Waterfront
The noise of the pier restaurant hit us the second the heavy glass doors swung open, a wall of clinking silverware, low-frequency chatter, and the sharp scent of open sea water.
The place was packed with people who looked like they had never had a difficult day in their lives, all under low-hanging lights that cast a dark, golden glow over the tables.
“Portwood. Four,” Austin said to the hostess.
He didn’t wait for her to ask. He was leaning against the high host stand, his dark blond hair a little too long, wearing a heavy black jacket over a tailored shirt that looked expensive but worn.
He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear out of pure habit, completely ignoring the No Smoking sign three inches from his face.
The hostess blinked, her eyes darting from his sharp jaw to the gold watch on his wrist, her face turning a sudden, bright pink. Austin had that effect; he didn’t ask for room in a place, he just took it with an unbothered presence that made everyone else feel like they were getting in his way.
Blair stood right beside him, looking like a million bucks in a pale-yellow sundress, her hand tucked firmly into the front pocket of his jeans.
Austin’s arm was wound around her waist, his grip keeping her pulled flush against his hip, pulling her to him like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
He looked down at her once, his gruff expression softening for a split second as he murmured something against her hair that made her smile.
“Right this way,” the hostess muttered, she was having trouble looking Austin in the eyes. We were led to a circular booth right against the panoramic windows. Outside, the dark water of the harbor moved in waves against the pylons, reflecting the city lights like spilled oil.
“Sit on the inside,” Zane said quietly against my ear.
His hand was pressed against the small of my back, not as if he was guiding me, but just so I knew he was close.
But his chest was a solid wall behind me, blocking out the traffic of the waitstaff until I safely slid into the curved leather of the booth.
He dropped down next to me, his knee finding mine and staying there.
Austin slid in opposite us, but not before he practically lifted Blair into the booth first, making sure she had the better view of the water. He settled his heavy frame next to her, his arm went back around the top of the booth, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.
He grabbed the oversized menu, his eyes scanning it with a slight scowl. “We’re getting the oysters,” he announced, “dozens of them. I don’t care if you hate the texture, Seren. You’re in college now, grow up and stop eating like a child.”
“They look like snot, Austin,” I said, the familiar, easy friction of our bickering settling over me. I missed him. “They taste like the bottom of a boat.”
“They taste great,” Austin countered, cutting his eyes my way with a lazy, sharp grin.
He reached across the table, his hand coming down to give the top of my head a brief, rough squeeze, before Zane casually leaned forward, his shoulder cutting off the space.
There was no real heat in it; Zane just didn’t like people in my periphery, and Austin knew exactly where Zane’s lines were drawn.
He just smirked and pulled his hand back, settling it on Blair’s thigh.
“Get whatever you want,” Zane murmured to me, his voice dropping below the restaurant’s roar. His fingers quietly pushing the basket of warm bread closer to my side of the table, so I had something safe.
“Don’t let him bully you, Seren,” Blair said, leaning her head against Austin’s shoulder.
She looked completely relaxed under the weight of his arm.
“He’s been talking about this place since we hit the highway.
He thinks because he and Levi are spending more time in Florida, he’s a seafood expert now. ”
“I know what’s good, Yellow,” Austin laughed, though the look he gave her was complete adoration, his thumb tracing a slow circle through the fabric of her jeans.
He flagged down a waiter with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Bring us four dozen of the coldest oysters you have, a bottle of whatever white wine my girl wants, and whatever the lady across from me points at that didn’t come out of a shell. ”
“You seem happy,” I said to Austin, watching the ease that came from his movements and the absence of that tone he usually uses that makes everything sound vaguely threatening.
“Life’s good,” Austin shrugged, his neck tattoo disappearing into his shirt for a second with the movement.
“I have my girl,” he paused to look at Blair, whose blonde hair was catching the last breath of the sun.
Austin pulled back from Blair and looked back at me, “I have my other girl,” he pointed at me as if I wasn’t aware who he was talking about.
“And I guess I have Zane, too. Whatever that’s worth. ”
Zane shook his head, a small chuckle coming from his throat. “Business is good, then?”
