his mug.
    “Erotica, not smut. Erotica. I’m crushed you never read my books.” Selah attempts to look crestfallen.
    “I don’t think I’m your target audience. Pirates aren’t my thing.” 
    “Gil, You don’t celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day?” Quinn asks.
    “There is such a thing?”
    “Yep, in September, matey. Might want to try to keep up with what the young folks are doing these days, Captain,” Quinn declares in his best fake pirate voice.
    “On that note, shall we get on with our day?” Still laughing, Maggie puts the dirty pan and mugs in the sink.
    “Leave those and I’ll do them while you’re gone.” Gil volunteers.
    “Really? Last night wasn’t a fluke? A man who wants to wash dishes? You are the best thing ever.” Maggie hugs him without thinking. His warm, summer, Gil smell is intoxicating.
    “I told you I want to earn my keep around here. I figure if your coffee taste hasn’t changed, neither has your abhorrence of washing dishes.” Gil looks down at Maggie still hugging his arm. 
    At the mention of the time they all lived together between sophomore and junior years, Maggie drops Gil’s arm and steps back. She tries to quell her reaction to Gil mentioning that summer and walks past him to let Biscuit out on the deck. “Selah, you going berry picking in a robe or are you getting dressed? And be sure to wear long sleeves to protect your arms from the thorns.” 
    Selah dashes to her room down the hall. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she calls out.
    Maggie follows the dog outside and starts deadheading some flowers in the boxes around the deck with her fingers. She needs to get away from Gil and his intoxicating self.
    “That was interesting.” Quinn coughs, and then laughs as he bites into the last scone. “Very interesting indeed.” 
    Gil still stands at the sink. Things went from fun and light to uncomfortable in a few seconds after the infamous summer was brought up. Wondering if she still regrets what happened, he turns on the hot water to distract himself from Maggie’s reaction. 
    Quinn walks over to the counter with his mug. 
    “I’m not one to pry—” He stops when Gil raises his eyebrow in doubt. “Okay I am, but we all know something went down between you and Maggie before she left for France. I have my suspicions, which I’ll keep to myself. But if there’s still that thing between you two that’s always been a thing