Chapter 27
Merritt went back to work on Monday.
She wasn't scheduled to play. It was just a regular shift, bartending and running food, the kind of work that kept her hands busy and her mind occupied. She needed that right now. She needed something to do besides sit on her deck and think about everything that had gone wrong.
The bungalow had felt too quiet over the weekend. Her father had called twice, checking in, offering to fly down early. She'd told him she was fine, that she just needed some time, that she'd see him next week for the closing. The lies came easier now. She was getting good at pretending.
She arrived at Shorebirds an hour before opening to help with setup. Crocker was in the kitchen prepping for the dinner rush. He nodded at her when she came in but didn't say anything. That was fine. She wasn't in the mood for conversation.
Justin was behind the bar, restocking bottles and wiping down the counter. He looked up when she walked in, and something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or discomfort. It was hard to tell.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them like a rubber band pulled too tight. Merritt could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, the way he'd pulled back, the apology tumbling out of his mouth as he'd fled into the night.
“I wasn't sure you'd come in today,” he said finally.
“I'm on the schedule.”
“I know. I just thought maybe you'd want more time.”
“I've had enough time.” She grabbed an apron from the hook by the door and tied it around her waist. “I need to work. I need to feel normal.”
“Okay.” He stepped aside to give her room behind the bar. “I'll be in the back if you need anything.”
“Justin, wait.”
He stopped, his hand on the kitchen door. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. He looked like a man bracing for impact.
“We should talk,” she said. “About what happened.”
“We don't have to.”
“I think we do.”
He turned around slowly. The bar was empty, the chairs still stacked on the tables, the string lights not yet turned on. It felt like standing in a theater before the show, everything waiting, everything still.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have kissed you. It was wrong. You were grieving, you were vulnerable, and I took advantage of that.”
“You didn't take advantage of anything.”
“I did. You were crying, and instead of just being there for you, I made it about something else. That wasn't fair to you.”
Merritt leaned against the bar, her arms crossed over her chest. “You make it sound like you forced yourself on me. You didn't. It just happened.”
“It shouldn't have happened.”
“Maybe not. But it did.” She took a breath. “And for what it's worth, I didn't mind. In the moment, I mean. It felt nice.”
Something shifted in his expression. A crack in the armor he'd been wearing since she walked in. “It did?”
“Yeah. But that doesn't mean it was a good idea.”
“No. It wasn't.”
They stood there, looking at each other across the empty bar. The morning light was coming through the windows, catching the dust motes in the air, making everything look soft and slightly unreal.
“I'm not in a place for anything romantic,” Merritt said. “You know that. My life is a mess right now. Gregory just died. Ray is missing because of something I did. I'm still figuring out who I am and what I want. The last thing I need is to complicate things with a relationship.”
“I know.”
“And you're my boss. Kind of. It would be weird.”
“It would be weird,” he agreed.
“So we should just be friends. That's the smart thing to do.”
“It is.”
“Good.” She nodded firmly. “So we're agreed. Friends. Nothing more.”
“Friends. Nothing more.”
But neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away. The air between them felt charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks.
“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Merritt said quietly.
“Yeah.” Justin's voice was rough. “It is.”
He turned and walked into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. Merritt stood alone in the empty bar, her heart beating too fast, her hands gripping the edge of the counter.
Friends. They'd agreed. It was the right decision, the sensible decision, the only decision that made sense given everything that was happening. So why did it feel so wrong?
The afternoon shift was busy, which was a blessing.
Merritt poured drinks and ran food and made small talk with the regulars, falling into the familiar rhythm of work.
Ed and Margie were at their usual table by the window, sharing a basket of coconut shrimp and talking in the quiet, comfortable way of people who had been together for decades.
The fishermen came in around four, loud and sunburned, ordering beers and arguing about the catch of the day.
Justin stayed mostly in the back, emerging only when the bar got too busy for Merritt to handle alone.
They worked together smoothly, handing off glasses and bottles without needing to speak, their movements synchronized by months of practice.
But every time their hands brushed, every time their eyes met, Merritt felt that same electric charge, that same awareness that something had shifted between them.
Around six, she found herself glancing at the corner where Ray usually sat.
His chair was empty, his table bare. No untouched glass of Jameson, no silent presence watching from the shadows.
Just an empty space where a broken man used to hide.
She didn't know where he was. Paula was still looking, still checking all the places he might be. Still waiting.
The guilt rose up in her throat, and she pushed it back down. Not now. She couldn't think about that now.
“You okay?” Justin had appeared beside her, a tray of dirty glasses in his hands.
“Fine. Just thinking.”
“About Ray?”
“About everything.”
He set down the tray and started loading glasses into the dishwasher. Merritt wiped down the bar, her hands moving automatically.
“Crocker told me about your mother,” she said. “How she did the same thing with June. Gave up everything trying to save her.”
Justin's expression tightened, just slightly. “He told you that?”
“At the funeral. After he gave me his speech about not being able to save people.” She hesitated. “I'm sorry. About your mom. I know it was only two years ago.”
“It's okay.” But his voice had gone flat, the way it did when he was protecting himself from something. “It was cancer. There wasn't anything anyone could do.”
