Chapter Three
O f course Allie worked overtime on her first day at work—she knew how to make a good first impression. As a matter of fact, there was so much to familiarize herself with that she worked through lunch too. She would have to meet Salty Dot another time. When she finally pulled in front of her little white cottage, she was so hungry she almost didn’t notice that it was glowing like a lantern in the darkness. Someone, namely Sam, had added little white twinkle lights to the front eaves, and turned on the porch lights. After an exhausting day, it felt like the house was welcoming her home.
She looked around for the dog before stepping out of the car and nearly twisted an ankle when her phone dinged. It was a text from Joey.
“Stopping by Fred’s before work tomorrow. What’s your coffee order?”
Joey wanted to buy her a coffee? Did that mean he liked her? He’d been nice but kind of quiet all day. Her heart skipped a beat.
“I would love that! Thank you so much. I don’t know the choices, but a double espresso with oat milk and one Splenda would be great.”
As soon as she sent it, she regretted it. This wasn’t Nashville, and she’d just made herself appear high maintenance. Did Fred’s gas station even offer anything aside from plain black with powdered creamer? It was going to take some time to get used to living on an island with only one old dilapidated building to get gas, toilet paper, or a turkey sandwich. The place looked like it was holding on to the 1940s with its old Sunbeam Bread signs and chipping, hand-painted graphics that promised Gas , Oil , and Lunch on the side of the concrete building. She texted again.
“Just a plain black coffee is great too. Anything works. Thank you again.”
The exhaustion she’d been feeling was replaced by giddiness. Instead of dragging herself inside, she practically skipped barefoot up the cold stairs, holding her painful, ruined heels in one hand and opening the door with the other. It had to mean something good that Joey was bringing her coffee tomorrow.
The first thing she saw when she made it past the landing was a Christmas tree in the den. It was complete with colorful lights, ornaments, and a big gold star on top. She dropped her shoes onto the wooden floor with two thuds. Sam hadn’t even discussed it with her. What if she was allergic to pine? What if she was of a religion that didn’t celebrate Christmas? Her plan was firmly to sit alone on a beach and eat her dad’s favorite ham and pickle sandwich. That purposefully did not include the traditional things that her mother always insisted on, like decorated trees. He’d just brought one into her home without asking.
She backed up against the door as she noticed the wolf-dog staring at her. “Get your dog!” she yelled, louder than necessary.
“Cuppie, come!” Sam’s deep voice bellowed from the kitchen. Buttercup instantly turned and ran to him. That’s when Allie realized the house smelled good. Like food. He better not have made a mess of the stovetop. And he’d better move aside because she needed to make herself dinner too. “You hungry?” he asked as she turned the corner. “I’ve got plenty.”
He was slicing thick chunks of pot roast out of a Crock-Pot and adding it to his plate of carrots and mashed potatoes. Her mother used to make the same meal for them at least once a month. It was like Susie Westley was somehow manipulating the world to make her daughter think of her. Allie hadn’t answered yet, and Sam was already getting one of his plates from the cupboard for her.
“Thanks,” she said, giving in to the smell. She took a seat on a counter barstool.
He filled her plate and put it in front of her before walking around the island to sit beside her with Cuppie at his feet. “How was your day?” he asked.
She gave him the side-eye.
“Your head feeling okay?”
The swelling had gone down, and she was left with a dime-sized purplish bruise above her eyebrow. “It’s fine.”
They ate in silence for a while. “This is good,” she finally said.
“It took me some time to cook again after getting hit. My left arm still doesn’t work well, but it does enough.”
“Hit by what?”
“A five-five-six.”
“What’s a five-five-six?”
“A NATO round. The standard used by the military.”
“A bullet?”
He nodded.
“You were shot?”
He pointed at the biceps on his left arm, then took a bite of food like they weren’t talking about what had to be an extremely traumatic experience for him.
“Was it an accident?”
“Naw.” He chewed and swallowed. “Armed conflict.”
“Like, war? Are you in the army?”
He chuckled. “I was. So was Cup. But we’re not anymore.”
“What do you do now?”
“A bunch of stuff. Consulting mostly. But I also work as a paramedic in Charleston, and Cup and I volunteer with the local rescue squad.”
It sounded like he could pay his rent, so that was good.
“Cup and I are building a house on the island too.”
Good , she thought, pushing aside feelings of admiration. He wasn’t planning to live in the cottage forever. “When will it be ready?”
“It’s gonna take at least a year.”
Well, that was a disappointment. The dog lay down, and she flinched. Every time Cuppie moved, Allie got a shot of adrenaline.
