Chapter Four
The week leading up to Lobster Fest went by extremely quickly.
Zach found himself spending more and more time at The Lobster Buoy.
The crowds were thicker each day, and he and Jack spent most of their time hunched over the cooktop in the shack, making meals as fast as the tourists could consume them.
As a result, he and Marit hadn’t been able to spend much time together. She was almost as busy as he was, spending extra hours on the Wave Rider catching the lobsters everyone in town wanted to purchase.
They stayed in touch via text, sending an obnoxious number of notes back and forth. Most of the time they didn’t talk about anything deep, just shared jokes and thoughts about all the tourists in town.
With every day that went by that he didn’t get to see her—except for short periods of time when he went down to the dock to buy lobster—he got more and more irritated. Not with her. With the fact that he very much wanted to spend time with her and wasn’t able to.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, considering I’m the king of assholes, but you’re being extra assholey, Zach. Why don’t you take the morning off tomorrow,” Jack suggested at the end of the day, when Zach was getting ready to head down to the docks.
Looking over at his employee in surprise, he said, “Tomorrow’s the first day of Lobster Fest. I can’t take the morning off.”
“Of course you can. You’re the fucking boss.
You hired Casey, Bill, and Karen to run the front of the shack and me to keep the food crankin’ out.
We’ve got this. Besides, it gets busier in the afternoons rather than the mornings.
Go buy some flowers for your girl and spend tonight with her, without worrying about getting up and coming in to work. ”
Zach stared at the older man. He was an asshole most of the time, but he was a damn good worker.
And the lobster hash with fried eggs he’d planned for the special tomorrow morning wasn’t difficult to make.
Jack could more than handle it. The lobster and smoked gouda quesadilla for day one of the festival was fairly simple too.
Zach had already seasoned a large batch of lobster for that dish, and Jack could easily grill the quesadillas quickly if they had an influx of customers before he arrived.
The more he thought about it, the more Zach wanted to take Jack up on the offer.
Owning his own restaurant was a hell of a lot of work, even if it was “only” a lobster shack.
Having Lobster Fest come around so soon after starting the business made his life that much more difficult, but was a boon at the same time.
The increase in income would help keep him afloat during the leaner winter months, when tourists were few and far between.
He should feel guilty about leaving things to his employees, but Zach mentally said fuck it. “Thanks, Jack. I think I’ll do that.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll improve your mood,” his cook said under his breath.
Zach hadn’t realized he’d been acting any differently. But if Jack said he’d been an asshole, he must’ve really been a prick lately.
As he got ready to head to the dock, his mood lifted significantly. He couldn’t wait to see Marit. He was sure she’d still need to get up early in the morning, but the thought of sleeping in himself sounded damn good.
“You have my number in case anything goes wrong,” he told Casey and Bill, the two high schoolers who were working the front of the shack, and who’d be there in the morning when the festival started.
“Like running out of lobster?” Casey asked with a huge grin.
“Bite your tongue, girl!” Zach said in mock horror. But silently, he did the calculations. Running out of lobster would mean he’d make thousands of dollars in a very short amount of time. He could deal with that.
Zach walked quickly through town, which looked as if someone had thrown shellfish all over it, as every storefront and restaurant had used lobster decor to celebrate the festival.
Grabbing his SUV at his apartment, he made a spontaneous stop at one of the local businesses before continuing on his way.
When Zach was little, he used to love how Rockville transformed itself for Lobster Fest. Banners with lobsters on them were strung everywhere, and locals seemed to be in a happy mood, despite how many extra people suddenly flooded the town.
He and his brothers had spent countless hours entertaining themselves at the festivals: running around the park, stuffing their faces with “fair food,” listening to live music, and participating in the various activities.
One of his favorites had always been the lobster-eating contest. He remembered Linc winning one year .
. . then he’d gotten so sick, he’d thrown up in the parking lot after getting his prize.
They’d done the Codfish Carry competition when they were in elementary school, the Kids’ Fun Run, and then the 5K when they’d gotten too old for the kids’ race. The parade was always a highlight, as well.
But the most fun activity was the Great Crate Race.
