Page 71 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I just dabble,” he shrugs. Something in my chest swells.

“But that isn’t true,” Maisie insists. “You’ve won all those contests!” She turns to me, shaking her head earnestly. “And he even had a column in a poetry journal for a while.”

“I picked it back up again a few months ago, actually,” Oliver says, taking a sip of his tea.

“Oh! That’s wonderful,” Maisie replies. “I had no idea. You just let me know if you need more time away from the shop so you can do that work, won’t you?”

Oliver smiles gently. “I don’t think you could afford to have me away from the store, Maisie.”

“Like I couldn’t handle it on my own?”

“Well, your knee is proving a bit of a hindrance.”

Maisie leans toward me conspiratorially. “Ivy and I could handle it, right?”

I grin. “Oh, definitely. Anything to let you get back to your writing, Oliver.”

He scowls. “Why do I feel like the two of you are ganging up on me?”

“That’s because we are, dear,” Maisie says, trying not to smile over the top of her teacup.

I snicker. “But it’s for your own good. Sounds like you need time to pursue your true passion.”

Before Oliver can reply, Maisie jumps in her seat. “Oh! I just realized I have one of his poems here. I’ll get it so you can take a gander.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s nec…” he begins, but she cuts him off.

“Nonsense, Oliver. Ivy needs to read it! Your piece in The Fountain is pure magic.” She jumps out of her chair, swears loudly, mumbles “Forgot about the knee,” and then hobbles as quickly as her short legs can carry her down the hallway. “I’ll be right back!”

“So you write beautiful poetry, huh?” From across the table, I take in Oliver’s dark edges, his masculine wit, his smug stoicism. And somehow he’s also got the soul of a poet? I don’t think I’ve ever found him more attractive than right at this moment. But I can’t let him know that, so I’m trying to mask it with snark.

He’s looking at me with a glint in his eye. “Try to restrain yourself, Ivy.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“You’re practically salivating.” He smirks. “And besides, Maisie’s basically my grandmother. Just because she says my poetry is beautiful doesn’t mean it actually is.”

I guess my poker face has failed me once again. “I’ll be the judge of that,” I say quietly.

Maisie bustles back into the room. “Here it is, I found it!” She holds up a cream-colored magazine triumphantly. “He’s right near the beginning, on page seven.” She passes the periodical to me and reclaims her seat at the head of the table.

Casting an amused glance at Oliver, who suddenly looks more than a little nervous, I open to page seven and smooth the paper down on the table. Then I begin to read.

Safe Harbor

by Oliver Clarke

The cove beckons along the shore,

Promising halcyon days and respite⁠—

From the past,

From the terror of the open sea,

From the unknown.

It welcomes ships that sail on uneven keels;