“Business is great,” Austin said, leaning his weight back against the leather booth. “Levi and I just cleared the title on that warehouse property outside of Jacksonville.”
“Proud of you,” I told him. “Who knew Austin Portwood would grow up to be such a success?”
“I did,” Blair said, and that did not surprise me. She has always looked for the best in him.
“Well,” Austin laughed, “turns out dealing drugs and running a legitimate business aren’t so different.”
“Oh, shut up,” I rolled my eyes, but still the image of Austin at eighteen flashed through my mind. He felt so weathered yet so contained, his pain turned inwards so deeply it flashed to the world as danger.
He picked up the small fork the waiter had left on the table, flipping it between his heavy fingers with a casual speed. “I actually stopped by your old man’s office in West Bridge before we hit the highway. Had to drop off some paperwork for a project we’re looking at.”
My hand paused over the breadbasket. “You saw my dad?”
“Yeah,” Austin said, his voice dropping into a rougher, more casual register. “He was in the middle of reviewing some new contracts, but he kicked his assistant out so we could shoot the shit for an hour about commercial real estate down in Miami. He asked if I was coming down here to see you.”
“He did?” I asked, my fingers tightening around a piece of crust.
“Yeah. He told me to tell you he filled the feeder,” Austin muttered, a lazy grin cutting through his gruff expression. “Had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but he was real specific about it. Said you’d know.”
“Why bother having conversations, if you don’t even know what you’re having conversations about?” I muttered.
“Yeah, well,” Austin shrugged, his thumb moving lazily against Blair’s shoulder. “We met each other during the worst of it, Seren. We know how to talk to each other without saying much.”
The waiter arrived then, balancing a massive silver tray piled high with shaved ice and oyster shells, alongside a condensation-heavy bottle of white wine.
Austin didn’t waste a second. He took the bottle from the waiter’s hand before the man could even reach for the wine key, cracking the seal with a sharp, practiced twist of his wrist. He poured a generous glass for Blair first, setting it down in front of her like she was royalty, before filling his own and leaning across the table to pour a splash into Zane’s water glass just to be annoying.
He knew I didn’t drink, so he didn’t even try to joke with me about it.
When we first met, Blair didn’t drink, either. But it was not the same way I don’t drink. She didn’t drink then because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she did. I didn’t drink now because I knew the certainty of what would happen if I did.
“Congratulations on your success, Austin. You deserve it,” I lifted my glass of water toward him.
“Don’t get sentimental on me, Seren,” Austin scoffed, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he clinked his wine glass against my water. “Makes me think you’re getting soft out here in North Haven.”
“She can be soft if she wants to be,” Zane interrupted, his teeth catching the rim of his own glass before he took a drink, his eyes never leaving Austin. “And that was just polite. Someone at this table has to have manners.”
“Since when do you care about manners, Briggs?” Austin shot back, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth as he picked up a fresh lemon wedge and squeezed it hard over the ice, spraying a few drops aggressively toward Zane’s side of the table.
“I remember you throwing a guy through a drywall partition at a Hawkings party because he looked at you wrong.”
Zane didn’t even blink. He casually leaned his forearm on the table, completely unbothered by the citrus fallout. “The drywall was already cracked. I was doing the owner a favor.”
“Yeah, real polite of you,” Austin grunted, turning his glass in a slow circle. He looked across the table, his eyes locking onto Zane with that unspoken understanding they always shared. “How’s the transmission on the Mercedes holding up?”
“Fine,” Zane said, a small, genuine chuckle hitting his throat. “Unlike you, I don’t wait for the engine to blow up before I check under the hood.”
“I don’t have time to look under the hood, I’m running a company,” Austin replied, though he was already sliding the silver tray of oysters two inches closer to Zane’s side of the table.
“Eat one of these before I finish the whole damn dock. You look like you’re surviving on campus dining hall rations. ”
“I eat fine,” Zane muttered, but he reached out, his fingers expertly lifting an oyster shell from the ice. He nodded toward Austin’s wine glass. “Congratulations on the Jacksonville title, by the way. Levi told me you almost lost the bid.”