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Feeling waterlogged, he swam back to shore and then sat in the sand, letting whatever ebb and flow there was surround him. There were more people on the beach. Some walking their dogs, others looking for the coveted perfect shell. Not far from him, Margaux, the owner of the local art studio had her easel set up and her paint brush moving frantically over the canvas. Art wasn’t Dune’s thing, but he had a profound respect for people who could capture beauty with a paintbrush.
Once daylight hit, Dune went back into the water to clean off and then trudged through the sand again until he got to the parking lot. He used the spray tank to clean the sand off his feet, and then climbed into his Bronco. Growing up on the water, he never cared about sand being in his truck or house. It was a fact of life that many locals experienced. Honestly, there wasn’t any point in fighting it. One big windstorm and it went everywhere.
Dune drove toward Caroline’s and mumbled some obscenities at the out-of-state cars that were already clogging the narrow roads. It wouldn’t be so bad if people drove the speed limit, but the constant stopping, pointing, and break checking grew tiresome. That was the drawback of living where he did, but he’d never consider moving. At least he hadn’t until he met Caroline.
“Fuck,” he groaned as he ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t explain what in the hell was going on with him. Seaport was his home. It’s where his business was. A business he ran year-round because people always came to the island regardless of the season. His family was here.
In Seaport, Dune was someone. Everyone knew him. If he left, he’d be another nameless face in the crowd. To some, that sounded like heaven. To be able to move among the masses and not have anyone know who you are. To him, it sounded like hell. He loved his life. Who he was to people. But Caroline . . .
“Fuck,” he said again as she popped into his thoughts. “What the fuck are you doing, Dune?” He didn’t make it a habit to talk to himself, and he didn’t know why all his thoughts converged on this one morning. But they had and he couldn’t stop them.
At the stoplight, Dune texted Speed and Wilson and told them to meet him at Carter’s for breakfast. They hadn’t hung out in a while and were long overdue. Within seconds, they texted back, telling him they’d be there. Dune switched lanes and headed toward the Carter family-owned restaurant. He lucked out when it came to finding a parking spot. He signaled and waited for the car to pull away from the curb before he paralleled his Bronco.
Dune crossed the street, went into the diner, and looked to see who was working. He spotted his cousin Penny behind the counter, and she waved him over.
“Just you?” she asked as she met him at the open table with a pot of coffee in her hand and menus under her arm.
“No, Speed and Wilson are joining me.”
Penny set the menus down, not that they needed them, and filled Dune’s mug with coffee. He took one sip and then heard the guys coming into the restaurant. They slapped him on his shoulder as they sat down, each ordering coffee from Penny.
“You boys want the regular?”
“Yeah,” Dune said. His typical order was hash, with eggs over easy. He preferred his eggs on top of his hash, and like shredded hashbrowns versus home fries. And nothing beat the homemade sourdough toast the diner had.
“I’ll take the special,” Wilson told her. The Carter’s Diner special was chicken and waffles. Dune didn’t get it. He loved fried chicken. Tolerated waffles, more so if they came from a box and his toaster, but couldn’t get on board with them together. Especially when you add in maple syrup.
“I’m good with my regular,” Speed said. He always ordered birthday batter pancakes with a side of whipped cream and sausage. Links, not patties.
“What’s up with the early morning breakfast meeting?” Speed asked as he added sugar to his coffee. He sipped and then added more.
“Nothing,” Dune said. “We haven’t done this in a while.”
“Yep, three weeks,” Wilson said.
Dune gave Wilson a dirty look. He didn’t need a reminder as to why they hadn’t met up for breakfast.
Wilson leaned forward. “What’s up with you and Caroline?”
Dune couldn’t even lie and say nothing. He’d gone way out of his way when he had the back patio of Carter’s turned into a place where Caroline could dance the night away. If that wasn’t the most romantic gesture in the world for someone he had kissed once, he didn’t know what was. He fiddled with one of the empty sugar packets, folding it and unfolding before tossing it back onto the table.
