Chapter 17
Seventeen
Caleb’s clothes are too big, but they don’t have the lingering tentacle brine and rainwater-soaked scent that my dress and cardigan had last night.
So I decide, with just the slightest amount of trepidation, that if people assume that we spent the night together, I don’t care.
Because we did. And okay, Caleb has firmly planted himself into my life as my boyfriend again.
And if people want to gossip about that, well, that’s their prerogative.
Saltline is slammed when we get there, the place buzzing with storm gossip and caffeine like the entire town collectively decided to process their trauma over breakfast. The floor’s already a mess of wet footprints and sand, and every table is packed shoulder to shoulder with people rehashing the same three stories at increasing volume.
Plates of eggs and toast and something fried I can’t quite identify keep passing by in a steady stream, the smell of grease and coffee thick in the air.
The restaurant itself is all worn wood and big front windows, sunlight cutting through the noise and catching on mismatched chairs and the long stretch of bar that runs the length of the room, already lined three deep with people waiting their turn.
A series of antique buoys and nets line one wall, pictures of locals with award-winning fish strewn about.
Raymond Pike, an old fisherman as salty as the sea itself, takes one look at Caleb and I together — me in oversized baggy sweatpants — and motions for us to come sit behind the bar.
“Storm really did some damage last night,” Pike says. “We’re all doing cleanup today. Can we count on you guys to come help?” he asks.
I’m slightly surprised he doesn’t say anything about Caleb gripping my hand and daring anybody else in the bar to say anything.
Well, maybe that’s exactly why Pike hasn’t said anything.
Caleb’s making it pretty clear that we’re back together, and the fact that I’m wearing his clothes probably sends a pretty clear signal to everybody else there, too.
It doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it might. In fact, I’m pretty damn pleased about it myself. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I haven’t quite seemed to have stopped since we left the lighthouse a few minutes ago.
I like the idea of being Caleb’s girlfriend.
And as much as it scares me, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be scared about right now.
“Some odd things were seen last night, too,” Pike says.
Gunner lays himself down at my feet, and Pike tosses him a dog bone I know he always keeps in his pocket in case someone stops by with a pup.
I try not to be too interested in what he’s saying, try to play it cool.
“Ohh yeah? Like what?” I say. “Surprised anybody could see anything with the storm as bad as it was,” I add belatedly.
Pike doesn’t seem to think anything of it if it comes out a little strangled.
“You know how fishermen are,” he says.
“You mean how you are?” Caleb asks.
I snort at that, because Pike is a long-time retired fisherman who started the Saltline because he couldn’t bear to be away from the sea, and yet didn’t quite have the appetite for being out on the boat all day anymore.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re saying, Caleb,” he says tartly. “I know fishermen are a superstitious lot. We’re that way for a reason. There are some things out there you couldn’t even dream of, and I wouldn’t even try to explain it.”
“Try me,” I say under my breath.
“You’re sassy today, Ivy Romantic,” Pike says, eyebrows bristling even more than usual. “That doesn’t have something to do with the fact that you came in on the arm of Caleb Mercer now, does it?”
I give him a look.
“Whatever it is, I say good for you. Whole town’s been rooting for you two to get back together since the moment you left town. Caleb, does that mean you are going to be sticking around here?”
“It means that we’re both starving for breakfast.”
“What do you want, Ivy?” Caleb asks me. “Go on ahead.”
Green flag, I think to myself. Some things might have changed, but at least Caleb isn’t ordering for me like the last guy I went out with. I absolutely hate that shit, even though I think the man probably could order for me quite successfully.
“Can I get the hollandaise special?” I ask. “Side of potatoes crispy. Toast with jam.”
“Do you want that on English muffins or a bagel?” Pike says.
“English muffins,” I tell him. “You know you make better English muffins than Owen does.”
“Well, you and Owen — are you two ever going to stop your feud?” Pike says.
I grin at him and we both know the answer.
Ever since he dumped Posey five years ago for another girl, there ain’t no way I’m gonna stop my rivalry with Owen. Sure, I like him, but there’s just some things that you have to keep doing. My feud with Owen is, friendly as it may be, one of them.
“Nope,” I say, popping the P.
Paulie, an old fisherman, leans over the bar to where Caleb and I are crowded in at the end.