“She won’t hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”
“Right,” she said beneath her breath. Tell that to her bruised forehead. She took another bite. God, the pot roast was good. Better than her mama’s. “I feel like I need to warn you: I am doing Christmas differently this year. I don’t want all the hype. So, if you’re planning to have a party or something like that, I’d appreciate some advance notice.”
He acknowledged her statement by looking straight at her with piercing hazel eyes. He must’ve decided not to pry because he turned and went back to eating.
“I mean, the tree and the lights and all?” She gestured toward the tree by the fireplace. “They’re fine. But I need to focus on this job, and my daddy’s gone now, and I’m not going to spend the holiday with Mama and her boyfriend, so I’m celebrating in my own way. Alone.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“I mean, I’m not sad about it or anything.”
He nodded again, and that time she found his silence infuriating. It felt like that morning when he didn’t apologize for his dog. She was beginning to figure him out—if he didn’t agree with something or didn’t want to do something, he did nothing. She stood to take her plate to the sink.
“Are you trying to punish yourself for something?” he blurted.
Allie froze. What kind of an intrusive question was that? “Of course not. And it’s extremely rude for you to ask.” She scraped the food scraps into the sink disposal a little too aggressively.
“Christmas traditions might be good for you. There’s a reason why they’ve been passed down for generations.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Just asking,” he said, shrugging only with his right shoulder. He’d piled so much food on his plate that he still had a lot to eat.
She put her dishes in the dishwasher and wiped her hands on her dish towel before heading to her room, even though what she really wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch a mindless reality show. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.
“How long ago did your dad die?” Sam asked before she got away.
She paused. “Almost three years.”
“He died at Christmastime?”
Just the acknowledgment made her stomach burn and pressure fill her head. “Three days before.”
“So, the last couple of Christmases have been hard for you.”
“Right.”
He seemed pleased with himself.
“I mean, I’m fine. It’s just that with my dad gone, my mother insists on overdoing everything. I want a Christmas that doesn’t revolve around her for once.”
The way he looked at her so intently made her want to cover his eyes with both hands.
“Mama has a boyfriend now, okay? I’m not being mean. She just doesn’t need me.”
He stayed silent, like he was waiting for her to say more.
“Now that you got what you wanted, am I good to leave?” She noted that she sounded sassy and felt a pang of guilt.
“There’s a new episode of Single and Searching dropping tonight,” he said.
It was almost like he knew her. Or maybe he just thought she was shallow. Or desperate. She didn’t have time to answer before the doorbell rang. “One of your chicks?” She smirked.
Even though she was already up and he hadn’t yet finished his dinner, he stood to get the door. Cuppie went with him, and Allie let them pass, noting that his left arm wasn’t as muscular as his right. For a guy like him, that had to be a difficult thing to deal with. He probably couldn’t do push-ups or pull-ups or carry heavy things, and clearly, he was the kind of guy who prided himself on that sort of thing.
“Well, hey there, y’all!” It was Jessa in all of her perfect blonde Barbie-esque glory. “This is my mama, Dottie, and my little sister, Tulip.” She stepped aside so they could get a good look at the middle-aged woman wearing a royal-blue knit beanie and the lanky middle-schooler with the bowl haircut. When the older woman smiled, she was missing a bottom tooth. “Sorry for barging in, but we wanted to bring y’all a welcome gift.”
Dottie handed them a paper bag. “In these parts, a neighbor is already a friend, and since we’re a cookin’ family, we thought y’all might appreciate some of our famous tuna salad. The trick is to add a touch of Worcestershire sauce before you add the mayonnaise.”
“Come in,” Sam said. “I’m Sam, and this is Buttercup.” Cuppie sat on her haunches, perfectly docile, but still looking like a badass wolf.
“Don’t be letting that dog out around my cats, ya hear? They like to wander.” Dottie wasn’t budging from the front porch.
“Cuppie won’t bother your cats,” he promised.
“And keep him out of the marsh or a gator’ll get him like they did my Rudy.”
Jessa piped in, “Rudy was a fat orange cat.”
“We ain’t stayin’,” Dottie said. “Just wanted to properly introduce ourselves. I woulda brought y’all more fish salad if I’d known there was a man over here.”
Allie was relieved they were leaving. She suddenly felt possessive of Sam, like she had dibs on him. If Jessa was to stay, he’d be in love with her by the time she sat on the couch with a glass of sweet tea. Allie watched him say goodbye. It might already be too late.
What was happening to her? Could she not be around a good-looking man without wanting him for herself? She tapped her middle finger three times against her hip. Then again. And again. It’d been a year since Mark, one full year since she’d had any real affection from a man. Her body must be entering desperation mode.
She needed to shut that down immediately.