Chapter 3 #2
At the small bar that ran along the outside wall of the deck, Silas Monroe sat on a stool with a glass of red wine.
Beside him, Jack Mallor sat with what looked like a bourbon neat.
The two old men weren’t even pretending to mind their own business.
They watched Sterling and Juniper get seated with open delight.
Silas raised his glass as Sterling pulled out his chair. "Well, well, well. Sterling Fox. On a date. With a woman who can do better," he said so loudly that the pelican perched on the boat two slips away turned its head.
"Hey, Silas." Sterling wasn't left any other option but to at least acknowledge the man.
"It is about damn time, son. This is paper-worthy. I hope someone's covering it."
"There's no story here." Sterling reached for the water glass and chugged.
"Let the love birds have their dinner," Jack said.
"I'm wishing them well." Silas laughed. "Have fun, you two, and don't do anything that might require a shotgun."
"You're being a nuisance, is what you're being." Jack laughed. Hard.
Silas shrugged. "Where I come from, that’s the same as wishing them well."
"I'm so glad I could give you old ladies something to gossip about," Juniper said.
"Junie." Silas blew her a kiss. "You look like an angel. Can't imagine what Sterling here has done to deserve a woman like you."
"You know, they say the same thing about your wife," Juniper said.
"That's what they tell me." Silas grinned. "I'm still waiting for her to wake up and realize she could do so much better."
Jack lifted his glass. "Y'all have a good night."
"Thanks, Jack," Sterling said. It had to be hard for Jack to come back after twenty years of having to pretend he was dead. Twenty years of missing out on his son growing up. By the time Jack had been able to crawl out of the shadows, cancer had taken the love of his life.
Jack told everyone who would listen he was just grateful he got to say goodbye to Linda and that he'd get to meet his grandchild. But the pain was forever etched in his dull blue eyes.
The waitress, a young woman by the name of Maddy, who was in her second year of community college, appeared at the table with a smile and a bottle of wine he hadn't ordered.
"This is from Hayes," Maddy said. "On the house." She set it down along with two glasses. "And he told me if you argue I'm supposed to tell you that he'll pay for your meal, too. So, don't argue."
"Tell him I said thank you." Sterling had learned during a case he worked early on involving a firefighter, that Hayes was legit loaded.
Humble about it, but the man wasn't hurting for money.
Strange though, Hayes grew up in what could only be described as a fundamentalist religious group.
His family was dirt poor, and he'd been a Navy SEAL and now a firefighter.
Sterling never asked how he got his money, but he'd been told Hayes had invested well and had been a minimalist until he got married.
Though, looking at how Hayes lived now—that was still kind of true.
Maddy poured a small amount in his glass and stared at him.
"Oh." He lifted his glass and put his nose into it like he knew what he was doing. But he didn't. Wine wasn't his drink. He wouldn't know good wine if it bit him in the ass. "Smells like a fine crisp pear."
"It's a Sauvignon Blanc," Maddy said. "From New Zealand. It's Chloe's favorite."
"Then it must be good." Sterling sipped. "Works for me."
Maddy finished pouring. "Tonight's specials are the Smoked Mahi Dip as our app. The soup is a She-Crab with a splash of sherry, and our main dish today is a Garlic Blue Crab Cluster Boil with corn and red potatoes."
"I'd love the dip," Juniper said. "Want to share?"
"Sounds great." Sterling nodded. "Give us a few minutes to look at the menu."
"I'll be back shortly with the dip." Maddy turned and scurried away.
Juniper picked up her glass. "What shall we cheer to?"
"To good food, excellent wine, and great conversation." He tapped his glass to hers, impressed by his own words.
He'd never been any good at being romantic.
Or even being in the moment when it came to women.
He'd had relationships. He dated. But he always knew they wouldn’t last, so he had nothing at stake.
Thinking about that made him feel like a real dirtbag.
He wasn't a bad guy. He treated women with dignity and respect.
He was kind. He was a gentleman. Only, he wasn't ever truly present. And he wasn't ever really himself.
The worst part was that he’d never invested in them.
"I don't know that much about you," he said. "So, tell me something I don't know. Anything at all."
She laughed. "That’s a big question and so hard to answer."
He realized he might have made a fatal mistake.
Maybe if he gave her something he didn't share with many people, it might help.
"When I was working for the CIA, and I'd come back from a mission, especially one that went sideways, which most of them did, I'd binge watch one of those real housewives shows, or Below Deck, or something on Bravo to help ease my stress levels.
