Chapter 25
CHARLOTTE
The Driftwood Pointe Diner wore its beach colors like an act of pride.
Weathered blues and greens layered over old wood, everything salt-softened and comfortable in the way of places that had stopped trying to impress anyone and were better for it.
Inside, local art covered every wall. A lighthouse in winter.
A fogged-in harbor. A woman waist-deep in the ocean with her arms out, head tipped back, and the ends of her long hair playing in the waves.
The whole place smelled like roasted garlic and warm bread with a sweet undercurrent of pie.
The scents wrapped around me the moment I stepped inside.
We slid into a booth by the window that looked out across the street to the Hex & Hearth. Even from here, even through the glass, I felt a low warmth that reminded me of a hearth fire seen through a fogged-up window. My leopard basked in the warmth.
I looked away from the window.
Knolan was reading the menu with the same focused attention he gave the archive ledger, which I found unreasonably charming.
“They have a seafood chowder,” he said. “The specials board says it’s won something.”
“What did it win?”
He squints out the window at the board. “It’s not entirely clear. Possibly a local competition. The phrasing is confident but vague.”
“Confident but vague is my favorite type of award,” I said.
He grinned at me over the top of his menu. Yeah, if he kept looking at me like that, I was going to be in trouble.
Oh, who was I kidding? I was already in trouble.
“Yes, but it’s the good kind of trouble. The fun kind that can make us feel so good,” my leopard purred. Who knew she was such a hussy?
Our waitress arrived wearing a pin that said, Hello, my name is Dolores. I estimated she was in her fifties. Her hair was pinned up and her smile held the warmth of someone who had been making people comfortable for decades and had no intention of retiring.
“Welcome in. What can I get you to eat?” she asked.
“Ladies first,” Knolan said.
“Aw, such a gentleman,” I cooed. “I’ll have a bowl of chowder and a turkey club please.”
“Sure thing, darlin’. And you, handsome?” Knolan blushed.
“A bowl of chowder and a lobster roll please,” he muttered.
She poured both of us coffee without asking, then left to put in our orders. The same comfortable quiet from the bookstore returned, easier than it should have been between strangers.
“What brought you to Driftwood Pointe?” I asked.
“Books,” he said. “A few specific texts I’d heard were available at the library or possibly at Finch & Fable. Rare historical material.” He poured cream into his coffee and stirred it with the focused attention he seemed to give most things. “You?”
“Road trip,” I said. “Finding myself. The usual.”
He looked at me. One dark brow rose almost imperceptibly behind the glasses.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked with the patient precision of someone who tracked things for a living. I had the feeling he was seeing more than I wanted him to.
I gave in, a little. “Fine, but this is going to sound stupid,” I said.
“If you haven’t noticed, sounding stupid is something I do on a regular basis,” he said.
“I seriously doubt that,” I said and watched him blush. “Okay, so maybe not so much stupid as delusional or deranged or—”
“Demented, delirious, disturbed,” he cut in.
“Not helping,” I said. He chuckled. I picked up my spoon and stirred my coffee, even though I hadn’t put anything in it.
Focusing on the whirlpool in my cup I continued, allowing myself to tell him some of my story, even though I couldn’t tell him all.
“I’ve been having a recurring dream about a small coastal town.
Salt air. A fireplace. I kept feeling like I was supposed to be somewhere, and eventually I stopped arguing with the feeling and just drove. ”
He was so quiet I feared he might get up and leave. I stopped stirring and looked at him.
“Aside from your name, that’s the most honest thing you’ve said since we’ve met.”
“That’s a bold statement about a person you’ve known for all of three hours.”
“I’m working with what I’ve got,” he said, grinning.
“What about you?” I turned his question back on him. “Rare historical texts sounds like a cover story.”
“Oh, it’s accurate. I’m here searching for rare historical texts,” he said. “However, it’s possible I’ve not told you the whole story.”
“Fair.”
Right then Dolores arrived with our food.
“Two orders of chowder, a lobster roll for you, and a turkey club for your girl,” she said, setting the food down in front of us.
Knolan and I spoke at the same time.
“Oh, I’m not…” I started
“She not...”
Dolores cut us both off.
“You can tell yourselves that all you want but don’t try it with me,” she rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering about young people these days.
We looked at each other, then by unspoken agreement we let the subject drop.
We ate in comfortable silence for a bit, neither of us feeling the need to fill it with idle chatter. The chowder was extraordinary, thick and slightly sweet with corn and something smokey that added amazing depth.
“That was the best chowder I’ve ever had in my life,” I said as I watched him pick up a knife and fork.
“I’m going to have to agree with you. It was truly amazing,” he agreed, then began cutting his lobster roll into bite-sized pieces.
“You’re eating a lobster roll with a knife and fork? You know it’s made to be eaten with your hands right?” I asked him.
The look of consternation I received made me laugh.
“The mess that would come from me eating it with my hands is not worth it,” he said.
I smiled, picked up my sandwich and took a big bite. He was fun to tease.
Dolores came to clear our plates, took one look at us both, and said, “You two are adorable.”
I glanced at Knolan, who looked beyond alarmed at her statement. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been feeling the same way.
“You need to take your girl to the Hex after dinner,” Dolores continued, collecting our bowls with practiced efficiency. “That place across the street. You want the real Driftwood Pointe experience, that’s where you go.” She winked at Knolan and walked away, cackling to herself.
Knolan looked at me.
“Well,” he said. “You heard the woman. You up for it?”
My leopard turned toward the pub again, quietly listening.
“Lead the way, good sir,” we left the diner laughing.