“You never told me what you do.”
Loch ran her hand through her hair, wishing she could say something other than the truth.
“I’m a model.”
Amir went to the woodpile for another log and set it a few feet from the fire as she sat back down. “Do you like it?”
Loch paused before she answered. “I used to.”
Amir brushed a sliver of wood off her shirt with the back of her hand. “So, if you could do anything, what would it be?”
“I don’t know.” Loch looked at her. “No one’s ever asked me that.”
She watched the flames engulf one of the logs, and it slipped off the pile, crushing the smaller sticks into ash and coals. “What would you do?”
“I’d probably do what I do now.” Amir paused, then smiled as she looked over at Loch. “Someone’s got to save exterior steps from interior paint.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been me.” Loch leaned against the back of the riser and smiled back in spite of herself. “I’ve never actually painted anything before.”
Amir raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” Loch said. “I started working when I was fifteen and never stopped. I had tutors that helped me finish high school between jobs, so I never went back after my freshman year.”
“Wow,” Amir said. “Now that I wouldn’t have minded. I hated high school.”
Loch looked over at her. “Why? What was it like for you?”
“Rough.” She threw the other log on the fire, sending a spray of sparks into the black night toward the treetops. “I think the guys took it personally that I looked a little too much like them.”
“Did they know you were gay?”
Amir laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Blind and deaf people know I’m gay.”
Loch smiled; she wasn’t wrong, but only if you didn’t look at her mouth as she spoke. She had a guy’s walk and a low scrape to her voice, but her lips had a soft fullness to them, and she bit the bottom one sometimes as she listened.
“I might have had it easier in that respect,” Loch said. “It seems like everyone’s queer in fashion. I never even had to come out.”
“I’m not sure I would have known if you hadn’t told me.”
Loch smiled. “I probably threw off your gaydar because I couldn’t figure out which end of the paintbrush to use.”
“Well,” Amir said, standing and searching for her keys in her jacket pocket. “If you forget again, you know who to ask. My card is on the memo board in the hardware store.” She flashed a smile at Loch, then walked toward the door.
“Wait, what’s the name of your business?”
“Lock Up Your Daughters,” she said, dropping her empty bottle in the recycling container before she disappeared through the door.
Amir’s mother called her before she’d even pulled into her driveway.
“Hi, Ma.” Amir tried to keep the phone pressed to her face as she juggled her jacket and keys at the same time. “How was your day?”
She listened as she unzipped her jacket, dropping her keys in the process.
“No, I can’t come over for dinner, I have to draw up the plans for the Nelsons’ greenhouse project.”
She tossed her jacket onto the couch and opened the fridge, pulling out the leftover jeweled rice her mother had sent her home with the previous night. It was her favorite, and she’d made it the same way since Amir was little, with basmati rice, orange blossom water, saffron, currants, and pistachios.
By the time she’d gotten her first bite, her mother had launched into a story about a bathroom faucet Amir’s father hadn’t fixed to her liking. Amir smiled and pulled herself up on the counter to eat as she listened. Within five minutes, she knew every detail of how long it had taken him, the unholy mess he’d left in the bathroom, and that her mother had told him afterward that if she wanted something done right she clearly had to call her daughter. Her father had told her once he’d been trying for years to screw up the home repairs in hopes that someday her mother might actually call Amir first. Amir finally stopped her when she started talking about trying to fix it herself.
“Mom,” she said. “Just leave the wrench where it is on the faucet and don’t touch it. I’ll drop by tomorrow and look at it. It’s probably just a leaky gasket.”
That seemed to placate her, and Amir put her empty bowl in the sink.
“I’ve got to go now, though. I need to get started on these plans.” She ran hot water into the bowl and dried her hands on the kitchen towel. “I promise I’ll come by after work and take a look.”
After she’d managed to get off the phone, Amir opened her laptop and pulled up the specs for the greenhouse. This was her favorite part of the job, designing structures from the ground up, like the deck she’d built for Samia. That reminded her suddenly of the conversation she’d had with Loch; she paused, then typed two words into the search bar of her computer.
Loch Battersby.
Instantly, her screen exploded with hundreds of images, but it wasn’t until Amir looked closer that she even recognized Loch. Most of the photos featured her as a male model, and it was easy to see why. In person, Loch had something delicate, almost vulnerable about her, but through the lens of the camera, that was definitely not the case. Her height and broad shoulders gave her a similar frame to the guys, and the angles of her face stood out even more through the lens and gave her a masculine edge. Her look was intense; she was almost unrecognizable with her brows pushed together in what looked to be her trademark brooding stare, eyes focused somewhere out beyond the camera.
