Sadie
Awe, Shucks!
"I can’t believe he actually said that!" Mal roars, laughing hysterically as I recount my conversation to her and Sebastian.
"What have I done? I should’ve never asked him for help." I groan, placing my head in my hands dramatically.
Seb pats my shoulder. "Sade, he’s actually harmless. Always been a softy, even when we were kids."
"Speak for yourself. There’s nothing soft about that man." My sister fans her face. "Three words, Sadie. Rock. Hard—"
"That’s enough." Seb tickles my sister’s side. "Do I need to remind you how hard I get?"
"I was going to say muscle, hunny." Mal presses a kiss to his cheek. "But yes, please."
My mom left with all four of the girls once we finished lunch. They were overdue for naps, and she’s babysitting so the adults can enjoy the festivities—her words, not ours. It’s nice, though. I rarely get time with my sister, and this event is one of my all-time favorites.
The Mage Hollow Lobster Festival is a one of a kind experience.
All the stores in the square close for the weekend while vendors line the streets with big-top tents, so many tables we could never fill them all, and enough seafood to make you forget anything else exists.
It’s one big clam bake, with steamer stations, more red and white checkered tablecloths covered in corn and crustaceans than one could imagine, and my personal favorite—the oyster tent.
Well, that might be second to all the wine tasting stops.
"Oh, Sadie. You have to try this one," Mal says, holding up a sample of a rosé—probably our fifth or sixth sample-size pour at this station.
Taking the small, clear plastic cup from my sister, I tip the sweet and tangy liquid to my lips. It has hints of strawberry and something a little herbal, with a delightfully smooth finish.
"That is amazing. Should we get one to share?" Wrapping my fingers around the stem of the bottle, the blush liquid inside swirls slightly. It has a beautiful, vintage-looking label—something you’d expect to see in Gatsby, very chic.
"I’ll grab you a few for girls' nights while you’re in town." Sebastian winks at me, pulling his wallet out and stepping toward the cashier.
Mal links her arm through mine, and I drain the rest of the wine from the tasting cup. "Five minutes, little lady," she whispers in my ear. "Do you remember how to shuck an oyster?"
I slip out of her hold, crossing my arms. "Yes, Mallory. I’ve been doing it since before I could tie my shoes."
She nods with a wickedly devious smile on her face. "Okay, so you don’t need me to stick around then? To chaperone?" Mal pulls me close to her once more. "Because I think I’m going to take my baby daddy home. And you’re going to go have fun with that hottie that’s clearly into you."
"We’re just friends." I tighten my grasp on my crossbody, reminding more than my sister where we stand—reminding myself.
"Yeah, okay. Seb’s my best friend too, no offense."
"Ugh, fine." I squeeze my sister, releasing her into Seb’s awaiting arms. "Don’t be a fool, wrap your—"
He salutes me. "Got it, Sade. Same goes for you."
Walking away before I change my mind about this whole adventure, I replay my sister's words in my mind. Max is flirty, but into me? I’m not sure.
It’s difficult to tell if this is just how he is in general or if it’s specific to me.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him.
He’s probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something—I work with professional athletes.
Sleeping with him, heck even just kissing him, is a bad idea, though. I’m leaving, even if Levi won’t have me back. The jobs I’m qualified for aren’t in Mage Hollow. And yeah, summer flings are something my roommate boasts about when she spends time at the Cape, but I’ve never had one.
Dodging a group of teenagers near the edge of the oyster tent, I step inside, scanning the space for Max.
"Boo." Max’s hands wrap around my shoulders, and his breath coasts across my neck as he whispers into my ear. "You looking for me, Sade?"
My skin tingles from the proximity, heat pooling low in my belly. If my body could get the memo regarding summer flings, it would be great.
"Yeah." I turn so I’m facing my new friend—old friend—I don’t know anymore. "You smell… fishy."
Max chuckles. "Worse things than lobster cologne. Mabel didn’t give me time to go home and change."
He shrugs as I take in his appearance. Max’s style is effortless—comfortable.
He looks relaxed, from his boat shoes and flat-front navy chino shorts to the soft grey t-shirt that hugs his impossibly large biceps.
Not at all like he just worked all day serving food in a hot tent.
