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The fact that the sea urchins taste really good gives me some courage, so I pick up one of the tiny fried fish. This is going to take forever, I think, trying to pick up a little bit of flesh from the tiny body of the creature.
Drew is looking at me with his lips quirked up in a smile, but it’s amused, not mocking. “That’s whitebait, sweetie. You eat the whole fish.”
The way he calls me “sweetie” with that soft, deep voice reverberating in all sorts of inappropriate places would be enough to make me put pretty much anything in my mouth, but I admit that I hesitate. “The whole thing? But it’s still got the bones and eyes and—”
He pops a fish into his mouth. “It’s so tiny that the bones are still soft, and it’ll melt in your mouth.”
I try it, and it’s not for me. “Yeah, no. I can feel the bones under my teeth, and I can’t get past the idea that the fish still has all its insides.”
Drew’s smile doesn’t falter. “Fair enough. I’ll have to remember not to put whitebait on the menu. Your father wants a ten-course tasting menu next week. He has guests for dinner.”
I return his smile gratefully. “Thank you for thinking about me.”
“I’ve been thinking about you since you set foot in the resort,” he whispers softly, as if the words weren’t meant for my ears and he was just thinking out loud. “I hope you like oysters. These are amazing. They were harvested earlier this morning.”
My eyes are caught in his gray gaze, and I don’t even tell him that I’ve never tried oysters before. I can just about cope with cooked sushi, but raw seafood has never been my thing.
And yet, I want to indulge him. I want to try everything Drew has to offer, and that goes way beyond food.
I do my best to swallow as he tips one of the large shells to my lips, letting the semi-liquid, almost jelly-like shellfish into my mouth.
“How was it?” he asks, the silver in his eyes smoldering hot.
“I like the flavor. It’s similar to sea urchins, fresh and salty like the ocean. I’m not sure about the texture though, it’s a little… weird.”
I try my hardest not to squirm in my seat when he smiles.
“Try another one. Open your mouth.”
They say that oysters are an aphrodisiac. I don’t know if it’s true, I could seriously take them or leave them, but the way Drew tips them into my mouth, with his eyes fixed on me, makes me hot everywhere—and wet, really, really wet.
I end up eating six oysters and more sea urchins, and by the time we’re done, all the baskets of food are empty. I help Drew dispose of them and receive a hug from Rue as we say goodbye.
“Let’s go.” Drew helps me back into his Jeep, boosting me up with gentle hands on my hips, and I swear he stands a little closer to me than necessary. “There’s something I want to show you,” he says as he reverses the car onto the winding coastal road.
This time the silence between us is different. It’s still easy, but there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before lunch. It isn’t bad, it’s just charged with energy, the air between us crackling with electricity.
Drew pulls up in front of a long, one-story building made entirely of wood, The neon sign stating it’s Sam’s Shack isn’t lit, and the bar looks closed.
Like he did when we pulled in by the food truck, Drew keeps his hand wrapped around mine as we walk to the front door, and he extracts a key from his pocket.
He ushers me into a room dominated by a long, wooden bar that takes up half the available space. All kinds of liquor bottles are stashed behind the counter, and there are a few beer taps too.
There’s a good number of tables in the other half of the room and a retro-looking jukebox. All the decor on the walls has a marine theme with nets, starfish, and shells, giving the room a rustic but welcoming feel.
“So this is it,” I say, looking around the room. “The place you want to buy with the money from the race?”
Drew nods. “Sam is retiring and needs to sell by the end of the summer. His shack has been an institution with the locals on Coral Cove since I can remember. We know we aren’t the only ones interested in buying and that the other buyer could pay cash immediately, but Sam would prefer to sell to someone who grew up on Coral Cove. That’s why he agreed to give us time to come up with the money until after the race. He even agreed to let me borrow the keys so I can start making serious plans for this place.”
His enthusiasm is contagious, and for the umpteenth time, I’m determined to work hard to make sure that I’m not the one who screws his dreams over. “It’s very nice of him to trust you with the keys,” I observe.
Drew smiles, but it doesn’t reach his gray eyes. “This is what this island is all about, Greer. We all know each other, and we trust each other. Sam has seen me and the others grow up. He snuck us beer when we graduated high school—there’s no use for fake IDs here. We accept the tourists who help us make a living and the seasonal workers that come here for the high season, but the people who were born here are one big family.”
I appreciate the sentiment, and a big part of me is jealous of the sense of community the islanders have. The only thing I know that’s comparable to that is my relationship with my daddy. He’s always been the only constant in my life, my support system, the one who believes in me no matter what. Chelsea used to be the other, until she decided she was too cool to be my friend.
“Of course there’s going to be some work to do to turn our vision into a reality, but we can operate with what we have to begin with,” Drew explains, leading me to a door marked “staff only” behind the bar. “The kitchen is pretty basic at the moment, but I can live with it until we have the money to remodel.”
The room is big and very utilitarian, with stainless steel workstations and a seven-burner gas stove side by side with a big grill. One of the two doors, aside from the one we came in, is obviously the fridge and pantry, but Drew guides me outside into the beer garden in the back.
