Teaser Harbor Master
My mystery girl is bundled in blankets in my back garden, sitting at the small wrought iron table where I always drink coffee first thing. She stares out to sea, the waves so close where the garden drops away with the cliff, sipping from a mug of hot, sweet cocoa. Steam curls from the mug into the air.
The local doctor, a woman in her fifties called Dr Nahum, looks pensive as she walks up the stone path. I hand her a coffee when she reaches the back door.
“Well?” I’m so antsy, there’s a swarm of bees in my gut. “Is she hurt? Can you tell what happened?”
This whole situation is like a fever dream. Or a fairy tale—one of those old-timey ones, with the undercurrent of darkness. Bargains and blood.
What if the girl was hurt? What if she was running away from something? I left the two of them alone for the examination, but if I don’t get some answers soon, I’ll go mad.
The doctor lifts a shoulder, sipping from her coffee. “You’re not her next of kin, Mac. You know I can’t tell you anything personal.”
Frustration swamps me. I grip my own mug so tight the china creaks. “Right now there is no next of kin, and I’m taking care of her. If there are injuries, I need to know about them.”
My mystery girl already agreed to stay with me in the harbor master’s cottage until she’s back on her feet. I didn’t even plan to make that offer when I brought her here, but she looked so settled and happy in my garden, the words tumbled out without thought.
She beamed up at me like her personal savior. Like I make the sun rise and set each day.
“No injuries.” Dr Nahum looks tired even though it’s barely midday. I know how she feels. This day has already lasted five years, and it’s only part way done. “And no memory—but you knew that already.”
Yeah, I knew. Christ, I can’t imagine it—getting wiped clean like that. Would I prefer it, forgetting all the stupidest things I’ve done in my time? All those bleak, lonely nights that slipped into despair?
Dr Nahum sips her coffee and goes on. “I offered to take her in until her memory comes back, but she was very insistent. She wants to stay with you, and there’s nothing actually wrong with her. No reason to ignore her wishes.” A side-eye. “Are you alright with that?”
It’s a fair question. If you look up ‘loner’ in the dictionary, there’s probably a picture of my face. The locals tease me plenty about keeping my distance, rarely coming to the local bar for a drink—but what they don’t understand is I’m not staying away to be snobbish. I’m ill-equipped. The most casual conversation can make my heart pound.
So I’m not who you’d expect to take in waifs and strays. Every Halloween, trick-or-treaters skip the harbor master’s cottage. Apparently I’m too stern and scary, even on All Hallow’s Eve.
An unpleasant thought occurs. “You’re sure she didn’t hit her head?”
Because why else would she latch onto me of all people? Why wouldn’t she keep her distance like everyone else?
The doctor puffs out a laugh, and her shoulders seem looser as she turns back to the garden. We both watch the young woman sip from her cocoa, bundled up in patterned blankets. Hopefully the sugar hit will help warm her through.
“She’s a grown woman,” Doctor Nahum says at last. “And she got lucky. There’s nothing physically wrong with her that some fluids and rest can’t fix. Her memory will probably come back as the shock wears off.” An elbow nudges my arm. “But you’re not obliged to take her in. You don’t owe her, Mac.”
“I’ll do it,” I rasp. “I don’t mind.”
Because maybe I don’t owe her, maybe we’re complete strangers, but the thought of that young woman walking out of my garden into the big, wide world makes me want to beat my chest and howl.
I wait until the doctor has gone, her empty mug cooling in my hand; wait until it’s just the two of us again, alone in my back garden.
My boots thud against the stone path as I approach the table.
“Okay?” I say when I reach my new lodger. She nods and gives me a shy smile. Her mug is still half full, but already I want to fetch her drinks and snacks and run her a hot bath with scented oils.
Have I lost my damn mind? Since when did I dream of being a butler?
“Thank you,” my mystery girl says, her voice so soft and sweet. “For helping me this morning. For calling the doctor, and taking me in. I owe you so much already. If you’d rather I go—”
“No.” I cut in quickly, face hot. “Stay here. With me.”
And I sound like a brute, biting out commands, but the smile she gives me is pure, dazzling sunshine. I sway in my boots.
“She said your name is Mac.” Pink lips press together, already a much healthier color than earlier. Didn’t I tell her my name already? Must’ve forgotten that detail in all the ruckus.
“Yeah. It’s a nickname. Officially, I’m Bill McLaggen.” We both pause, the silence stretching between us, and fuck, this awkward. This is where she’d tell me her name. I scratch my chest through my flannel shirt.
“I could choose a name,” she says, right as I say, “Well, I’m gonna have to call you something .”
We both pause again, but it’s warmer this time. Easier. She tilts her head and smiles. So many smiles from this girl, and I’m greedy for every single one of ‘em. “Why don’t you pick?”
Surprise and arousal twist in my gut, as all the things I’d dearly love to call her batter my tired brain. All the things I’d whisper in her ear.
Won’t say them out loud, though. Won’t scare her off now, not for anything.
Casting my gaze around, I search for something innocent. Something sweet, like her. “Uh.” I gesture to her mug. “Cocoa?”
Is that stupid? I’m not naming a puppy, damn it. Probably should come up with something better.
But her husky laugh makes my stomach clench. “Cocoa. Sure, I like it.”
It suits her, too, with her chocolate brown hair and hazel eyes and the warm, golden glow of her skin. She’s sweet and scalding hot. Cocoa. Yeah.
“So you’re going to stay with me for a while?” The mugs clink in my hand as I shift. “Until your memory comes back?”
She shrugs. “If you’ll let me.”
Let her? Ha. It’s no hardship, believe me.
The hard part will be letting her go.
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