6. Fisher
CHAPTER SIX
fisher
“I heard she only wears stilettos and is upset that we don’t have paved roads.”
“I heard she doesn’t wear anything but tube tops and she’s coming to the town meeting this morning to demand we set up outdoor heaters.”
Neither of those rumors is true, yet I’m not the least bit surprised that the gossip mill is already running at full power with fake Elizabeth Sweet stories. Every person I encounter is obsessed with talking about her. Not me. I’d rather not think about her, let alone bring her up in conversation.
And I definitely don’t want to think about the sweet floral scent that lingered on my coat and flannel for hours after I left her last night.
I don’t want to think about the way her eyes lit up when she smiled.
Because I don’t need another thing to think about, period.
I have enough on my plate. Elizabeth Sweet is too young and too beautiful and will be nothing but a pain in my ass.
“I heard that Saturday is donut day at the bakery and that if I came in before you close up for the meeting, I could buy some,” I say, trying to get the attention of the women gossiping behind the counter.
It’s beyond idiotic that they’ll close up the bakery at nine thirty so the two of them can go to a town meeting that’s sole purpose is to waste everyone’s time.
Flora and her mother turn my way.
“Fisher!” Flora says, her nasally voice making me wince. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
I fight a frown. Sutton wants donuts. So I have to be nice ish .
“Any chance I could get two double chocolates and two glazed?” I should smile, but I hate smiling. The best I can do is not to glare.
“Absolutely.” She hurries to the glass case and drops the donuts into a bag one by one. “And your usual coffee?”
I give a clipped nod just as the door behind me opens.
“I feel for the poor girl,” Cank says as he and his wife, Cheryl, walk in.
“And since she’s all the way out on the point, she probably didn’t think to walk to the inn for a shower.”
My brows slam together. The point? They have to be talking about the Sweet place. Why would she have to walk to the inn for a shower? I made sure everything was in working order yesterday morning.
“Good thing she stopped by,” Cheryl says.
Cank nods. “I told her the pilot was probably out. I’m sure she’ll get it all fixed. Sent her home with a few muffins to tide her over until Doris opens up this afternoon.”
Well, fuck me. There is no way the princess knows anything about a pilot light. At twenty-five, I’m not sure I even knew what a pilot light was, let alone how to light it. And I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth.
Also, not even Bing will eat Cheryl’s muffins—they’re hard as rocks. If she doesn’t blow up the island, she’ll definitely break a tooth.
Flora hands me my coffee and the bag of donuts, and I drop a twenty on the counter, then rush out without a goodbye.
I should have taken the truck. The knowledge that Libby might be heading into her basement has me picking up the pace.
It’ll be a matter of seconds before she comes across her first eight-legged creature.
I’d be surprised if I couldn’t hear her screams all the way over here.
Got rid of all the spiders, my ass. We’re in Maine.
Spiders are as abundant as salt water and fog.
I jog up the hill, heading right at the fork and passing by Blue. Where else would he be this early? Everyone knows what the island needs is another watercolor of the harbor. Fifty million isn’t nearly enough. At least he’s fully clothed for the time being.
He lifts his brush to wave at me, and I give him a quick nod, kicking up dust as I rush down the dirt path.
I hurry past the brewery and tip my chin at Jamie. He waves too. Everyone on this island waves.
As I round the last bend, the Sweet house comes into view, along with Libby, who’s clad in a pink sweat suit and is bending over and reaching beneath her massive propane tank.
My gut sinks. What the fuck is the woman doing now?
Talk about a good way to find spiders.
“Libby?”
She rolls back to her haunches and beams up at me. “Oh. Hi, Fisher.”
As if she got the island memo, she waves. The movement draws my attention to the match pinched between her thumb and forefinger. A match . Near a massive ball of gas.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I glare at the matchstick, the tip of which is charred rather than red. She did not stick that under the tank, did she?
Shit.
She shrugs. “I wish I knew. Cank told me to light the pilot.”
I blink at the match, then eye the tank. “Please tell me you didn’t have that lit near the propane tank.”
Head cocked, she studies me, her ponytail dropping over her shoulder. “Propane tank?” She purses her lips and scans the massive gas-filled tank that she apparently just tried to light on fire. “This isn’t the water heater?”
“No,” I snap. “It is not.”
“Huh.” She giggles, one shoulder lifted.
“What’s so funny?” Jesus, she almost blew herself up, and she’s laughing .
“Do you know what would have happened if the wind hadn’t kept blowing out the matches?” Her laughter continues.
Annoyance bubbles in my veins. Oh yeah, I’m very aware.
“I thought the universe was messing with me, but it turns out mother nature was actually protecting me with each gust of wind.”
Another hard burst of winds blows past us, and she shivers.
Huffing, I grasp her arms and pull her to her feet.
She shivers again. Last night I promised her a coat, but I’ve yet to stop by her house to check in. How could I when my niece woke up and instantly demanded donuts?
“Here.” I begrudgingly set the paper bag on the ground and shuck off my coat.
As I hold it out, she shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m just waiting for my luggage to be delivered. I’m sure it’ll be here any time now.”
Does she really think United is going to shuttle her bag twelve miles out into the middle of the ocean?
“Just take it,” I grumble.
She hesitates, her eyes searching mine, but when the wind hits her, she slides it on. “Thanks.”
I grunt. Shit. The damn thing is never going to stop smelling like flowers and sunshine now.
