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“Weren’t you just here? Wearing a lot less?” he tried to ask, but she was already leaning up, the warmth of her skin against him doubled by the feel of her lips touching his, soft and sure and so, so sweet. When she pulled away, he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer, higher, and pressed his lips back to hers, unwilling to let it end again so soon.
For a long moment, she responded, her lips moving against his. Then a cough sounded behind them, and she pushed her hands against his chest and stepped away, leaving Charlie breathless.
“Nice to see the two of you getting along so well,” George said, eyebrows raised.
“Nice to see you survived the storm.” Charlie glanced at Mia, who was practically vibrating beside him. “We were worried.”
“So I see.” George gave the window seat, and Mia’s sweater still lying over his tool box next to it, a pointed look. She must have gone home in his t-shirt. He wished he could have seen that.
And he really wished her father wasn’t there.
“Get dressed,” Mia said, moving farther out of his reach. “I need your help.”
Bewildered, Charlie looked down and realized the throw blanket wrapped around his middle was all he was wearing. Damn. “What’s happening?” he asked, pulling the blanket higher.
“Dad’s saved the festival,” Mia said. “But we need your help.”
Charlie looked over to George for more information and saw him moving toward the fireplace that wasn’t a fireplace.
“Mia’s right,” was all he said. “You might want clothes for this.”
With that, George reached into the fireplace, and Charlie heard a click as something moved. And when he stepped aside, Charlie could see right through the fireplace to the steps leading down into the cliff face.
Charlie swallowed. “Let me find my jeans.”
* * * *
Becky didn’t bother getting up early the next day. The storm that had raged all night had surely done their work for them. No way Mia could still hold the festival in such weather.
But then again, it might be nice to watch.
The hotel lobby was empty as Becky made her way outside. Pushing open the door, the strong breeze left over from the night’s storm almost blew her backward.
She made her way across the Esplanade toward the festival site, her spirits rising. Tattered bunting and disheveled streets, not to mention the only-half-assembled stands and stalls on the beach itself, all told the same story. There was no way the festival could go ahead and be a success like this. Mia had failed. And now Becky got to watch.
She started down the steps to the beach feeling gleeful, and didn’t even complain when Joe almost pushed her over the railings in his hurry to reach the sand. But when Walt from the cinema did the same thing a moment later, she began to wonder what was going on.
“Is this where the Fish and Film Festival is?” a harassed looking young mother asked, tugging her two small boys down the steps behind her.
Becky paused at the bottom of the stairs and said, “Well, it would be. But to be honest, I wouldn’t bother–it doesn’t really look like it’s going to go…”
“It most certainly is,” Ditsy boomed from behind her, skipping down the steps with far too much energy for a seventy-six-year-old, carrying a large stack of patterned paper napkins. “If you’d just like to come this way, dear, I’ll take you for the pre-festival Smuggler’s tour.”
“Tour?” Becky asked, bemused.
Magda, descending the steps behind her with an oversized wicker picnic basket cradled in her arms, said, “Oh yes. It’s the highlight of the festival, apparently.”
Which explained everything, and nothing. It had to be Mia’s fault.
Ditsy led the woman away down the beach, pausing to glance over her shoulder at her niece and call, “If you’re not busy, I’m sure they could use your help with the stalls, Becky.”
And Becky realized perhaps not everything had gone to plan after all.
* * * *
Charlie leaned against the cliff face and listened to Mia finishing off her third Smuggler Tour of the morning, with the by now famous words, “but the treasure of A to Z Jones was never found,” and looked up and beamed at him. The group clapped, then began to wander off to explore the stalls farther up the beach, leaving Mia answering questions from some of the smaller children who’d stayed behind, half excited, half terrified to think the famous smuggler might return for his jewels and gold, hundreds of years later.
Charlie had been skeptical, he’d admit. The tunnel George had led him down, snaking from the cottage fireplace all the way through the cliffs to the far end of the beach, had been dark, dirty and damp. It was hard to imagine how it was going to save the festival.
“With a little bit of history,” George had said as they trudged through the rock, guided only by torchlight. But he’d sounded more excited than Charlie had ever heard him.
“Are we sure it’s safe?” Mia had asked.
