I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you to bring in my stuff, Marcus.” He drops his bag dramatically and glares at me. “But thank you all the same.”
His expression softens, and he offers me the suitcase handle. “You’re welcome.” He looks around, taking in the space, and an expression I can’t read crosses his face when his gaze catches on the ocean view.
“What is it?”
“It just reminds me of the pub’s view of Elliott Bay, and I have a similar view of English Bay at my apartment in Vancouver.”
“You must have a thing for ocean views.”
He nods absently and approaches the sliding glass door. To the left, you can barely see Haystack Rock nestled in the marine fog, but on a clear day, it rises from the turbulent waters like a sleeping giant. “I like being close to the water. It’s comforting.”
I walk over to stand next to him and point at a section of rocks jutting out to the right. “Sometimes, the sea otters sun themselves there.”
“This place is really cool,” Marcus rumbles, and his deep voice goes straight through me. He turns, surveying the rest of the house. “What’s the sleeping situation, anyway?”
“Yeah, about that. There’s literally one bed.” I wave my hand at the gray sofa. “So you can take the couch. I used to sleep on it when I stayed here with my aunt.”
He studies it skeptically. “No offense, but I’m a little bigger than you.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I quip. “But as I mentioned before we left Seattle, I wasn’t planning on bringing a burly six-foot-two man along with me for this trip.”
“I’m actually six-three.”
I roll my eyes, and I consider letting him have the queen-sized bed, but honestly? I don’t think he’s earned it. “Marcus, you’re welcome to get a room in town.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he grumbles and brings his duffel to the armchair. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
I roll my suitcase down the hallway to the bedroom and unpack. It’s only a short trip, but I hate living out of a suitcase. When Marion first started traveling with me, she used to make fun of my immediate need to unpack, even if it was just an overnight trip. I blame my childhood trauma. When I was living with my foster family, they never gave me any furniture other than a mattress. I just had the suitcase I arrived with, and that’s where I kept everything for an entire year.
Total downer, right?
After I mentioned the reason to Marion, she stopped teasing me, and now she just gives me pitying looks when I unpack on vacation. Which is why I don’t tell people about it.
“What now?” Marcus asks when I return to the kitchen.
I pick up a couple of reusable bags and toss them at him. “We need groceries.”
“Can’t we just eat out?”
I give him a tolerant look. “We’re not all made of money, hun.”
He flushes. “How much can a burger cost?”
“Cannon Beach rivals Seattle prices, my friend.”
“I never realized.” He rubs the back of his neck. “My parents always paid for stuff when we came here.”
His statement gives me pause. “You came here more than once?”
“Yeah, all the time. It was my stepmom’s favorite spot.”
Interesting.I wonder how often we were here together and never knew it.
“Anyway, groceries. It’s just a quick walk into town.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving,” Marcus protests. “Is the grocery store open?”