“Is that why you left Boston? After she died?”
“Part of it.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He just stood there, his hands braced against the edge of the bar, his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance.
“You mentioned Kira,” Merritt said. “That night on the deck. You said you ended things with her.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I just realized it wasn't right.”
“After your mother died?”
“Around that time.” He picked up a rag and started wiping down the counter, even though it was already clean. “Can we talk about something else?”
“I'm just trying to understand. You know all these things about me. My mother, Weston, the wedding I ran away from. I feel like I don't know anything about you.”
“There's not much to know.”
“I don't believe that.”
Justin stopped wiping. He set down the rag and turned to face her, his expression guarded.
“What do you want me to say, Merritt? That I had this perfect life in Boston, a great job, a beautiful girlfriend, and I threw it all away because my mother died and I couldn't handle it? That I ran away just like you did?”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. I did.” His voice was hard. “I had a corner office at an investment firm.
I wore suits that cost more than most people's rent.
I dated a woman who was already planning our wedding and picking out china patterns.
And when my mother got sick, I didn't go home.
I stayed in Boston because I had meetings and deadlines and a career to protect.
I told myself I'd visit soon. I told myself there was time.”
He stopped, his jaw tight.
“There wasn't time?” Merritt asked.
“No. There wasn't. She died three months after the diagnosis. I made it home for the last two weeks. That's it. Two weeks out of her whole life, and I almost missed those too.”
“Justin.”
“So yeah, I ended things with Kira. Because she didn't understand why I needed to come here.
Because she kept asking when I was coming back.
Because she looked at me like I was broken, and maybe I was, but I didn't want to be someone else's project.” He picked up the rag again, wringing it between his hands. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push.”
“You didn't push. I just don't like talking about it.” He threw the rag into the sink.
“Kira was a good person. She didn't deserve what I put her through.
But I couldn't be what she needed. I couldn't be what anyone needed.
So I came here, and Crocker took me in, and I've been trying to figure out who I am ever since.”
Merritt thought about her own escape, her own desperate drive down the coast, running from a wedding and a life that had never felt like hers. She thought about the bungalow and the music and the slow process of becoming someone new.
“I get it,” she said. “More than you know.”
“I know you do. That's why I…” He stopped himself, shaking his head.
“That's why you what?”
“Nothing. It doesn't matter.”
“Justin.”
“It doesn't matter because we're friends. Just friends.” He met her eyes, and she saw something there, something raw and unfinished. “Right?”
“Right,” she said, but the word felt hollow in her mouth.
The kitchen door swung open and Crocker emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. He looked between them, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
“You two going to stand around all night or actually work?” he said.
Justin straightened up. “Just taking a break.”
“Break's over. Table four needs their check.”
Justin grabbed the check and headed for the dining room.
Merritt watched him go, her mind still turning over everything he'd told her.
The corner office. The expensive suits. The girlfriend who was already planning their wedding.
It was hard to reconcile that image with the man she knew, the one who wore faded T-shirts and poured drinks and seemed more at home on a boat than in a boardroom.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe he'd remade himself, just like she was trying to do. Maybe they were both still in the middle of becoming whoever they were going to be.
The evening wore on. The crowd thinned as the sun went down, the dinner rush giving way to the quieter hours before closing. Merritt wiped down the bar and restocked the garnishes, keeping her hands busy, trying not to think too much.
Justin came out of the kitchen with a plate of food. “Crocker says you need to eat. His orders, not mine.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Doesn't matter. Eat anyway.” He set the plate in front of her. Grilled fish, rice, a small salad. Simple and good, the kind of food that made you feel taken care of.
She picked up her fork and took a bite. He watched her for a moment, then seemed to relax.
“Thank you,” she said. “For telling me. About Boston, and Kira, and all of it.”
“You asked.”
“I know, but you didn't have to answer. You could have told me to mind my own business.”
“I could have.” He leaned against the bar, his arms crossed. “But you told me your story. Seemed only fair.”
“Even though we're just friends?”
“Especially because we're just friends.” He smiled, just a little. “Friends tell each other things. That's how it works.”
“I wouldn't know. I haven't had many friends in a long time.”
“Well, you've got one now.”
She looked at him, this man who had kissed her and apologized and run away, who had shown up with food and shared his past and was now standing across from her with that quiet steadiness she'd come to rely on.
“This is going to be complicated,” she said.
“Probably.”
“But we can do it, right? Be friends?”
“We can try.” He picked up her empty plate. “That's all any of us can do.”
He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Merritt finished cleaning up the bar. The last customers paid their tabs and left, the fishermen heading home to their boats, Ed and Margie walking out arm in arm..
When the bar was empty, Merritt stood alone in the quiet, looking at Ray's empty corner, thinking about all the things she couldn't fix and all the things she might still be able to save.
She'd lost Gregory. She might have lost Ray. But she still had this place, this community, these people who had become her family. She still had her music and her bungalow and her father coming next week.
And she still had Justin. Whatever that meant, whatever it might become, she still had him.
It wasn't everything. But it was something.
She turned off the lights and locked the door and drove home to the bungalow, the kiss still lingering at the edges of her mind like a song she couldn't quite forget.