10. The Run #2
“That’s a diplomatic way to put it,” Jake says.
I pick up my coffee from the table and take a sip to avoid smiling.
Ellie stirs her drink with a wooden stick. “Did you grow up here?”
“Yeah. Jake and I both did.”
Jake nods. “That’s accurate.”
“Does everybody really know everybody?” she asks.
“Just about everybody,” I say. “People know enough things about each other to make privacy more of a theory than a lifestyle.”
Ellie considers that. “In Boston, nobody knew you or even cared to unless you blocked their parking spot.”
“That doesn’t sound like it was very pleasant for you.”
“It wasn’t.”
There’s such quiet honesty in that. I glance at Doc before I can stop myself. His face is completely focused on Ellie.
I like that about him. How much he cares for her.
I wish I didn’t.
Ellie takes another sip. “I like it here. I mean, I’m new, so that part’s weird. But people talk to you.”
“They also feed you,” Jake says. “Important local custom.”
“Mrs. Weaver gave us a pie last week,” Ellie says.
“She does that when she approves, conditionally,” I tell her.
“What happens when she fully approves?”
“You get jam.”
Ellie’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Mrs. Weaver’s jam is basically citizenship.”
Doc looks at me over his cup. “Good to know.”
Something gentle passes between us. Too quiet to defend against.
I look back to Ellie. “There’s plenty to do here, but it’s not big-city obvious. Trails. Beaches. Festivals. A decent library. Kayaking if you enjoy paying money to get damp. The animal shelter if you want to be emotionally blackmailed by animals.”
Ellie laughs. “What about fishing?”
Jake perks up.
I point at him. “No.”
“I said nothing.”
Ellie looks between us. “What?”
“Annie is the second-best fisherman in Coupeville,” Jake says.
I set my coffee down. “False and defamatory.”
“Fine. Top five.”
“Also false.”
“Top three if we exclude retirees with boats named after ex-wives.”
Ellie is laughing now. “Who’s the best?”
Jake points at himself.
I shove his shoulder. “Do not believe a word he says.”
“It is local lore.”
“In your own mind.”
Doc makes a low sound that might be a laugh. Jake catches it and looks deeply encouraged.
“See?” Jake says. “Doc understands.”
“Doc doesn’t know the bait shop story,” I say.
“Doc also doesn’t know the Admiralty Head Lighthouse story.”
“Don’t you dare,” I threaten.
Jake opens his mouth. I turn to him. “I know where your mother keeps the photo albums.”
He closes it.
Ellie looks thrilled by this entire exchange, and I find myself relaxing with her despite my best efforts. She’s easy to like. Observant. Funny. A little careful under the bright interest.
She’s a girl building herself a map of a new place and trying to act like she isn’t worried about getting lost.
I know that feeling.
“I’d like to learn,” she says. “Fishing, I mean. Erin goes sometimes, and I don’t want to look clueless.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being new to things,” Doc says, giving me a quick glance.
She gives him a look. “Dad.”
He lifts a hand. “Sorry. Just a dad trying to make sense of the universe for his kid.”
I smile into my coffee.
Ellie turns back to me. “Do you know a good place? For beginners?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes out before any thought goes into it.
Doc looks at me.
Jake looks at me.
I ignore both of them and focus on Ellie, whose face now telegraphs hope. It would be impossible to say no to that.
“I mean, there are a few,” I add. “Depends on weather, tide, and whether you want scenery or a decent chance at catching something.”
“I want to catch something.”
“Good answer,” Jake says.
I glance at him. “No one asked you.”
“I’m adding support.”
“You’re adding noise.”
Ellie bites back a smile. “Could you show me sometime?”
A simple question. A sweet girl asking for help with a normal kid thing.
And yet the ground below my feet feels like it’s shifting.
She isn’t any girl. She’s Doc’s daughter.
All we are talking about is a Saturday morning, Annie. A shoreline. A rod and reel.
That would be me stepping one careful inch near a life I need to keep separate from my own these days.
Ellie sits and waits. Patiently. I can’t punish her because I’ve seen her dad mostly naked.
“Sure,” I say. “If your dad’s okay with it, I can take you to a good starter spot.”
Ellie turns to Doc. “Please, Dad? Can I?”
Doc doesn’t answer right away. His gaze comes to mine, steady and unreadable.
Jesus, that look. He’s making my nipples hard.
Then he looks at Ellie. “If Annie’s willing, yes.”
“I’m willing,” I say, my mouth speaks before my brain even has a chance to weigh in.
“Thank you, Annie.” Ellie jumps up and comes over to hug me. ”I’m so excited.”
Doc smiles.
God, I have to stop looking at him.
“You may regret that after I make you bait your own hook.”
Her expression turns quizzical. “With worms?”
“Possibly.”
Jake leans in. “This is where commitment really gets tested.”
Ellie straightens. “I can murder worms.”
Doc looks proud and faintly horrified. “That’s my girl.”
The warmth in his voice presses into me. I look down at my coffee, but the damage is done.
Jake finishes his muffin and pushes back. “We should move before I order a cinnamon roll and make this a waistline problem.”
“You don’t need pastry to do that,” I say.
“Ouch,” Jake says, pretending to be wounded.
“Bye, Jake.” Ellie laughs. “Bye, Annie.”
“Bye, Ellie.”
Doc stands as we do. The small table makes the movement awkward.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For offering.”
I hold his gaze for reasons I cannot recall at the moment. I can’t look away. “She asked.”
“She did.”
Jake and I head for the door. Outside, the cool air hits like a rescue.
I breathe deeper than necessary.
Jake waits until we’re half a block away before he speaks. “Well.”
“No.”
“That was a very full table.”
“It had four people.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. I’m choosing not to participate.”
He walks beside me, coffee in one hand, patience in the other. “Ellie’s a good kid.”
“She is.”
“She likes you.”
“She likes fishing.”
“She asked you.”
I keep my eyes on the uneven sidewalk. “She’s new. She needs places that feel less strange.”
Jake’s voice softens. “And you’re good at that.”
The words get under the armor before I can brace.
We walk past the bookstore and down toward the waterfront again.
The morning has brightened some, sunlight catching on wet pavement and shop windows.
Coupeville is already mending after the storm in all the ordinary ways: brooms, gossip, coffee, phone calls, someone’s uncle with a chainsaw he probably shouldn’t own.
Jake stops near the railing. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “Whatever’s going on.”
“Good.”
“But I’m not going to pretend I can’t see you.”
I look out at the water. “I’m not pretending.”
“Annie.”
When Jake says my name, it conjures history. Kitchens. Hospital waiting rooms. Bad coffee. Him sitting on my porch after Portland and saying nothing because words would have made it worse.
I swallow. “I’ve made a mess,” I say.
He waits.
“But I’m handling it.”
He nods once, accepting the line I draw.
“For the record,” he says, “handling things alone is your only quality that you are terrible at.”
“I have worse.”
“No, Annie.” He puts his arm around me. “You don’t.”
I lean my head against his shoulder and look out over the water, toward the cannery.
“You’re worried about that rumor?”
“Yes.”
“Any details yet?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll watch. Together.”
I glance up at him.
He bumps my shoulder gently. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
The day has not been a disaster.
I ran. I drank coffee.
I saw Doc in public and did not burst into flames.
I spoke to Ellie without making anything awkward. I agreed to teach her to fish, which is either kind or foolish.
The jury is still out.