Zach remembered laughing until his stomach hurt at some of the falls people had while attempting to run across the fifty floating lobster crates strung across the harbor.
The winner most years was usually a kid, because they weighed less than the adults and the crates didn’t sink as far into the water when they ran across them.
If someone made it all the way across the fifty crates, they turned around and came back, continuing to run back and forth until they fell into the water.
He could still remember his mom telling him about the year when there was a tie for the winner.
Seven-year-old Scarlett Flint and nine-year-old Harrison Page successfully crossed sixty-five hundred crates!
Zach couldn’t wrap his mind around that.
He hoped he’d be able to take some time away from The Lobster Buoy to watch this year’s competition.
For now, he was just eager to get to the docks to see Marit.
They’d texted that morning, and she’d admitted that she was exhausted.
She and the Sullivans were working extra-long hours to catch enough lobsters for their regular customers, as well as the additional haul needed for the influx of tourists to Rockville for the festival.
He didn’t bother to change out of the clothes he’d been wearing all day at The Lobster Buoy, knowing Marit honestly wouldn’t care that he had some grease stains on his shirt and smelled like fried food. Not when she’d be wearing her lobstering gear.
It took longer than normal to drive the couple of blocks to the pier, and Zach felt lucky to find a parking spot.
He made a mental note that he was probably going to have to walk over here for the next few days.
He’d bring his dolly to transport the crates of lobsters back to his shack.
There would be no parking spots to be found until Lobster Fest was over.
Leaving the purchase he’d made on the back seat of his SUV, Zach hurried toward the Wave Rider, happy to see the boat was already parked at the dock.
He could easily tell the difference between Marit and the Sullivan men because of her size.
She really was tiny, but somehow when he was around her, he forgot all about how diminutive she was—especially compared to him—because she had such a large personality.
As he approached the boat, however, he caught some weird vibes coming from the trio, who were busy packing the lobsters they’d caught into crates for transport.
“Hey,” Zach said as he approached.
Everyone looked up, and for a split second he saw wariness on Eliot’s face, until he realized it was Zach approaching. Then his expression evened out.
“Oh, hey, Zach. How was business today? You ready for the people tomorrow?”
“Good, and yes. As much as I can be. Were the lobsters cooperating today?”
“Hell yeah. We got an awesome haul,” Eliot told him.
Zach thought it was odd the way Jonah didn’t look up or say hello. “Hey, Jonah,” he said.
The other man glanced up quickly, nodded, then got back to work.
“Hi,” Marit said, with a soft smile.
Not thinking twice about his actions, Zach stepped toward where Marit was standing next to a crate of lobsters and leaned over, kissing her briefly before straightening. “Hi,” he returned. “You have a good day?”
Instead of responding affirmatively, she shrugged.
Zach frowned. “You didn’t?”
“Lucas Pearson,” Eliot spat.
Turning toward the older man, Zach asked, “Who?”
“No one. It’s not a big deal,” Marit said quickly.
But Eliot ignored her attempt at dropping the subject.
“He owns the Men At Work, another lobster boat. He ran his mouth this morning about Marit working on the Wave Rider. Saying all kinds of sexist shit. Then he followed us most of the morning, commenting on Marit’s technique and insisting having her on board was bad luck, that she was gonna bring that same luck down on the fleet.
He ended his childish and stupid rant by saying she should’ve stayed in Portland, that Rockville didn’t want no ‘sissy girls’ lobstering in its waters. ”
Zach’s anger rose hot and fast. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s okay, Zach,” Marit said. She’d moved around the crate she’d been filling to put her hand on his arm.
“It’s not okay,” he countered.
“You’re right, it’s not. But I’m used to it.”
“Which is also bullshit!” Zach exclaimed.
“You shouldn’t be used to that. You’re damn good at what you do.
I haven’t been on a boat with you, but I’ve known Eliot a long time and he doesn’t tolerate incompetence.
If you couldn’t hack it as a lobsterwoman, you wouldn’t be on his boat.
I’ve heard him say more than once how happy he is that he hired you before anyone else could. ”
Marit’s face softened. “Thanks.”