If a new one wasn't on, I watched an old one.
Once, I even watched all twenty seasons of Sister Wives. "
"That's not on Bravo."
"Don't care." He picked up his wine glass. "I have some strong opinions about that Kody guy and having all those wives."
"That’s kind of weird."
Sterling shrugged. "It was mindless, and it helped ease me out of some really bad missions."
She brought her glass to her lips, sipped, and stared out toward the water. "I memorize my passwords with songs."
"You do what?"
"It's a trick one of my first bosses taught me, and he learned it in high school.
You take the password and you put it to a tune you already know, and you sing it in your head until you don't have to think about it anymore.
I have a Diana Ross song in my head right now, and I cannot, for the life of me, hear it without wanting to type. "
He laughed, loudly. "Sorry." He tried to stop by covering his mouth. "That's one way to remember numbers."
"It can be annoying though because sometimes I have to go through like eight songs to get the newest password."
"What were you working as that you had to remember all the passwords."
"Office manager. I was green, and I constantly locked myself out of the system. My boss, he retired to a houseboat in Key Largo. He sends Christmas cards with too much glitter and a picture of his cat, who he named, of all things, Forgetful."
"After you?" Pangs of jealousy landed in places Sterling didn't want to think about.
"God no. Albert, that was my boss, he was the most forgetful man in the world. He put songs to anything he might forget, even names."
"Sounds like an interesting boss."
"He was one of the good ones."
He let his shoulders ease back against the chair. "What other kinds of jobs have you had?" Sterling asked. "Besides office manager and bar owner."
"That's it," she said. "Not as exciting as a CIA Agent turned Aegis Network Operative."
"That depends on what you call exciting." He rubbed his chest. "I really don't enjoy getting shot at, but I also don't enjoy office work."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucia with a man following two paces behind.
Sterling's hand tightened on his wine glass. He took a slow sip and watched Doyle Malone stroll across the deck with his hands in his jean pockets, his rubber soled boat shoes scuffing across the wood planks, and a smile that made him stand out and fit in all at the same time.
In Sterling's world, there were no such things as coincidences. None. Doyle hadn't casually driven into Calusa Cove and pulled into the Crab Shack at the precise time Sterling had sat down with Juniper. Maybe things like that happened to other people. But not Sterling.
He made eye contact with Doyle, and Doyle stopped dead in his tracks like he'd been shocked. "Fox?"
"Yup. But these days people call me Sterling."
"You old son of a bitch."
Sterling stood, because what else was he going to do? It wasn't like he and Doyle were enemies, even if they weren't exactly friends.
Doyle covered the last five feet at speed and pulled Sterling into a manly hug as if they were long lost brothers. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I live here," Sterling said.
"Really." Doyle planted his hands on his hips. "You left the agency?"
"About a year ago. Took a job with a private security firm in Jacksonville, and they opened a branch down here about six months ago," Sterling said, figuring Doyle would ask, even if Sterling believed Doyle already knew. "What brings you to Calusa Cove?"
"Vacation," Doyle said. "I'm living in Charleston these days. Private security firm, too." He shifted his gaze.
"Shit. I'm sorry," Sterling said. "This is my friend, Juniper. She owns Juniper's Pub."
"We've met, actually." Juniper raised her drink, but she didn't stand. Her smile was polite, but it wasn't big. "Your friend came in for lunch today."
"I hope you had the grouper sandwich. It's our favorite." Sterling wished he hadn't felt a stab of envy, but he'd seen Doyle pick up women when they'd had down time during ops.
"I did, and it was amazing." Doyle glanced between them. "I'm sorry if I offended you ma'am. If I had known it was Sterling you had a date with, I wouldn't have come on so… strong."
"No need to apologize," Juniper said. "You didn't ask his name and I wouldn't have offered. Besides, you seem to have rebounded nicely with my manager."
Doyle laughed but didn't add any details. Not entirely unlike Doyle. He often kept his exploits to himself around other ladies, but if he and Sterling were alone, Sterling was sure to get an unwanted earful.
"Are you staying in town?" Sterling would ask for more details later. Now, wasn’t the time.
"Harvey's Cabins."
"Dawson Ridge and his wife owns those. Dawson's the police chief," Sterling said. "He's also a retired SEAL. Good man. His wife's a local. Fiery redhead. If you need anything or want to know anything, Audra's your girl."