Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

summer, growing up in the Midwest. With a few months before the oppressive heat and life-draining humidity of a true Georgia summer set in, he tried to avoid his air conditioner as much as he could. But come August, the tourists went home, local kids went back to school, and those with means left for the mountains, he’d be chained to it.
    Driving through the Pier Village, he parked his car in the small alley behind Phil’s bar. He grabbed an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the back of his Jeep, let himself in through the backdoor and climbed the stairs to the landing and door at the top. He knocked three times and Phil opened the door with one hand and extended a mug of coffee with another.
    “Thanks, I needed this,” he replied, throwing his clothes inside the door to grab the mug.
    Anticipating him had always been Phil’s specialty. Somehow, unnervingly so, he knew what Mark wanted or needed before he did himself. Mark drained the mug of coffee like he was downing a shot and handed it back. After the rough start to his day, getting called in as he headed out for a morning walk with Scooter, he hadn’t had a chance to get his morning fix yet.
    “You ready? We have a lot to do in here.”
    “Just let me get changed first.”
    Phil nodded his consent and stepped back to give Mark more room to enter the apartment. He picked up his old clothes off the floor and wandered down the hall to the full bathroom. Locking the door, he pulled off his wool pants and slipped out of his Oxford shirt. When Phil had first told him of his plan, to sell the cozy beach house he owned near Mark’s and give up his law practice to open up a bar, he’d been incredulous. Why did he want to give up everything he had worked so hard for?
    After a couple of years, he’d begun to understand his friend’s choices. Patricia, or Trish, had been working round the clock and so had Phil. Phil admitted to his friend that they barely got to see each other and he didn’t know what their end goal was in their life together. Selling their house gave them the means to buy the bar and the three-bedroom apartment above it. Downsizing meant working for themselves and the ability to spend more time together as a family.
    He opened the door and walked back down to the open living room, kitchen, dining room space. Phil wasted no time, handing him a wallpaper scorer, putty knife, and a spray bottle of vinegar. The stench of vinegar nearly knocked him down.
    “Did you dilute this?”
    Phil shook his head. “Was I supposed to?”
    “Do you have a sense of smell? How are you not wearing a mask?” he asked, covering his nose with his hand.
    At that moment, Trish, Phil’s wife, walked by modeling a white mask, she waved hello, and continued on her way to open every window in the apartment.
    “Oh you two are dramatic. Come on. Trish says the wallpaper has to go, so it has to go.”
    “Show me the way, this is my specialty,” Mark replied.
    Phil led the way through the small hallway to an open doorway off to the right. Charlie’s room had been wallpapered by the previous owners, and the owners before them, and so on and so forth. He had assured Phil he could cut through all the layers of history months ago. But he’d never found time to do it until he took the day off work. Now, as the little boy’s room began to resemble a tenement from his enthusiasm for removing the wallpaper, help became imperative.
    “Okay, I’ll be in here,” he told Phil, turning back to nod his agreement to the task.
    “Great, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get to work downstairs and Trish is off to teach yoga. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back with lunch and Charlie in a couple of hours.”
    “Sounds good.”
    Phil stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Mark turned around and got down to work. He covered all of Charlie’s furniture with drop cloths, opened the windows as far as he could, and began using the edge of the putty knife along