Page 54 of Neap & Spring

“Still a little funny.”

I flip him off, but I’m grinning.

We motor back toward the harbor, the sun starting its descent toward the horizon. The water is calmer here, protected by the breakwater, and the town comes into view gradually.

Home.

Wesley docks the boat, and we start unloading the catch. The rhythmic work is soothing: passing coolers, hosing down the deck, securing the lines.

By the time we’re done, the sun is painting everything gold. My arms ache in a good way, and my face feels windburned. I smell like fish and salt water, and I couldn’t care less.

“Same time next month?” Roman asks, shouldering his bag.

“You even have to ask?”

“Just checking. In case you developed a fear of the ocean. Or fish specifically. Fish-related trauma is very real, Chef. That would be tragic for you.”

“Get out of here.”

“I’m just saying. No shame in it. The fish started it.”

“Roman.”

“Gone.” He holds up both hands. “I’m gone.”

His laugh follows him all the way to his car, loud enough that a couple walking their dog on the dock turns to look.

Wesley and I finish securing The Daily Catch in silence.

“You good?” he asks finally, straightening up.

“Yeah.” And I mean it for the first time in a long time. “I’m good.”

“You need anything, you call. Doesn’t matter what time.”

“I know.”

He claps me on the shoulder once, then heads toward his truck.

I pull myself up into my truck. Everything hurts in that satisfying way that comes from a day of hard work, being outside, and doing something that has nothing to do with failing restaurants or complicated feelings.

I pull out of the marina parking lot and head toward the restaurant. My apartment is right above it, and I need a shower before I do anything else.

But as I’m driving, passing the familiar streets of downtown Westerly Point, I think about what Wesley and Roman said.

I need to let her carry whatever she’s carrying without making it heavier.

Tomorrow, I’ll try to be better. I’ll try to be less of the angry, bitter guy who’s been making everyone miserable.

Tomorrow, I’ll try to remember that whatever Vivienne’s going through, it’s not about me. And maybe if I can give her the space she needs, she’ll eventually trust me enough to let me in.

But tonight, I’m just going to go upstairs, take the hottest shower of my life, and sleep for ten hours.

It’s a start.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vivienne