“Fisher?” Sutton calls from the porch.
Bing lets out a sharp bark, then leaps over the railing and sprints over to Libby and jumps up on her.
Though I expect her to shriek and back away, she surprises the shit out of me by dropping to her knees and giggling as my dog covers her in kisses.
“Aren’t you a good boy.” She squirms, her giggles light and airy, and rubs his back.
“Hi, Libby.” Sutton comes up beside me, her chin tucked into the collar of her coat and her shoulders hunched to fight off the cold.
“Bing, enough.” I snap my fingers, and instantly, he settles.
“Bing?” Libby looks up at me, brows raised.
A lead ball forms in my gut and sinks. Fuck.
“That’s the name of the dog from my show.” She tilts her head and assesses me.
“Oh really? I don’t watch it. He’s Bing, like Chandler Bing from Friends .”
She snorts, grinning at the dog like they’re already buddies. “That’s the line from the show.”
I affect a completely indifferent shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Fisher, your nose is growing.” Sutton’s whisper is loud enough to be considered a yell.
Shit. I actually forgot Sutton was standing here. This is bad. My niece complains that she can’t make a move without me seeing, but Libby has been here for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already taking my eye off the only person that matters.
Libby laughs again, the sound lighting up my nerve endings. Damn, why does she have to have such a pretty laugh?
We’re hit by another gust of wind, and both Sutton and Libby shiver, although I’m the one without the fucking coat.
“Can we go in?”
“I need to get my water heater working so I can finally take a warm shower.” She straightens and spins back to the propane tank. “I just need to figure out where the pilot light is.”
Brow creased, Sutton looks up at me. “Isn’t that in the basement?”
“Yup.” I nod.
“Oh.” Libby’s shoulders drop.
For a second, I almost feel bad. That sensation evaporates quickly, though, when Sutton jumps in.
“Fisher will fix it. And while you wait, you can hang out with me. Or take a shower at our house.”
My heart clenches tight at the hope in her tone.
My niece loves this woman. Libby spent over a decade playing a girl who was raised by her older brother after their parents died in a car crash.
Because of how closely the storyline mirrors Sutton’s life, her obsession with Elizabeth Sweet is more intense than that of most girls her age.
And every eight-year-old in the world loves her.
“I don’t know about that,” Libby says softly, her eyes cutting to me. It’s obvious she’s uncomfortable, and it’s because of me.
“Please, Fisher?” Sutton pleads. “You don’t mind, do you? You don’t want her to be cold. It’s only neighborly to offer.”
“Fine.” I have to force the single syllable out because I don’t want Libby hanging out at my place.
I don’t want her in my shower. Fuck, just the thought of her naked under the spray does things I didn’t think I was capable of anymore.
It excites me. Thrills me. Spikes my blood pressure to a brutal degree.
But Sutton is smiling, and I’ll do anything to make her happy.
“Yay!” She snags the small paper bag from me and holds a hand out to Libby. “You are going to love these donuts. The double chocolate ones are the best.”
I fight a scoff. I don’t believe for a second that the young superstar eats sugar or carbs.
“Ooh,” Libby says, stunning the shit out of me. “I can’t wait.” She takes Sutton’s hand, and when Bing gets into step beside her, she pats his head. “What a good boy.”
Then they’re off, leaving me in the cold. Just fucking great.
Once the girls are safely inside my house, where I’m hoping like hell Sutton can keep Libby out of trouble, I head the other way. Once again, I’m stomping down the stairs to her basement.
I was down here yesterday, and I could swear the pilot was lit, so I figure I’ll wait a bit to make sure it doesn’t go out again and that the tank heats.
With a sigh, I lean against the wall and pull out my phone. I’m replying to a text from Wilder when a new message comes in.
May Job 3: I want it done by Monday. At the very latest.
This is what I should be doing. My actual job. What I do may fall into a gray area, but it ensures that Sutton has the life my brother and his wife wanted for her. And it guarantees that I’m around for her and the rest of these damn island people every day.
But fuck, does it make the days long. Checking off all my duties around the island during the day, then doing the real work after Sutton goes to bed.
Me: Don’t worry, it will be done.
Before I can slip the device back into my pocket, the damn thing buzzes again.
Todd: The goat is back.
I sigh. I hate this island.
Me: I’ll be right there.
I stomp up the stairs and turn on the hot water. It’s only been twenty minutes, but right away, the water turns lukewarm. Good enough. I’ll swing by after I deal with the damn goat and check again.
With my hands shoved into my pockets and my head ducked against the cold, I hurry across the yard and into my house.
I’m instantly hit with the sound of the girls’ laughter, and when I catch sight of them on the sofa, a weird twist pulls at my gut. Libby’s hair is wet, and she’s dressed in my T-shirt and sweats.
She leans in and whispers into Sutton’s ear, and they fall into another fit of giggles. Without my permission, my lips tip up.
The second I realize what I’m doing, I lock my jaw and school my expression. I might want Sutton to be happy, but that’s as far as this could ever go.
“They go to the brewery at night. You should go too,” Sutton suggests.
Irritation shoots down my spine. The idea of having Libby at the brewery with Wilder, Maggie, Eddy, and me is too much.
I scowl. “We don’t invite summer people.”
Libby’s eyes dart to me, hurt flashing in them.
Regret washes over me, but I ignore the sensation. I can’t have her getting too comfortable here. We all know she’ll never last, and it’s better for her if she stays far away from us.