7. Caleb #2
A pause, then I raise my head to look at my two best friends, sympathy and a touch of pity written all over their faces.
They don’t get it. They try to understand, but they just don’t get it.
Linny is living out her dreams and Parker has made a life for himself away from the confines of this island.
I don’t have the time or the will to unpack that growing resentment.
My eyes drift to the window to avoid their gazes, and I spot a familiar shade of red hair pass in front of the diner entrance, heading toward the town center.
I blink several times, trying to determine if that is really her, or if my mind is playing some sort of cruel trick on me as a coping mechanism to avoid yet another conversation about my father.
The longer I sit here and contemplate that, the shorter my window for catching up to her gets.
My shoulders straighten, eyes still fixed on the window like I’m recalling a long-lost memory, and I start to slide out of the booth. “Um, I gotta go. I’ll catch you guys later.”
I need to know if it’s really her.
Linny’s eyes widen. “Absolutely not, do not leave us when you were about to?—”
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
“Fine,” she relents. “Ice cream at work might do the trick,” she adds with a sly smile.
“Done,” I agree, throwing a wad of bills down on the table that is more than enough to cover my portion, plus the tip, and head for the door in pursuit of the redhead that has been plaguing my head all week.
I dodge several patrons crowding around the entrance waiting to be seated and make my way out of the diner. “Arnie!” I shout down the sidewalk over the bustling crowds.
She whips her head around, scanning the people passing her on the sidewalk. When she realizes where the source of the call came from, her face softens a bit.
I jog up to where she stopped in the middle of the walkway. “Hey,” I breathe.
She levels me with the same look she had while standing across from me at the coffee shop. “You do realize that’s not actually my name, right?”
“I figured, but until you tell me your actual name, you’re going to be Arnie.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
My mouth quirks. “Are you going to tell me your actual name?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she grins.
Just as she turns to walk away, a large truck pulls out of an alley and starts speeding up the road from behind her . . . right where she is about to cross the street.
Without thinking, I surge forward and take hold of her waist.
“What are you?—”
Her words are cut off as we stumble clumsily into the small brick alcove between shops, narrowly dodging the oncoming truck. The momentum and awkward movement cause her to spin in my arms, both of us now facing each other, panting to catch our breaths.
I scan her over for injuries as she catches sight of the truck, eyes widening in realization along with the voices of concern from onlookers.
She flits her eyes back to mine, still breathing heavily. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
In the confined space, I’m fully aware of our proximity. Traces of the lavender perfume on her neck fill the air, and it’s fucking intoxicating.
I reluctantly remove my hands from her waist and step back as far as the alcove will allow and give her a slow, full-body glance, mirroring the way she studied me the other day at Art’s.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m trying to figure you out,” I say, giving her another once-over. “I haven’t seen you before this week, so I know you don’t live here. There’s not a single day that a local goes unrecognized on this island. And you’re not a tourist, because summer hasn’t started yet.”
“How are you so sure I’m not a tourist?”
“No tourist would dress like that,” I reply, pointing out her outfit. Dark blue dress pants that show off her long legs, a cream silk blouse, and the same pair of nude flats she had on in the coffee shop.
She braces a hand on her hip just below where mine had previously rested. “That’s an oddly specific observation. Do you spend a lot of time studying the dressing habits of tourists? Or is it just me?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Just you. But I also know that wandering the streets with a map is exactly what a tourist would do, hence why I am trying to figure you out.”
Her head tilts slightly to the side, a small smile playing on her lips. “I believe you failed to consider a third option.”
“And what’s that?”
“Spy.” She says it so seriously that I half consider it for a second. “What better way to throw you off my trail than pretending to be a tourist while masquerading as a local?”
“Well, a true spy never would’ve offered that as an option, so I vote no to that one.”
“Or maybe that is what makes me a great spy—throwing you off my scent early by making you think it’s an outlandish idea. Maybe this packet contains my assignment, and the map will reveal who my target is.” She tucks it close to her, like the contents really do hold something secretive.
“And where is your assignment sending you? I might know a shortcut.”
A sparkle reaches her eye, catching on to the game. “I don’t know what my handler would say if I accepted outside influence.”
“I can keep a secret if you can, Arnie.”
That draws a laugh out of her. She slowly brings the paper away from her chest and turns it over for me to see.
As I lean closer, I see the paper in her hands is not a map, but rather a list. The words are organized in a way I can’t quite make out.
“May I?” I ask, gesturing for the paper in her hands.
She passes it to me, and I quickly skim through it. The list is separated into six sections—one for each town on the island—with several bullet points of activities and restaurants under each town.
No two bullet points are the same, as each town offers something different.
On the north end of the island, you can find the classic cottages and gingerbread houses of Oak Bluffs.
There’s also Tisbury—not to be confused with the neighboring inland agriculture hub of West Tisbury—where the ferries make port.
Further south will lead you to Aquinnah, home of the Gay Head Cliffs and lighthouse, as well as the famous fishing villages of Chilmark.
Heading east will take you to Edgartown, which includes Chappaquiddick Island, and is a popular upscale dinner and nightlife spot.
Six truly unique towns.
Whoever put this list together was thorough and made sure to include some of the smaller, lesser-known spots that are more favored by islanders.
There are only three name-brand businesses on Martha’s Vineyard: Dairy Queen, Starbucks, and Stop & Shop. Everything else is a locally-owned business.
“My cottage is in Vineyard Haven, so I figured I would start with something farther out since I may not have as much time to spend out there. I thought I might head over to Edgartown and check out the bookstore.”
I hum in acknowledgment, flipping to the next page.
“Behind the Bookstore is a hidden gem for dinner. Their outdoor patio around back is surrounded by tall, bushy trees to feel more secluded. If you request a table near the center, you get a beautiful view of the stars peeking through the canopy. Although . . .”
“Although what?” she urges.
“That is more of a place for a date. You know, fancy seafood, candlelit tables, no prices listed on the menu.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Which is not a problem for me. I am more than happy to oblige.”
“Sounds like you are familiar with the accommodations. Do you take all your dates there?”
“Only the ones I really like,” I add with a wink. “It could be a great meeting location for a secret spy rendezvous.”
“And do you have any favorite spots for non-spy meals? For when I’m off duty?”
“Easy,” I point to a restaurant printed in bold letters across the bottom of the page. “Logan’s Seafood Shack. Best lobster rolls on the island. Bar none.”
She chuckles in response, eyes flicking between mine, and then shrugs. “Who knows, maybe if the lobster roll doesn’t disappoint, I’ll let you take me on that secret spy rendezvous.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
Her eyes linger on mine, like she wants to say something else. When she doesn’t, she gives me a small smile, turns, and starts back down the sidewalk on her original route.
“How will I know if you liked it?” I call after her.
She stops in her tracks and faces me again. “Liked what?”
I take a step in her direction. “The lobster roll. I’m serious about that date, Arnie.”
Her cheeks redden and she looks down at the paper in her hands for a moment before glancing back in my direction. “Ask me the next time I see you. I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point. Small island and all. Isn’t that what you said the other day?”
Without waiting for my reply, she turns and walks away this time, and I don’t stop her.
Yes, small island, indeed. I hope it’s true, because I’ll be counting the days until I run into her again.