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“Good being out on the ocean, right? I don’t hate Charlotte, but one of my biggest complaints is that it has no water uptown. No river, no ocean. There’s a lot of great spots outside of town, but nothing in the city center. Makes it feel like something’s missing.”
“It’s why everyone escapes to the mountains or the beach on the weekends,” Nora replies, still smiling when we reach a weathered little shack with a painted sign that reads SANTA BARBARA SHELLFISH COMPANY. “This is cute.”
I open the door for her. “A little under-the-radar gem.”
In what’s becoming our habit, Nora and I sit at the bar. The windows overlooking the harbor are thrown open to the breeze, and we have to hold tight to our paper menus as we figure out what to order. Part of me is still afraid she’ll judge me for taking her to what is essentially a beach shack with really good clam chowder. There’s wine on the menu, but the most expensive bottle is forty bucks. There’s definitely a baby or two crying somewhere in the dining room. The crowd isn’t fancy. Neither is the food.
But Nora doesn’t seem to mind. Bobbing her head to the music—Pearl Jam’s “Daughter”—she peruses the menu. “Beer?”
“Sounds good to me.”
We order a pitcher of Pacifico and two cups of clam chowder to start. I pour us each a beer, and the first one goes down easily for both of us. It’s ice cold, deliciously smooth and just the right amount of tart. I try not to stare when Nora smacks her lips, getting a dreamy look in her eyes. It’s sexy as hell and it’s driving me crazy, but I’ll take it over the clouds she had in her eyes earlier.
“Feel better?” I ask.
She nods, pouring herself another beer. “Much. I know it’s only, like, twelve o’clock, but it’s already been a long day at the end of a really long week.”
“Welp, it’s over now, and you crushed it.”
“We crushed it,” she says, tapping her glass to mine. “See how much easier life is when we’re not being dicks to each other?”
“I may have noticed, yes.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “That mean you’re not going to be a dick to me anymore?”
“I make no promises, but I’ll try.”
“You always were the bigger dick,” she teases.
A wildly inappropriate reply is on the tip of my tongue when, thankfully, our soup arrives. It’s served in literal coffee cups, which delights Nora. “Cozy and perfect,” she calls it, and I watch her make a mess as she crumbles a packet of oyster crackers into the chowder.
“What?” she asks, catching me smiling.
I shake my head. “Nothing. That’s how I like mine too.”
Only I don’t open my packet. I wait for her to skim the cracker crumbles off the top of her soup, which takes her approximately twelve seconds before she’s peeking around for more crackers.
I wordlessly hand her mine.
“You aren’t going to eat yours?” she asks.
“I’m good.”
“You just said you like your clam chowder with crackers.”
“And I just said I’m good without them. Here.”
She’s looking at the crackers in my outstretched hand the way she looked at the latte I got for her earlier.
“I can tell you’re having a rough day,” I continue. “I know this won’t fix what’s bothering you, but I hope it makes it suck a little less.”
Nora looks up at me, and my pulse hiccups when I see her blink a little too quickly. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” I pop open the packet and pour them into her outreached hand. “They’re just crackers.”
“I know, but it’s . . .” She shakes her head, crumbling them into her soup. Then she suddenly drops her arms and turns to me. “This isn’t some kind of act, is it? You being nice? Are you tricking me into trusting you so I fuck up?”
“You really think I’m that good at acting? Because I’d love an excuse to move out here. I think I have the looks for Hollywood, but wasn’t so sure about the thespian chops.”
Her lips twitch and she nudges me with her elbow. I swear to God it’s all I can do not to lean in and kiss the shit out of her. Hard not to when she’s being so fucking adorable.
“You know what I mean,” she says.
“I do. I’m not tricking you. I’ve learned a lot about you this week, and I guess I like what I’ve picked up.”
She’s blinking again. “You like iced coconut milk lattes and economy class?”
I laugh. “Hey, it was the exit row.”
“And here I thought you were one of those guys like Aiden who will literally walk off a flight if he’s not up front.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“He is.” She finishes her soup, and the bartender whisks away our cups. “You seem to know what’s good here, so why don’t you order the rest for us?”
