16
As she headedthrough the line of evergreen trees toward the shellfish farm, Georgia couldn’t decide which was less appealing. Eating what was almost certainly going to be a horrible-tasting oyster or having to eat that oyster while in the unpalatable company of the man most likely to win both sexiest and grouchiest shellfish farmer on the planet. It was a toss-up. But she was determined to do whatever she could to get her life back on track, and not even a grumpy oyster farmer was going to get in her way.
The oyster farm was rustic and quaint, with a handful of wood-clad buildings encircling an outdoor eating area with wooden picnic tables and plastic crates half-full of empty oyster shells. Beyond the graveled eating area, the land gently sloped down to the beach and the wide span of the bay beyond. A long pier stuck out into the water with a small wooden shack at the end. Georgia looked around, spotting two figures in bright orange overalls doing something at the end of the pier. Cole was at the far side of the eating area, splitting wood with an axe like some sort of lumberjack commercial. She didn’t see anyone else around.
Pausing by a picnic table, she made herself slow down and take a deep breath. It was difficult to cultivate wonder and delight while marching single-mindedly toward a goal. That sort of behavior was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place,most likely. Her mind was still reeling from Star’s astonishing revelations, but she tried to calm herself and focus on the moment. She looked around and tried to imprint the beauty of the setting onto her mind. “Relax, enjoy,” she told herself. Then reluctantly, she headed toward the sound of chopping wood.
When Cole saw Georgia, he grimaced and set down the axe, tossing the split wood onto a tall pile near a stone firepit.
“Good morning.” She tried to smile brightly.
He gave her a curt nod and turned away, gesturing for her to follow him. “Let’s get this over with,” he said gruffly.
She rolled her eyes behind his back. “Lead the way.”
What was his problem? They’d shared a nice chat yesterday afternoon while she was cooking dinner, but then he’d been distant and silent again during the meal. Now he was looking at her like she was a boil on his backside. His very tight backside. He filled out a pair of jeans well. She tried not to notice. Too bad he had the personality of a wet sock, she thought uncharitably.
“This place is beautiful,” she said.
He grunted in reply. “Westcott Bay Shellfish Company is one of the only family-run aquaculture farms in the San Juan Islands,” he explained. “We farm oysters, clams, and mussels right here in the bay. It’s an environmentally friendly way of farming that actually improves the water quality and overall health of the bay and provides fresh shellfish daily to customers and local establishments. It’s a solid operation.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Georgia looked around her in appreciation. She knew next to nothing about shellfish farming but was enchanted by the peaceful serenity of the farm, the sunshine glistening on the bay, the scent of evergreen needles, the call of gulls.
Cole led her to a tall, open wooden shed-type building closer to the water and stopped at a deep stainless-steel trough filled with water. The bottom of the trough was piled high with oysters, their rough, gray ridged shells tumbled haphazardly over one another.
“I’m assuming you’ve had an oyster before?” he asked.
She raised a brow. “I’ve lived in France for the last twelve years.”
He nodded once. “Okay then, pick out the one you want.”
She dipped her hand into the water and gasped aloud. It was ice-cold. Her fingers instantly went numb. She grabbed a large oyster and brought it dripping to the surface. Cole slid on a pair of thick leather gloves with flared cuffs and reached out for her oyster. She handed it to him, watching as he expertly shucked it with a deft twist of the oyster knife at the hinge of the shell. She had always found culinary competence sexy, and watching him effortlessly shuck the oyster was no exception. A moment later, he held it out to her, fresh and creamy and glistening on its half shell.
Without thinking, Georgia leaned forward, putting her lips to the edge of the oyster shell and tipping her head back, letting the plump oyster slide into her mouth. She saw Cole’s pupils widen in surprise. For an unguarded instant, something flickered across his face. She could have sworn it was admiration, or maybe even desire. That was unexpected. She met his eyes in a silent challenge, sucking down the brine. The oyster was everything it should be—fresh and cold, creamy with a little crunch. For a split second she thought she might be able to taste it, but then it hit her. The bitter bite at the end. Horribly, revoltingly bitter.
“Oh.” She shuddered, pulling back.
He tossed the empty shell into a nearby plastic crate half full of shells and stepped back from her quickly. “No good?”
She shook her head, trying to tamp down her disappointment. “No.” Worse than no good. Horrible. And horribly disappointing. She’d hoped it would work. Had she not been present enough? Not enjoyed enough in the moment? Maybe she should have savored it more.
“Sorry it wasn’t what you were hoping for,” he said stiffly. He glanced at the woodpile. “I should get back to work.”
Georgia nodded but didn’t move. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I appreciate you trying to help me.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Cole replied evenly.
“Oh.” Georgia understood. He was doing it for Star. She just happened to be the favor Star was asking of him.
“Well then,” Georgia retorted crisply. “Thank you for the oyster.”
“My pleasure.” His tone said it was anything but. Without another word he headed toward the woodpile and picked up the axe again. Georgia snorted.My pleasure. They both knew that was a lie. On impulse, she followed him.
“Look,” she said, stepping directly in front of him, ignoring the fact that he was wielding an enormous, sharp wedge of metal near her face. “I know you don’t like me, and that’s fine. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I get it. I’m not sure what I’ve done for you to dislike me so quickly, but if we’re going to be spending any amount of time together while I’m here, I’d like us to be civil at the very least. Pleasant would be even better. Pleasant strangers. Otherwise, I’d rather chew glass than spend a minute more with you.” She gazed at him defiantly.
He was watching her with a look of surprise that quickly melted into a chagrined amusement.
“You think this is funny?” Georgia demanded. She crossed her arms and stared him down. She was fuming and could feel her cheeks flushing a telltale red. She blushed when she got mad.It was very inconvenient. “I have never met a ruder human being and I’ve lived in PARIS for over a decade. You don’t even know me. I don’t know if you hate women or just redheads or if you’ve got something against me personally, but let’s just try to be civil to each other, especially since it appears we will be forced to spend time together this weekend, okay? And then after I leave the island, we can go back to being strangers who will never, ever have to see each other again. Which I’m assuming will suit both of us just fine.”
