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I looked at the clock, mentally calculating the likelihood Cass could still be in town. I fumbled to untie my apron. “I gotta go. I’m sorry, I’ll be back to clean up, but I––”
Sylvie laughed and waved a hand at me. “Go. I got this.”
I stomped past her, and as I pushed through the kitchen door into the serving area, her laugh floated over my shoulder. “Go get your girl!”
My boots stomped down the sidewalk as I peered in every storefront, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
Not at the café.
Not at the touristy shop on the corner.
Not in King Tattoo. Unlikely.
By the time I’d made it to the end of the city center block, my hope was wavering. Nearly an hour had gone by from the time Sylvie had said she’d seen Cass to when my shoulders slumped in defeat. I slipped my hand into my back pocket. The small scrap of paper with Cass’s phone number was still there.
I considered a quick text, just a little something so she knew I was thinking of her. Wish her a safe trip home. Totally casual and not at all needy.
I shook my head at myself. Who am I kidding?
A spark of hope burned brighter when, across the road, Bootsy was shuffling back into town.
“Bootsy!” His head flew up, and he looked around nervously, like he was in trouble.
I held out my palms. “Hey, Bootsy. It’s me. Huck from the Sugar Bowl bakery?”
His nervous eyes darted left and right. “I didn’t do nothin’. Just walking and minding my own.”
I relaxed my stance and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “No, man. We’re good. Your morning muffin will be waiting for you at the bakery when you’re ready.” Bootsy relaxed and looked up as though he was just now recognizing me. “But I did have a question. Sylvie said you were talking to a woman this morning. A reporter from out of town...”
Bootsy’s eyes brightened. “Real nice, that one. Says she might put my words in the newspaper. Isn’t that somethin’?”
My heart beat faster. He had spoken with her. “That would be great. Hey, any chance you saw where she was headed?”
“Home, I suppose.”
My lips flattened and I nodded. Figures.
“Though, she was headed down to the beach a bit ago.”
“The beach?”
“Yes, sir.” Bootsy nodded and darted his head in the direction of the shoreline.
I exhaled in relief. “Thank you.” I moved backward, still looking at Bootsy but headed toward the water. “Tell Sylvie I said two muffins. Anytime!”
“Well, I’ll be. Thanks, Huck.” Bootsy shuffled away with a smile, and I turned to run down the concrete path toward the water.
NINE
CASS
The sun was rising higher above the water, hidden behind thick, low-hanging clouds, as I let the cold autumn waves crash over my feet. My toes were getting numb in the chill water, but I wiggled my toes deeper into the soft sand.
The beachfront fires had all been cleaned up. The ashes scooped and sand raked, almost as if there hadn’t been a Fireside Flannel Festival at all. Outtatowner was shifted back to the comfort of its slow and steady routine. Fishermen still dotted the long pier as they cast out into the crashing waves, hoping for a little luck in the overcast day.
“Outtatowner appreciates the tourists, but townies are the heart.”
I mulled over Bootsy’s words. He spoke about the town that cared for him with such gratitude and reverence that it was easy to see the charm of his small town through his eyes. He lived on the fringes of society, bucking the norm, and instead of ostracizing him, people embraced him. Took care of him. Let him be.