Apparently we’ve caught his interest.
And while Caleb orders — farmer’s breakfast for the record, double bacon — Paulie catches my eye and nods.
“We saw some strange things last night, that’s for sure. Got in late right before the storm broke,” Paulie announces. He has the air of a man winding up to tell a story, and fortunately for Paulie, this is the exact kind of fish tale I want to hear.
“We were lucky we weren’t out there when it broke.
It was the strangest thing, too. There wasn’t nothing in the weather reports about any storm coming up.
At best it should have been a squall. No.
The minute we got offshore we knew there was going to be trouble.
Certain look the sea gets, you know. Glassy-like.
Huge green-black clouds. Started off in the distance and I turned to Tommy and I said, we don’t want to be out here when this thing bursts open.
” Paulie takes a long, dramatic break, sipping his coffee and staring at me over the lip.
“Stranger than that, couldn’t catch anything all day.
Usually our nets are full. It was like something scared all the fish away. ”
Paulie leans closer and I smell coffee on his breath, which could gross me out but really just makes me want to drink coffee as soon as I can.
Am I an addict? Yes.
Do I care? Not now.
“If you ask me, whatever it was, it scared off the fish. It wasn’t the storm.” Paulie taps the side of his nose. “Something strange going on out here.”
“Like what?” I ask. “What could have scared all the fish away? Was it your boat?”
That’s a dumb question and I know it, but I’m genuinely curious if Paulie has any idea about what could have scared fish away. Because if he has an idea about that, odds are he knows whatever the hell it is that Annabelle was talking about last night.
“Honey, if fish were scared of a boat, nobody would ever catch any fish.”
Paulie pats my hand good-naturedly, and it’s weathered beyond belief. Knuckles cracked and dry, tanned to the point where it looks less like skin and more like a leather handbag I have sitting in the back of my closet.
“Whatever it was that was scaring fish away, it’s something they weren’t used to seeing. And you’ve got my money on that.”
“Is it something coastal conservation should be concerned about?” Caleb asks. “Has it been overfishing in the area? You know of anybody that’s breaking limits?”
“No, Caleb, nothing like that. It’s good to see you back in town, man. Could use a man like you around here. You helping with cleanup today?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Caleb says. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. We’ll need all the hands we can get. You two enjoy your breakfast now. And if you go out on the water, watch yourself.”
With that, Paulie gives Pike a nod and goodbye, creaks his way off his stool, and walks out the door. Leaves an ominous feeling in the air behind him when he leaves, too.
Gunner licks my ankle where he can get to it, considering the fact that I’ve triple-rolled the sweatpants from Caleb and they’re still too big.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I say.
Despite being packed, the noise of the diner creates a cozy background — knives and forks clinking against porcelain, glasses and conversation burbling. It gives the feel of privacy, even though where we’re sitting is anything but.
Caleb’s hand covers mine and he squeezes just as Pike comes over and pours out two cups of coffee for us, piping hot.
“Want anything fancy to drink, Ivy?” he asks. “I’ve got a new fancy espresso machine back there. I’ve been dying to see what you think of my creations.”
A waiter comes by and sets our plates in front of us, piled high. Two bowls of fresh fruit join them, and I realize Pike had his chef pull out all the stops for us two.
“Nah, plain coffee is fine,” I tell Pike. “If I want something fancy later, I can go get it from my store.”
“You trying to say my lattes aren’t good enough for you, girl?” he says.
“I did not say that,” I say. “I’d be happy to try your latte, you’ve just already gone to so much work, and this looks incredible—"
A laugh rips out of him, and I realize belatedly he’s trying to get me riled up.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, I think I might as well make you one and see what you think. See if I’m good enough for you, Miss Romantic.”
Pike gives an exaggerated wink and walks away.
I cradle my face in my hands, trying to recover a semblance of control. “We need to get that ward up and running again,” I say to Caleb.
“You will, Ivy. You’ll get it done. But you’re not going to get it done without caffeine and on an empty belly, so eat,” he says.
I can’t argue with that and I don’t want to, because the food looks incredible.
No one makes hollandaise sauce in Silverlight Shore like Raymond Pike. The yolk is creamy, perfectly cooked. The English muffin is somehow the perfect texture of spongy and able to soak up all the delicious sauce on top.