Chapter Twelve Lee
Chapter Twelve
Lee
‘And that’s the library,’ Phoebe says, gesturing across the square with her arm towards a white building with green trim that looks like something out of Anne of Green Gables.
We’re sitting on a park bench, eating warm donuts from a paper bag while Phoebe points out local landmarks.
So far, between the library, the honky-tonk bar, the coffee shop and the tiny independent bookstore, I’m utterly sold on Roseport.
In the light of day the hodgepodge of buildings that lean up against one another are painted in sunny pastels.
Emotion washes over me. It’s something like nostalgia, even though I’ve never been anywhere like this before.
But it feels like I have. It feels like freshly sharpened pencils, the hushed scratch of a needle coming down on a vinyl record, like heavy, drugging golden light and a Natalie Cole soundtrack.
It’s good. It’s really good.
There are quite a few people around, and every single person we’ve passed has called out a greeting to Nico and his daughter, sometimes stopping them to chat while eyeing me with obvious interest. I can’t work out if it’s nice or creepy.
Whatever it is, it’s not ideal for someone who finds it difficult to make small talk.
Hopefully, my giant sunglasses have hidden all my wincing.
‘Is that another dentist’s office?’ I ask, looking over the top of my sunglasses at a sign that hangs out the front of the building across from us. It’s shaped like a giant tooth.
Nico sighs. ‘Yes, there are four.’
‘Four seems like a lot for a town this size.’
‘It’s a whole thing.’ Nico runs a hand through his dark curls and I’m temporarily distracted from what he’s saying by the wiry muscles flexing in his forearms. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up enough to show them off to their best advantage.
He has a new tattoo there, I’ve noticed, on the inside of his right arm: a small bee drawn in curling black lines.
I want to run my fingers over it. ‘They were all married to each other and then they split up,’ he continues, unaware of my horny mental wanderings.
‘Now there are four dentists’ offices and it’s like the bloody Wars of the Roses but with more root canals. ’
‘Four dentists were married to each other?’ I frown, confused.
‘Dr Salt was married to Dr Knox,’ Phoebe explains.
‘And Dr Parr was married to Dr Felton, but then they got divorced and Dr Knox married Dr Felton instead, and so Dr Salt married Dr Parr, but then Dr Knox and Dr Felton got divorced and then Dr Salt and Dr Parr got divorced, too, and now we have four separate dentists.’
‘Goodness,’ I murmur, trying to follow this.
‘Reality TV producers are missing a trick,’ Nico grins, getting to his feet.
‘Which dentist you use is a bigger deal here than which football team you support. Feuds broke out, alliances have been forged and broken, friendships ended, it’s very Game of Thrones.
If the Lannisters were obsessed with dental hygiene. ’
When we reach the end of Main Street there’s another surprise in store: the sea.
I suppose on some level I understood that as we had been driving north up the Maine coast when we left Portland, we had to be somewhere near the sea, but I still feel like Roseport has pulled another sneak attack on me.
Lapping turquoise water shifts into navy, melting seamlessly into the horizon and a clear, cerulean sky arcing overhead, making you feel like you’re suspended, floating in the middle of all that blue.
The sun strikes the sea, leaving silver streaks behind.
It’s dazzling – literally. Spots of light dance, scattered and fragmented like a spinning disco ball.
‘Pretty good, right?’ Nico asks, clearly enjoying my stunned expression. ‘It’s quiet now because the season’s ended, but you should see this place in the summer, it’s crazy… nature cruises, fishing trips and lighthouse tours. It’s a big tourist spot.’
He gestures towards the harbour in front of us where a handful of large boats are docked. There’s a thin strip of pebble beach and a long wooden jetty stretching out into the water. Seagulls wheel over our heads, and in the distance several small islands are covered in trees.
‘Wow,’ I manage. ‘Maybe I can see you living here after all. Even I want to take pictures of all this.’
I turn to look at Nico, but he’s standing too still, a pinched line appearing between his eyebrows. I can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wears, but it’s clear something is wrong.
‘What did I say?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head, and frustration leaps inside of me. More secrets.
Bored with admiring the scenery, Phoebe tugs at Nico’s arm.
‘Me and Taco think we should go and get ice cream.’
‘I didn’t know Taco could talk,’ Nico says dryly.
‘He told me with his eyes,’ Phoebe insists. ‘We have a very special bond. Anyway,’ she pulls out a notebook, the same she had in her pocket yesterday, and smiles, ‘you owe us.’
Nico eyes the notebook with obvious animosity. ‘Fine.’
The old-fashioned ice cream parlour is a short walk away. It’s a wide, low building on the corner of Main Street, the front painted a pale blush pink, its windows framed by yellow awnings. The sign over the door is written in powder blue cursive.
SCOOPS!
‘Miss Rita makes the best ice cream in the whole world,’ Phoebe says reverently.