His hair curls around the ends, as if he intentionally styled it, when somehow I know he didn’t.
"Are you checking me out, Sade?" Max’s eyes roam my face.
"Definitely not." I smile. "Just wondering why you wanted me to meet you here."
Max places his hand at the small of my back, leading me to one of the round, linen covered high top tables. There’s a laminated menu in the center next to a blue vase with a single pink rose.
"Do you like oysters?" Max plucks the menu off the table, leaning closer so we can both see it. "I was thinking we could do the tasting, but if this isn’t your vibe, we can find something else."
I beam at him. Logically, I know he has no idea how perfect this is. But part of me wants to pretend he planned it just for me. "I love them. My favorite food of all time."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, you can’t really live in Mage Hollow and not like them, right?" I flip the menu over, my shoulder bumping Max’s arm slightly.
"Um, yeah," he hesitates.
I push down on the menu, bringing it back to the table, and spin toward him. "Max O’Reilly, do you not like oysters?"
He shakes his head. "No, I’ve just never had one."
My mouth pops open. How could that be possible? We have the best oysters in the world right in our backyard. One of Mal’s friends, Lynelle, literally ships her catches to restaurants all around the world—they’re so popular they’re global.
As I’m letting my brain catch up to what he said, a server approaches our table. She has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, a baby-blue shirt that’s cut way too low in the front, and a smile that says Notice me.
"Can I help you pick something from the menu?" She directs her question to Max, as if I’m not standing here. Rude!
"Sure. We’d like to do the sampler. Please don’t shuck them ahead of time. I can do it." The woman’s green eyes meet mine. "I’ll take crackers, lemon, and hot sauce too, please."
Her gaze tracks Max’s, probably waiting to see if he agrees. But when he dips his chin slightly, she scurries away.
While we wait, Max steals a couple of stools from a group that’s leaving, and I walk to the next tent over to grab some drinks.
Returning with a glass of white wine for me and a beer for Max, I’m not surprised to find the server leaning a little too close to him while she places a tray filled with ice and six oysters in the center of the table.
"That was quick," he says, grabbing my wine and placing it on the table before linking our fingers.
Goosebumps race up my arm at the feel of his calloused hand in mine—at the way they look together, his strong and mine dainty.
"Celeste was just asking if we need help, babe.
" His eyes widen, a plea for me to go along with it.
"Oh, how kind, Celeste? We don’t need help, but thank you." I slide onto the stool next to him, forcing my face into a smile, and Celeste saunters away. "Babe? Really, Max?" I whisper.
He runs a hand through his thick hair, scratching his neck slightly. "Sorry, she was making it weird. But that’s what friends do, right?"
"Friends pretend to be your date to hold off the treasure trove of women that throw themselves at you?" I smother the amused laugh threatening to break free. "Do you and Howie hold hands often? To chase off unwanted advances?"
"Nah. We usually just do it because we want to." Max smirks, and a laugh bubbles out of me. "The guy has shockingly soft hands."
"Wait! He really does. I don’t know how he does it." And now I’m sort of jealous of my cousin holding hands with Max. What is happening to me?
Max takes the lager I forgot I was still holding from my hand and gulps down a big glug. "God, that hits so hard after the day I’ve had." He sips it again, less ravenously this time. "So, how do we do this?"
I follow suit, sipping my wine. "Well, you’ve really never done this?"
He shakes his head no.
"Okay, I’ll walk you through it." I reach out, wrapping my fingers around the wooden-handled shucking knife. "There are a couple of ways to do this, but I prefer to use the lollipop method."
"Why’s it called that?" Max carefully examines everything on our table.
"You’ll see. Okay, first, this is called a shucking knife." I hold it up so he can get a good look. "I’m going to insert it here at the shell hinge."
Max picks up an oyster and points to the spot that I’m pushing the knife into.
"You want to make sure it’s really in, even if you have to wiggle it, just keep going."
Max laughs. "That’s what she said."
"What? Who said?"
He shakes his head, laughter still rolling through him. "Nevermind."
I get my knife into the shell deep enough and hold it up in front of us.
"See… lollipop method, because it looks like one.
Now, we hold it here—typically with gloves on for safety—and wiggle it back and forth until the shells separate at the hinge.
