Read Online Finding Haven by T.A. Foster - Free Book Online
Authors: T.A. Foster
Tags: Romance
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easier now.
Evan didn’t bother with clocks anymore. His cheeks prickled with the first signs of
sunburn. He swatted at a fly.
“Dammit,” he mumbled as he caught himself from tipping over onto the sand.
He looked over his left shoulder. Charlotte was gone. He was grateful for that. He
flipped the lid on the cooler and reached into the container that was now more water
than ice. He twisted the top off an icy bottle and chugged until it was empty.
The water was flat today and calmer than Evan remembered seeing it in the past two
weeks. Usually surfers dotted the break line, but with quiet waves, he noticed a few
kayaks floating close by.
Since he had moved into Silver Belle, he had managed to get an even brown tan, drink
as much as he had in college, and remain completely anonymous as Jay, the writer from
Georgia. Evan chuckled, knowing that so little had ever been accomplished in two weeks.
It took real effort to do nothing, and of that, he was prouder than hell.
He rubbed the scruff that had grown on his face. He had never had this much facial
hair before. There were always actors who had to grow beards for roles or dye their
hair, but Evan’s bankability was in his face. It was never a request he had to fulfill. Maybe next film. As soon as the thought entered his mind, his chest tightened and it felt like shards
of glass had slipped under his ribcage. He struggled to push them out. No, no more
films. It’s not happening .
He fished in the cooler for another beer. A fiddler crab waved its large claw near
Evan’s toe before scurrying sideways into an open hole in the sand.
There was something settling about the beach. The longer he watched each wave roll
toward him, unfurling in a smooth flutter over the bank of broken shells, the longer
he wanted to stay and do nothing more.
“T RAVIS, I didn’t hear the answer. Was Haven late this morning?” Mr. Owen peered at the store
clerk. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.
Haven tied the apron behind her waist and waited for the truth to be revealed. Of
course she wasn’t on time. She was never on time. It was 5:45 in the freakin’ morning.
Travis gripped the broom handle tightly. His knuckles were white at the tops where
they should have been flesh-colored.
“Dad, stop. Just stop.” Haven couldn’t stand the torture anymore.
Her father looked down the brim of his nose at her. “I was speaking to Travis.”
“Right, but he doesn’t need to answer for me. I was late, ok? I was not here at five
thirty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Travis had resumed his sweeping duties and had cleared a path away from the employee
hallway.
“That fifteen minutes is coming out of your check or you’re staying late today.” Denton
Owen stood and observed the morning routine in his store.
“Whatever.” Haven huffed her way to the register. She watched her father sip on the
steaming cup of coffee. She wished it would burn his tongue.
“We can talk about this later, Haven. Travis doesn’t need to hear your tantrums.”
Haven clenched her fists as she popped open the register to count the till for the
morning. He was condescending, insulting, patronizing, and her father. She could do
anything but try to get through each encounter.
For the most part, she avoided him. If he walked in the front door, she walked out
the back. If he needed help in the coolers, she raced to the kayak stand on the docks.
If inventory in the storage room needed to be counted, she volunteered to run the
register at the front. She calculated every way possible that she could be in the
same store as him and not be within earshot or sight of him.
Despite his failure to acknowledge she wasn’t ten years old anymore, there was a time
when she loved being around her father. They used to close the store together, grab
ice cream, and plot how they could get Mom to stop making that awful crab casserole,
or on slick days
Evan didn’t bother with clocks anymore. His cheeks prickled with the first signs of
sunburn. He swatted at a fly.
“Dammit,” he mumbled as he caught himself from tipping over onto the sand.
He looked over his left shoulder. Charlotte was gone. He was grateful for that. He
flipped the lid on the cooler and reached into the container that was now more water
than ice. He twisted the top off an icy bottle and chugged until it was empty.
The water was flat today and calmer than Evan remembered seeing it in the past two
weeks. Usually surfers dotted the break line, but with quiet waves, he noticed a few
kayaks floating close by.
Since he had moved into Silver Belle, he had managed to get an even brown tan, drink
as much as he had in college, and remain completely anonymous as Jay, the writer from
Georgia. Evan chuckled, knowing that so little had ever been accomplished in two weeks.
It took real effort to do nothing, and of that, he was prouder than hell.
He rubbed the scruff that had grown on his face. He had never had this much facial
hair before. There were always actors who had to grow beards for roles or dye their
hair, but Evan’s bankability was in his face. It was never a request he had to fulfill. Maybe next film. As soon as the thought entered his mind, his chest tightened and it felt like shards
of glass had slipped under his ribcage. He struggled to push them out. No, no more
films. It’s not happening .
He fished in the cooler for another beer. A fiddler crab waved its large claw near
Evan’s toe before scurrying sideways into an open hole in the sand.
There was something settling about the beach. The longer he watched each wave roll
toward him, unfurling in a smooth flutter over the bank of broken shells, the longer
he wanted to stay and do nothing more.
“T RAVIS, I didn’t hear the answer. Was Haven late this morning?” Mr. Owen peered at the store
clerk. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand.
Haven tied the apron behind her waist and waited for the truth to be revealed. Of
course she wasn’t on time. She was never on time. It was 5:45 in the freakin’ morning.
Travis gripped the broom handle tightly. His knuckles were white at the tops where
they should have been flesh-colored.
“Dad, stop. Just stop.” Haven couldn’t stand the torture anymore.
Her father looked down the brim of his nose at her. “I was speaking to Travis.”
“Right, but he doesn’t need to answer for me. I was late, ok? I was not here at five
thirty. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Travis had resumed his sweeping duties and had cleared a path away from the employee
hallway.
“That fifteen minutes is coming out of your check or you’re staying late today.” Denton
Owen stood and observed the morning routine in his store.
“Whatever.” Haven huffed her way to the register. She watched her father sip on the
steaming cup of coffee. She wished it would burn his tongue.
“We can talk about this later, Haven. Travis doesn’t need to hear your tantrums.”
Haven clenched her fists as she popped open the register to count the till for the
morning. He was condescending, insulting, patronizing, and her father. She could do
anything but try to get through each encounter.
For the most part, she avoided him. If he walked in the front door, she walked out
the back. If he needed help in the coolers, she raced to the kayak stand on the docks.
If inventory in the storage room needed to be counted, she volunteered to run the
register at the front. She calculated every way possible that she could be in the
same store as him and not be within earshot or sight of him.
Despite his failure to acknowledge she wasn’t ten years old anymore, there was a time
when she loved being around her father. They used to close the store together, grab
ice cream, and plot how they could get Mom to stop making that awful crab casserole,
or on slick days
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