Chapter 1 #2
The interior was cool and dim after the bright sun.
Her eyes adjusted, and she took in the space.
A long wooden bar stretched across the back wall.
Tables and chairs filled the middle of the room, and more seating lined the windows.
The pottery she'd seen from outside was everywhere.
A pitcher held wildflowers on the bar. Bowls sat on shelves near the register. Even the lamp bases looked handmade.
“Merritt?”
She turned toward the voice. A man walked toward her from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. He was taller than she expected, with dark hair and an easy smile. The same warm eyes she remembered from the Zoom call.
“Justin?”
“The one and only.” He extended his hand and she shook it. “Welcome to Shorebirds. How was the drive?”
“Long. But worth it.”
“That's what everyone says.” He tossed the towel over his shoulder. “You hungry? Thirsty? I promised you a cold drink.”
“Water would be great, actually.”
“Coming right up.” He walked back behind the bar and grabbed a glass. “So, what do you think of the place?”
Merritt looked around again. The ceiling was strung with white lights. Old photographs hung on the walls, black and white shots of fishing boats and families on the beach. The whole place felt like it had stories to tell.
“It's perfect,” she said. “It looks like it's been here forever.”
“About forty years, give or take. My grandfather built it with his own hands.” Justin set the glass of water in front of her. “Well, he built it with my grandmother. She was the brains behind the operation. He just did the heavy lifting.”
“And the pottery?”
Justin grinned. “That's all him. He's a potter. Has been since he was a teenager. You'll meet him in a minute. He's out back working on something.”
Merritt picked up one of the small bowls near the register. It was smooth and heavy in her hand, glazed a deep blue that reminded her of the water outside. “These are beautiful.”
“Don't tell him that. His head's big enough already.”
A voice came from the back hallway. “I heard that.”
An older man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and lean, with silver hair and a face that looked like it had seen a lot of sun. He wore a faded T-shirt and an apron with clay stains on the front and moved with a quiet confidence and friendly smile.
“Grandpa, this is Merritt. Merritt, this is Crocker.”
Merritt set the bowl down and extended her hand. “It's nice to meet you. Justin told me you built this place.”
Crocker's handshake was firm but gentle. His eyes studied her for a moment, and she had the feeling he was seeing more than she intended to show.
“Built it with my wife,” he said. “She named it Shorebirds. After the sandpipers.”
“I love sandpipers.”
“Then you'll fit in just fine.” He nodded once, then looked at Justin. “You going to show her the apartment or just stand there talking all day?”
Justin laughed. “I was getting to it.”
“Get to it faster. I need you back down here in twenty minutes. Happy hour's coming.”
Crocker turned his attention back to Merritt. “Welcome to Sanibel, Merritt.”
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you so much.”
He turned and walked back the way he came. Merritt watched him go.
“He doesn't say much,” Justin said. “But when he does, it's usually worth hearing.”
“I like him.”
“Everybody does. Come on, I'll show you upstairs.”
He led her through a door at the back of the bar and up a narrow staircase. The steps creaked under their feet. At the top, he unlocked a door and pushed it open.
The apartment was small but clean. A single room with a bed against one wall, a tiny kitchen along another, and a bathroom through a door in the corner. A window looked out over the parking lot, and another faced the water.
“It's not much,” Justin said. “But the view's good and the rent's cheap.”
Merritt walked to the window facing the water. She could see the deck below, the tables with umbrellas, the Gulf stretching out to the horizon. A boat drifted by in the distance.
“It's perfect,” she said.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I mean it.” She turned back to him. “I know it's small. I know it's above a bar and probably gets loud at night. But it's mine. That's what matters.”
Justin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You sure about all this? It's a big change. Maine to Florida. Teaching to bartending. I don't want you to wake up in a week and realize you made a mistake.”
Merritt thought about it. She thought about her mother's face in those final days, peaceful but so tired. She thought about her father on the porch, telling her to go live her life. She thought about the years she'd spent putting everyone else first.
“I'm sure,” she said. “I don't know what comes next, but I know I'm supposed to be here.”
Justin nodded. “Good enough for me.” He pushed off the doorframe. “You've got about an hour to settle in before your first shift. Happy hour starts at five. Wear something comfortable because you're going to be on your feet.”
“Got it.”
He started down the stairs, then stopped and looked back. “Hey, Merritt?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm glad you're here. We needed someone, and I think you're going to be good at this.”
She smiled. “You don't even know if I can pour a drink without spilling it.”
“You said most of the time. That's better than the last guy.”
She shrugged and nodded. “Good to know. Thank goodness I don’t have big shoes to fill.”
He grinned and disappeared down the stairs.
As she stood alone in her new apartment she paid attention to the sounds and feel of the place. Voices drifted up, laughing and talking. The sounds of a place where people came to relax, to forget their troubles, to just be.
She pulled out her phone and texted her father.
I'm here. The apartment is tiny but it has a view of the water.
His reply came a minute later.
Send pictures. And call me tonight. I want to hear everything.
She took a photo of the view and sent it. Then she sat down on the bed and looked around at the bare walls and the empty kitchen that had little more than a microwave, stovetop electric burners and the small bathroom with the questionable shower curtain.
It wasn't much. But it was hers.
And for the first time, Merritt knew she was right where she was meant to be, at least for today. Tomorrow would have to wait its turn.