Chapter Four. Seaside
Chapter Four
SEASIDE
At one o’clock, Cam and Danny took off for Beau’s.
Reggie was left in the attentive care of Ms. Garber, who, based on the smells coming from her apartment, was already in the process of whipping him up a snack fit for royalty.
Instead of driving, they opted to walk, both wanting the chance to stretch their legs after so many hours in a car—and a jail cell.
And despite the way her damp hair frizzed in the afternoon sunshine, Cam was floating. Every step along pebbled roads and rocky cliffs soothed her soul. The fresh air and salty beach essence had seeped into her skin in mere minutes.
They approached Beau’s, advertised from the street by its slatted wood sign reading BEAUREGARD’S in feathered strokes.
The restaurant was bi-level, sheathed in yellow cedar clapboards, every inch a different hue thanks to the imperfections in the wood.
The street-level entrance opened into a small den, welcoming the public for billiards, dancing, and darts.
Winding white stairs and an accompanying ramp led to the second-level restaurant.
A wraparound deck stretched from the entrance to the beachfront, where customers had views of the sandy shore and blue waters.
Inside, mismatched tables and chairs were scattered through the dining room and onto the deck.
Blue-gray wooden panels covered the walls, every inch teeming with Americana: old street signs, license plates of yesteryear, and nautical relics ranging from old surfboards to hanging fishing nets.
The floors were an ash-colored wood, the same shade as the exposed beams lining the ceiling.
Unlike the coastal rustic charm of the dining room, the bar was slightly more polished.
Dark, cushioned stools were set below the bar top, in the same grain as the floors.
Colorful bottles of alcohol were paraded on walled shelves, joining at least ten beers on tap.
Even at midday, nearly 60 percent of the stools were filled with customers eating, drinking, and devotedly watching the first inning of the Red Sox game on the TVs behind the bar.
And while there were pops of red and green—thanks to the occasional jersey framed on the wall—Beau’s was overwhelmingly blue.
The color of summer. The color of the water, of blooming hydrangeas, and the best flavor of Popsicles.
From the decor, to the view, to the sea breeze rushing through the opened windows, Beau’s was primed for memories by the shore.
“What do you think?” Danny joined her on the deck, hands on his hips as he surveyed the space.
He wore a navy blue shirt reading BEAU’S across the left chest and featuring an illustration of the restaurant’s slatted wood sign on the back.
In the afternoon sunlight, he pushed the sleeves up, and Cam found her attention shifting from the restaurant to his rope bracelet and the inexplicably attractive bulge of his arm veins.
Quickly averting her gaze to the water, she said, “It’s incredible.” She leaned over the deck railing, smelling the salty air. “Really.”
“Uncle Beau opened this place nearly forty years ago. It was his pride and joy. A true Elswick staple.” He patted the wood like it was an old friend. “My goal is to keep Beau’s around for another forty years.”
A glance around the deck confirmed what she saw inside the dining room. “It’s packed. I know it’s a Saturday, but this is amazing.”
He laughed, scratching the chipped paint on the railing. “It’s still early May. Wait until tourist season really picks up.”
It was easy to imagine summer in Elswick. Mornings on the beach with Danny, collecting sea glass and seashells. Afternoons running with Reggie, playing fetch until she couldn’t feel her arm. Dinner and drinks at Beau’s, ice cream from the shop on Burton Street …
Swallowing a much-needed breath, Cam studied the ocean waves. Her thoughts rushed a mile a minute, and a familiar jitteriness returned. She knew the feeling well, even if she hadn’t indulged it in years.
She wanted to write. Until her hands cramped and her eyes glossed over.
“I used to dream about writing in a place like this,” she said, turning to Danny. “Back when it was easy to be delusional. I thought my future was somewhere green, like some cottage in the middle of a forest where I’d spend every day writing and frolicking through flowers.”
“You never considered a writer’s retreat, or something like that?”
Cam shrugged. “No time, no money.”
“Well, I can’t offer you a cottage surrounded by green, but I do have a restaurant surrounded by blue.” He motioned to Beau’s. “It’s free. And now you have all the time in the world, so stay here for the summer. Write. It’s about time you gave in to your fantasies.”
“Is that one of your menu items? Boarding starving artists?”
“Nobody starves at Beau’s.”
Cam smiled. “I’ll think about it.”
“C’mon! What’s there to think about?” he asked.
“I have responsibilities!”
“Like?”
She exhaled, blowing loose strands of hair in every direction.