‘And also,’ Nico adds cryptically, ‘the worst.’
I eye the writing in the window:
Cones ★ Waffles ★ Sundaes ★ Splits ★ Gossip ★ Shakes
‘Gossip?’ My brows lift.
‘Miss Rita knows all.’ Nico opens the door for us, setting a silver bell tinkling over our heads. ‘She’s the Deuxmoi of Roseport and she’s about to have a field day with you,’ he carries on, his voice holding a wry warning.
‘Phoebe!’ a tiny Hispanic woman in her late seventies exclaims from behind the counter. ‘Let me guess, the swear jar has filled up again?’
‘Yep.’ Phoebe bounces forward, Taco hot on her heels.
‘Lucky for me your daddy is one of those Brits who’s always cursing. You can get away with a lot when it’s in one of those Bridgerton accents.’ The woman bats her false eyelashes at Nico, who laughs.
‘I need to clean up my act before my daughter bankrupts me,’ he says ruefully, pulling out one of the pink bar stools for me to sit at. ‘Miss Rita, let me introduce my friend, Lee Turner-Jones.’
I smile at the woman who is eyeing me like I’m the ice cream sundae. Her grin widens. ‘Oh, I know who you are,’ she says, delighted. ‘Bud was in this morning and he said you were pretty as a picture.’
‘Bud said that?’ Nico asks, taking the stool beside me.
‘As good as.’ Miss Rita waves a hand in the air. ‘You just have to translate the grunts, and I happen to be fluent. I think he was very taken with Ms Ophelia Turner-Jones and now I see why. Is that hair natural or out of a bottle?’
I touch my hair. ‘Um, it’s got some highlights in it,’ I say, casting Nico an uncertain look.
‘Maybe I should go blonde?’ Miss Rita purses her lips.
I don’t know how to reply to that. Should I tell her she’d look pretty as a blonde? Is that a weird thing to say to a stranger? But maybe if I don’t agree with her she’ll think I’m being rude? In the end I overthink my potential response for too long to say anything and remain awkwardly silent.
‘Lee isn’t just Dad’s friend,’ Phoebe says, her nose practically pressed to the glass that houses dozens of tubs of ice cream in a full rainbow of colours. ‘She’s his wife.’
A sound like a broken fax machine comes out of my mouth.
‘Phoebe,’ Nico groans.
Miss Rita lets out a long, booming laugh that seems far too big for her tiny body, before slapping a couple of menus on the counter. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I know all about it.’ She gives me an exaggerated wink.
‘News travels fast,’ Nico says, and he doesn’t seem surprised. He also doesn’t sound happy about it.
‘You know you’re going to need the whole town to pull this thing off,’ Rita says.
‘What whole thing?’ I ask, curiosity outstripping social anxiety.
‘What are your specials today, Rita?’ Nico cuts in, and my eyes narrow. Something weird is going on here and I don’t think I can leave it alone. One way or another I’m going to get the truth out of Nicolas Hart.
‘I’ve got strawberry cheesecake, brown butter pecan and blue cheese and pickle.’ Rita says.
‘Blue cheese?’ I repeat, distracted from my interrogation plans.
‘Miss Rita is something of an… ice cream maverick,’ Nico says, clearly aiming for diplomacy.
The woman in question looks pleased. ‘I like to push boundaries,’ she says, fluffing her hair. ‘Not that people appreciate me around here. I’m a misunderstood genius, not valued in my own time. Anyway, what do you think, you want to try it?’ She looks at me hopefully.
I can only blink at her.
‘Lee has already taken on my boundary-pushing spinach pancakes this morning,’ Nico says smoothly, coming to my rescue. ‘Besides, if I know her, she wants brown butter pecan.’
‘That’s true,’ I agree gratefully. ‘It sounds like heaven.’
‘Okay,’ Rita says, though she looks disappointed. ‘Phoebe, you want your usual? Cotton candy and chocolate peanut butter?’
‘Yes, please,’ Phoebe says eagerly, climbing up onto the stool next to Nico. ‘With extra sprinkles and fudge sauce.’
‘I am the worst dad in the world,’ Nico mutters. ‘I swear, she’s having a plate of broccoli for her dinner.’
‘Oh, and a pup cup for Taco,’ Phoebe continues. ‘He only tried to eat three socks yesterday.’
‘That is surely worth celebrating.’ Miss Rita grabs a paper cup, which she fills with squirty cream. Taco sticks his entire face into it while his tail wags so hard it almost lifts him off the floor.
‘So, Ophelia.’ Her gaze is sharp as she puts an elaborate sundae together for Phoebe and I take a seat on one of the high stools. ‘That’s an unusual name.’
‘Um, my parents are both actors,’ I say, annoyed with myself for sounding so stiff when she’s being friendly. ‘They’re Shakespeare devotees.’