“I was in here all night.” George waved the torch beam around a bit. “If it survived that storm and the last two hundred or so years, I’m pretty sure it can take a few dozen kids running up and down it.”
“This is where you were?” Charlie asked, offering a quick thank you to the world that George hadn’t decided to climb up through the fireplace while he and Mia had been...occupied.
“All night,” George repeated, sounding gleeful. “It was an adventure.”
An adventure every child at the festival was reliving, trailing through the very tunnels where A to Z Jones had hidden with his crew and dragged their lost treasure up to the lighthouse keeper’s cottage for hiding.
The lucky ones even got to encounter the ghost of A to Z Jones himself, eager to answer all their questions, except one–where his treasure was.
Charlie was still suspicious about where George had found the hat.
“You’re taking the next one,” Mia told him as the kids ran after her parents, and she trudged through the sand toward him. “I’m whacked.” She wiped a hand across her forehead, and Charlie smiled. Even the sun had come out for them, in the end.
“Fine by me,” he said. It was more fun than he’d thought it would be, after his crash course in local history from George earlier in the morning. “But I think we can take a short break to check on the others, first.”
“And get a drink,” Mia insisted, looking flushed.
“Tell you what, you get the drinks, I’ll get us a snack and I’ll meet you back here, ready for the next tour.” Mia nodded, and Charlie brushed a hand against hers as they reached the stalls and separated.
He didn’t know what was happening between them, but he knew he felt a lot better about it than he had in weeks, since before Becky arrived. And he knew Mia had saved the festival, just like he’d known she would.
Add in last night, and his early morning kiss, and Charlie was pretty sure this might be his best day ever.
The food stalls appeared to have been gathered together on the western side of the festival, near the cliffs, and Charlie walked amongst the scents of barbequed burgers and hot dogs and deep fried chips before he smelled something even more familiar. Following his nose, he found Kevin grilling herrings over a portable grill.
“Are those my vodka-marinated herrings?” he asked, and Kevin said, “Very popular with the dads, they are. Closest they’re allowed to alcohol at this time of the morning, I imagine.”
“Heather Jenkins bullied Jonny into not opening the Crooked Fox tent until after midday,” Magda said, appearing from behind the tent. “The taster stall is a great success,” she added, with only a hint of smugness. “People get to experience StarFish food without having to stop in for a full meal. Sort of a try before you buy thing.”
It was a good idea, like most of Magda’s, and he thanked once again whoever it was who had sent her his way when she’d arrived in Aberarian. “How great a success?”
“Do you want to see the list of bookings StarFish has for the
next three months?” Magda held up a pad of paper with the first three pages almost completely filled.
Charlie took it from her. “Wow.”
“I know,” Magda said with a nod. “A lot of people from neighboring towns, I think. A few tourists planning to return later in the year. But mostly, they’re the people who’re around all year and just never found us before.”
“This is fantastic, Magda,” Charlie said, and she beamed back at him. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem, boss,” Magda said.
“And that’s not all she’s done,” Joe said, taking Magda’s hand. “She had this idea about recipe cards for some of your best dishes. Postcards, like. Ones we can send out to regulars.”
“Only they’d also have Joe’s advice on the best cuts and fish and so on,” Magda explained. “To encourage people to go to their local butcher or fishmonger to buy their ingredients. And an e-newsletter, with menu updates and stuff. I’ve already got a huge mailing list,” she added, waving the bookings list again, and Charlie noticed the ‘newsletter’ column people had ticked, next to their email address.
Finally, it looked like Aberarian was finding its own way into the new century. “Thank you all, so much. Now, how about you give me some of those herrings to share with Mia?”
As Kevin loaded him up with a paper plate full of fish, Magda handed Charlie some brightly colored napkins and said, “So, things are well again with Mia? Does this mean Becky is leaving?”
Charlie shrugged. “I can’t speak for Becky. But I’ve decided to take your advice. I’m not going to settle for anything less than my dream.”
Magda grinned. “Good for you. So you’ve told her then? That you love her?”
Ah. Charlie ran through their conversation the night before in his mind. He’d said he wouldn’t leave her. Surely she knew? “Not…not exactly.”
