“They are,” he agrees, “but not the power, gas, and water companies.” He sighs heavily. “They open up on Monday morning. Maybe see about finding a place at The Nest Box Inn in the meantime.”
He tips his hat at me and then strides over to his police cruiser that’s parked behind Elias’s truck. A thrill shoots through me as I wonder if he’s giving him a ticket. That would teach him for being a jerk. Unfortunately, the sheriff has other plans. He plucks off his ball cap and takes off his uniform shirt, before shoving them inside the vehicle, and then heads for the building next to the post office.
The Icehouse.
Cold drinks. Warm company.
A bar.
I guess everyone goes home at five around here, or they head next door.
For a long beat, I remain frozen, wondering if I made a huge mistake coming to Budgie Bay. I should have just let Mom handle Grandma’s cottage and things. This was a bad idea.
The only silver lining in this entire day is I’ll finally be able to book a room at The Nest Box Inn. Every summer I’d beg Grandma to let us stay there one night, and she always said no.
I need a win right now.
Even if it comes in the way of a floral print wallpapered hotel room complete with handwoven doilies and vintage quilts.
Tomorrow has to be better.
Chapter 4
Elias
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Silas says as he smacks the bar top with one hand and slides an icy-cold IPA bottle my way. “Someone’s been a hermit lately.”
I grunt before taking a long, satisfying swig of my beer. “I have my reasons.”
Silas, unlike his sheriff brother, doesn’t press or interrogate. He knows me well enough to wisely back off when I’m not in a talkative mood. It’s what makes him a great bartender. Keeps the drinks coming and the questions light.
“Where’s Reverie?” I ask, changing the subject to his daughter. “She around here?”
Silas is a decade older than my ripe old age of thirty. His daughter was a surprise baby that landed on his doorstep twenty-one years ago. She keeps him on his toes.
“Since your brother hasn’t shown up yet, she’ll be scarce,” Silas says, grimacing. “I told her he’s a knucklehead.”
Corbin Cove is definitely a knucklehead.But he’s not the worst. Problem is, the two of them grew up together. I’m prettysure he sees Reverie more like a sister or a cousin than a love interest, though I’m not going to be the one to point that out.
I follow Silas’s gaze over to the bay window seating area that is perpetually reserved for The Flock. Currently, all six of their usual drinks are sitting and waiting for them to arrive. They’re not celebrities or anything. Just a local group of friends who meet up here every night of the week. Even Corbin, coming in reeking of smoke from fighting fires, never misses.
“Where’s Monroe?” I down the rest of my IPA and don’t even have to ask for another before Silas is popping off the cap. “He called me to meet him here. I figured he’d be waiting on me.”
Silas shrugs and then saunters over to a table of tourists. I know they’re tourists because they’re wearing the stupid, commercialized shirts and hats from one of the shops over at the Festival Flight Market. They order that crap in bulk. If they wanted something unique, they’d have better luck hunting in the bargain bins at the Molt Mercantile, probably spend a lot less too.
Goldie loved BudgieFest. That old woman forced me into going to the festival every year since I moved in next door. In her later years, we even rented a scooter for her to move about more easily. If she knew I was hating on the generic gear of the tourists, she’d get on to me.
I miss her lectures.
My throat tightens and I force my gullet back open by downing another beer. If I don’t slow my roll, my sheriff best friend will have to drive me home. Silas returns, eyebrow arched when he notices my empty bottle.
“Grab me a Coke, yeah?”
He gives me a small nod and heads for the small fridge on the back wall. Seashells clatter together as someone opens the front door to the bar. I swivel around on my stool to see if it’s mybrother or his “flock”, the grumpy cop we all know and love, or another sunburned BudgieFest enthusiast.
Unfortunately, it’s the latter.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful Silas’s business does so well this time of year. However, I like it when it’s the usual folks around here. I don’t like to feel like I’ve been invaded by strangers.
