To satisfy those who are looking for some actual excerpts, here's one of my favorites from the last 8K:
“So,” Neville said as Ross continued to munch on the crunchy wheat flakes. “How did your date go last night?” Then he grinned and waggled his dark brows in suggestion, muttering conspiratorially, “Or is your lady fair still upstairs, contentedly asleep in your untidy bachelor's boudoir?”
Ross swallowed and gave a weak frown at the same time. He stood up from his barstool seat, palming his shallow bowl into one hand and the lowball full of orange juice in the other. “Not that it is any of your business,” he said, pausing briefly to tongue a stray flake from his molars, “but no. I walked her home last night around ten-thirty, and that was it.”
Neville followed him around the counter and into the back room, past the stairs to the second floor, to the sink-and-stove unit, where Ross dropped the bowl and paused to down the rest of the juice.
“Sorry to hear that, mate,” Neville murmured. The comment wasn't meant to mock; he sounded genuinely sincere. “I thought you two were hitting it off.”
“Oh, we did,” Ross told him with a grin. Then he stepped through the wide doorway again, to return to his seat behind the counter.
Neville continued to follow, whistling softly, now. “What is this?” he drawled in mock-surprise. “No braggadocio? No grossly inappropriate, intimate details about her lacy pants, or how bouncy her tits are, or how she likes to be spanked by a wooden paddle?”
Ross laughed beneath his breath. “I don't know where you got that last one...!” he muttered.
Neville wasn't about to be misdirected, though. He tilted his head to the side, to look at Ross sidelong, with a smile. “You're not going to tell me anything about what happened last night,” he murmured, as though trying to goad. “Are you?”
Ross returned his look, forcing his mouth not to twitch. “No,” he said at last, quite definitely.
Rather than being miffed, Neville grinned wide, showing off his eyeteeth. “At least answer me this, then,” he said, and here he laid one hand upon the counter and leaned over it, controlling his visible glee long enough to drop his voice to a mutter. “Are you in love with this girl?”
“What?” Ross said, abruptly scoffing. “What gave you that idea?”
“That is not a 'no,'” Neville replied, still prodding, and still grinning, too.
“You keep your opinions to yourself,” Ross told him, unable to keep the chuckle he'd been holding in from escaping him, now, or that heated, euphoric flush from rushing into his face, both of which just made Neville crow gleefully:
“I knew it!”
Ross shook his head, unable to think of a suitable response (whatever that might be) before the door chime sounded again. He looked up, and abruptly his smile and joy fell and floundered; this wasn't Amber, either, come calling for some morning sweetness.
It was Sam.
Neville greeted her with a polite salutation, but Ross – anticipating a more vehement chiding for not being at the lifeboat station, yet – skipped the niceties and shot her a frown. “Tell Burridge I was just on my way-” he began, but Sam dismissed him with a shake of her head.
“I'm not here for you,” she muttered, and then she lifted her chin. “Where's Amber?”
Ross blinked curiously at her for a second, then replied, “Why would I know that?”
Sam wrinkled her nose in a sneer. “Don't play dumb with me, you cretin. I know she's here with you; now, go get her.”
Ross sat up fully, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and snorted. “Even if she were here – which she isn't! – you can't just come in here and order me about.”
Sam's mouth twitched. “What do you mean?” she muttered.
“I mean, this is my shop!”
“No,” Sam snapped back at him. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, she's not here?”
Neville chose that moment to step in. “We haven't seen her since last night. That's the honest truth. Right, mate?” he said, shooting a glance at Ross, who nodded.
Sam gave a huff. “Well, she went out with her wetsuit and that stupid surfboard this morning,” she said. “Where the hell else would she be?”
“There's no surfing today!” Ross retorted. “It's all chop out there. You'd have to be crazy to-” he said, and then his voice abruptly died in his throat as his own words sunk in. And before he could even swear, the lifeboat rescue pager attached to his belt went off, followed a half-second after by the one Sam carried in her purse.
Ross looked at her, feeling his face go slack. “Shout's out,” he muttered.
Sam's eyes went wide. “Oh, God-!” she croaked, and she spun for the door.
Ross was a full five paces behind her out the door, but he had a longer stride and was a strong runner, so he hit the edge of the beach well ahead of her. He almost wished he didn't, though, for the sight of those familiar red RNLI jackets clustered together around the bright yellow shape of a surfboard. It was a Mollusc make, he could see, the same one he'd loaned to Amber.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
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