" I follow my own instructions: popping the top shell off and running the knife under the muscle to detach it.
"Wait, what did you just do?" Max points at the oyster.
"It’s attached, and if you don’t run the knife through there, you can’t slurp it down." Reaching across the table, I grab the toppings. "Do you think you’re a hot sauce guy or a lemon juice guy?"
"Hot sauce? I like things spicy." Max winks, and I feel my cheeks heat.
"Oh boy, okay." I add a few dashes to the shell and hand it over to him. "Down the hatch."
His face twists, apprehension clearly etched on his features. "Do I chew it? Or—"
Placing my hand on his forearm, I squeeze lightly. "You can if you want. You've got this. It’s good, I promise."
Max gives me one more small smile, then he opens his mouth and slurps it down. I can’t tell from the look on his face whether he liked it or if he wants to vomit. He simply stares at the shell, as if he’s confused by it.
I squeeze his arm again. "Thoughts?"
"Amazing!" His grin takes over his entire face now, that adorable dimple popping. His eyes are bright, fascinated. "Why have I never done this?"
Holding my hands up, I respond, "I actually have no idea." That makes him chuckle and pull my stool closer to his.
"You’re up. Let’s go." He nods toward the five remaining shells. "But that knife is gnarly, so you have to open them."
"I’ll do mine, but you, my friend, are doing your next one."
Working through the steps, I pop the shells on three of the oysters and hand him the knife.
Taking my time, I prepare mine the way I like best, with a squeeze of lemon juice and one dash of hot sauce.
As I bring the first to my lips, Max stops wrestling with his second and stares at me with his mouth open as if this is the best thing he’s ever witnessed.
The salty brine coats my tongue as I swallow it down, followed by the tang of the lemon and the zip of the hot sauce. A subtle moan slips out of me as I close my eyes and savor the moment.
"Damn," Max whispers, releasing an over-exaggerated breath.
Rather than addressing his comment, my eyes pop open, and I narrow them at his oyster. "Come on, mister. Don’t let the shell beat you." I nod toward the knife.
"I think I’m doing it wrong… it doesn’t fit," he says.
I sip my wine and smirk at him. "Sounds personal. Tell me more."
Max’s mouth drops open. "Did you just make a pun, Sade? Like a sexual one?" He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Definitely not." I’m the one winking this time—and I never wink. I didn’t even think I knew how.
What is in this wine?
"Let me help you." I place my hands on top of his, pressing so he knows how hard to push. The knife doesn’t budge.
"Maybe if you let me—"
"Maybe I should pull—"
Our voices ring out at the same time. But I press harder, and Max pulls. It’s a tangle of fingers, the oyster, and the knife.
"Mother fucker!" I hiss as the edge of the blade burrows into the meat of my hand beneath my thumb. "Shit, it’s my… I might pass—"
"Nope, I've got you, just lean into me." His sturdy arm wraps around me. "Celeste! I need a towel or a first aid kit," he shouts, as blood continues to drip down my arm and onto my lap.
A few people rush over as Celeste takes her sweet time with a med kit.
"Why didn’t you have gloves on?" An older gentleman with grey hair, round glasses, and judgmental eyes asks.
"We weren’t given any. And that question isn’t helpful," Max spits back, venom in his words.
A woman, maybe the guy's wife, with silver hair examines my hand, pressing a wad of gauze against it. I hiss in pain—it needs pressure, but it still hurts like hell. I’m probably getting tetanus.
"We are so sorry. Please take her to the hospital right away. We will cover the bill." She smiles at me, and I can feel the sincerity in her apology.
I turn to look at Max, but he’s already sliding off his stool, and before I know it, hoisting me into his arms.
"Max! Put me down. My legs are fine."
"No way, Sade. I promised fun, and stitches aren’t that." He grimaces, but quickly fixes his face into a smile. "At least this way you can look back on today and remember being carried through the streets of Mage like a princess."
I groan. "How embarras—"
"It’s not. It’s magical, swoon-worthy even. Live a little, Sade… while I save your life."
I doubt I’m dying, but a small part of me feels that if I were, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go.
He hoists me up a little further, one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my shoulder blades.
He really does smell like the ocean, and not in a sea salt skin sort of way—but I nuzzle into his chest and inhale, anyway.