“Well…” Actually, she didn’t have any responsibilities, minus a bunch of credit card minimum payments due every month, and a student loan payment she already couldn’t afford.
Realizing she didn’t have an excuse, she mumbled, “I can’t just play pretend here this summer. ”
“Says who?”
She took in his hopeful eyes and teasing smile.
Maybe he was right. Maybe his method of throwing caution to the wind was the right one.
Because the same decision of his she’d always scrutinized had brought him to Hanoi and Bangkok while she’d ruined her posture in a cubicle, lamenting about a breakup.
Maybe he’d figured out what she hadn’t.
“Danny—”
“Danny,” drawled a raspy woman’s voice from behind them.
When Cam turned, she met a pair of piercing gray eyes.
Their owner was beautiful, with long, dark hair colored with fiery highlights, and tiny silver studs decorating her ears and nose.
Unlike the unofficial beachy casual dress code of Beau’s, she wore black boots and a black dress, showing off a collection of tattoos along pale skin.
Danny grinned, throwing a lazy arm over Cam’s shoulder. “Cam, this is Esme Oberlin. Our resident bartender, and my right-hand woman.”
Esme gave her a once-over, eyebrow quirked and lips pursed. “Hmm.”
Cam smiled politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“She’s not what I thought she’d be,” Esme said to Danny. “I expected country club debutante meets sorority girl.”
Cam wasn’t sure what that meant but her thoughts went to tennis skirts and floral dresses. “And I’m not that?” she asked.
“No.” Esme approached her, paying particularly close attention to her hair. “You’re corporate casual.” Then, she leaned in and whispered, “Girl to girl, the blonde washes you out. Go natural or hit me up if you want some color.”
And as soon as Esme had arrived, she disappeared. Cam palmed her hair, processing the unsolicited advice. Blonde washed her out? She lifted a loose strand into view, studying the same honey blonde shade she’d been coloring her hair with since age sixteen.
She didn’t know this woman and had no reason to listen to her but … with her current financial status, maybe it was time to ditch the overpriced dye job.
Oblivious to the hair comment, Danny said, “Esme is an acquired taste. Her boyfriend, Axel, runs the local tattoo and piercing shop. But don’t mention Axel to Drew—Drew used to claim he was in love with Esme.”
“Drew falls for any beautiful woman.”
He smirked, nudging her gently. “Not you.”
“Only because he preferred Morgan,” she replied, laughing, “and I had Cory.”
The mention of Cory ended their playful conversation. Danny cleared his throat. “Let’s get you introduced to the rest of the full-time staff. During the summer, we have a lot of part-timers in, mainly college kids. But there’s a core group of us.”
“What do you do most nights?” she asked, trying to imagine Danny wandering around Beau’s, a pen and clipboard in hand. Or … whatever it was a restaurant owner did on any given day.
“A little bit of everything. Serve drinks, talk to customers, even run orders. My job varies depending on the day and the need.” His lips flattened and his gaze dropped to his shoes.
“That’s what Uncle Beau used to do. He knew every local, recommended his favorite meals, and even had contests in the middle of dinner, handing out free drinks or desserts.
He was famous for Beau’s Bucks, these coupons that could be redeemed for food, or stuff like deciding which game the big TV played.
Every night was … fun. A real escape from the rest of the world. ”
Sad Danny rarely made an appearance. Everything about his downcast gaze felt wrong. Unnatural. Desperate for his smile to return, she asked, “What’s your favorite part?”
Immediately, his lips curved into a familiar grin, and he tilted his head back, basking in the sunlight. Her focus dropped to his long neck, and the way his Adam’s apple protruded. In a flash, she looked away, mimicking his stance and presenting herself to the sun.
“I’ll be cliché and say making people happy. Even the small stuff feels meaningful. Bringing people drinks after a long day at work, delivering food to tourists on vacation … I love it. I enjoy bartending, too. I’ve really gotten into it, especially beer.”
“Gotten into it like … drinking?”
Laughing, he said, “Yeah, I like to drink it, but I mean the science behind it. I’ve been … dabbling in homebrewing for the last few years. Just for fun.”
“Homebrewing? Does that make you the beer version of a wine snob? A six-pack sommelier?”
“That would be a Cicerone, and yes, maybe I am.” He knocked his hip into hers. “You’ll have to taste test for me. Assuming your palate is refined enough,” he teased.
“I’d love to.” Because even though she’d rather drink virtually anything over beer, she’d try it for him. “So … you’ve been homebrewing for a while. Why didn’t you mention it before?”