AllFreeNovel
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Once the worksite is tidy, we shrug on our coats and head for the parking lot. Midway to the truck, Aaron asks if I want to join everyone for dinner at the barbecue joint in town. I nip the corner of my bottom lip as I mull over the idea. Much as I’d love to share laughs, good food, and a couple of beers with the crew, my mouth refuses to open. My tongue refuses to shape the wordsI’d love to.
And I know exactly why.
Kirsten.
The occasional breakfast at Poke the Yolk aside, I haven’t spent time with her in weeks—since Friendsgiving and the awkward encounter with Officer Asshat. Though we text daily, it isn’t the same. I soak up every one of those little bubbles of conversation, those small glimpses into her life, but they are no longer enough. I need time with her. I need her voice and words and laughter. Her smile, her warmth.
Filling each other in on the past thirteen years feels akin to coming home. Sharing pieces of my life and little things she has missed in Smoky Creek warms my chest while simultaneously stitching the Kirsten-shaped void in my heart back together. Memories I’ve taken for granted have been given new life as I share them with her.
“I may have plans,” I mumble as he cranks the truck’s engine.
Taking out my phone, I unlock it and type a message to Kirsten.
Would like to see you. Dinner?
Clicking the seat belt in place, I stare down at the screen, praying she will say yes.
“That your girl?” Hands in front of the vents, Aaron nods toward my phone.
Thrill courses through my bloodstream at his question. Is it wrong to go along with it? Allow him to think Kirsten is mine?
Unsure if he means romantic or platonic, I simply say, “Yeah.”
A buzz followed by a little gray bubble is an instant shot of adrenaline to my bloodstream.
Sparkles
I could eat. Where? When?
Knowing the crew is headed to the barbecue place, I steer clear of the intersection. Last thing I need is Luke being an ass in front of Kirsten. The man has no filter unless absolutely necessary.
Bay Chowder House, 6?
Aaron pulls out of the lot and drives toward the inn, thumbs tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the Christmas tune on the radio. The library is a mile from the inn, and it’ll take no time to park beneath the snow-dusted evergreens.
“Grabbing a bite with Kirsten,” I say, wanting to let him know before we’re out of the truck and Luke is in earshot.
“Sounds good, man. Glad you two reconnected.”
Me too.
Sparkles
Perfect. Need a ride?
With the swift drop in temperature and snow flurries this week, walking that far without decent layers isn’t the best idea. Nor do I want to risk Luke spotting me on the street and razzing me for the next year.
A ride would be great.
Quirky sea-themed tchotchkes blend with weathered boat parts and pieces on blue walls inside Bay Chowder House. Nets and rope hang from the ceiling with no set rhyme or reason. Classic rock plays loud enough to hear but quiet enough not to steal conversation. Smokiness and herbs and the salty bay water scent the air.
A young man seats us at a table for two near the back, hands us menus, and rattles off the daily special before walking away.
At the heart of the wood plank table sits a votive candle in a glass holder. Beside it, small-stemmed blue flowers fill a slender glass vase. Netting rests beneath both, while dried coral, starfish, and sand dollars have been artfully placed around them.
At first glance, Bay Chowder House is a unique mix of rustic seafood restaurant charm and borderline fine dining. As if the owner couldn’t decide which they wanted and came up with a new concept to make themselves happy.
I shrug off my coat and drape it over the back of my chair, then offer to help Kirsten with hers. Cheeks pink from the winter chill, she gifts me her smile and nods. Stepping behind her, I hold the lapels of her coat as she pulls her arms free. Innocent as the act is—taking off her coat—I startle when my fingers brush hers.