Beyond the advertising campaigns, there were thousands of other photos of Loch on the red carpet at award shows or at parties with celebrities, and she’d been featured in countless magazine and newspaper articles over the years, both queer and straight publications. Amir glanced over an article in last year’s New York Times that described her as the first model to “shatter gender stereotypes.” The piece included a video link, which Amir clicked. It was a runway show in Paris for the fall collection of some French menswear designer she’d never heard of. For the first minute or so, lanky male models walked the runway in long coats, sweaters, and scarves, then Loch strode out wearing green tweed trousers gathered slightly above her waist with a leather belt. Her face was set in an intense gaze, and she was naked from the waist up. She paused at the end of the runway, looked directly into the cameras, then turned on the ball of her foot and walked back as the next models stepped onto the runway toward her.
Amir paused the video and sat back in her chair. It was hard to recognize her as the woman she’d just shared a beer with, the same one who went right for the logs and dropped them into the firepit but clearly couldn’t start a fire in a burning barn. Through a lens, she was mesmerizing, powerful, and impossible to look away from. There was something inspired about her, the contrast of masculine and feminine, fabric against bare skin, vulnerability layered with rock-solid confidence. It was beautiful, and so was she.
Amir closed her computer slowly and heard her own voice in the empty room.
“Holy shit.”
That night, Loch decided to stay in the small guest room off the hall at the back of the house. She didn’t feel right staying in Samia’s room. In fact, she hadn’t even gone into it or the art studio yet. The studio had decades of her art hanging on the walls and stacked in frames on the floor below. She’d taught art in Bar Harbor schools her entire career, but when Colleen died, she finished out the school year and never went back. Loch knew the studio was the closest place to her heart, and she just couldn’t face walking in and seeing the piece she was working on when she died. She knew she had to do it eventually, but what she really needed to do right now was figure out what the hell she was doing with the house. It was solid, full of light, and built in a classic coastal style; it would sell in a heartbeat with a few cosmetic repairs. Loch knew every quirk and corner of it, so the thought of selling it to someo
ne else who would erase the last traces of her aunt seemed wrong, but it didn’t make sense to keep it when she went back to Manhattan, either.
When she woke the next morning, Loch pulled on a pair of jeans and walked into the kitchen, where she quickly remembered Samia had never owned a coffeemaker. She drank tea. Loch had never been able to wrap her head around that concept, and this morning was no exception.
God, she heard herself say to the empty house, Who drinks tea?
Loch found her hoodie and raked her hand through her hair. If she was going to stay here for even a few days, a coffeemaker of some sort had to be found. She pulled the door shut behind her and walked out into the sunshine, digging her sunglasses out of the pocket as she walked. It was strange to be out so early. She’d traveled so much in the last decade she’d forgotten how it felt to go to sleep and wake on her own in the morning.
She walked down the hill toward Main Street, watching the sunlight sparkle off the surface of the water in the distance. Some of the lobster boats were still leaving the harbor, so it had to be early. Too early to be without coffee. She stopped into Gerrish Café, where it seemed everyone was over the age of sixty and reading some sort of newspaper. In fairness, there were only five people in the place, but that was still quite a coincidence. She walked to the counter and almost ordered a cappuccino before she remembered where she was.
“Just a coffee, please.”
The waitress nodded and started to hand her a laminated menu.
“Nothing to eat?”
Loch shook her head and picked up the classified section of the local paper, the only pages left in the pile. The waitress filled her coffee cup from a scratched glass pitcher and nodded at the set of powdered creamer and white sugar on the counter before she walked back toward the cash register.
“If you’re trying to blend with the locals, you may want to lose the sunglasses.”
Loch turned to find Amir at the register beside her and realized she was still wearing her sunglasses. Great.
“What do you think?” She took them off and blinked against the light. “Am I pulling it off?”
Amir raised an eyebrow, and Loch saw the waitress smile out of the corner of her eye. “It may take a little more practice, but you do pour that powdered creamer like a diner pro already, so you’re halfway there.”
She stepped closer to Loch and lowered her voice. “They have half and half in the fridge. Just ask for it.”
The waitress handed Amir her coffee to go and the half and half without a word. Loch smiled.
“Or just be a local?”
“Yeah,” Amir said. “That never hurts.”
She put a five on the counter and poured the cream into her cup. “What are you doing up so early, anyway? You don’t strike me as the morning type.”
“I have no idea if I am or not,” Loch said, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I was awake to see it if I didn’t have to be up for a job.”
As she talked, she dropped her gaze just long enough to take in the strong lines of Amir’s shoulders and arms under her shirt, her hair still wet from the shower. She wasn’t her type; Loch tended to date other models, although Amir’s muscles flexed into defined cuts even lifting a coffee cup, so she’d pretty much have to be straight not to notice.
“I actually just walked down from the house to buy a coffeemaker,” Loch said, folding the paper and putting it back onto the stack. “Where do I get one of those around here?”
Amir looked at the waitress, and they answered together. “Bar Harbor.”
Loch looked at them, waiting for them to tell her they were joking. Surely, she didn’t have to spend an hour on a ferry and go to a different city just to get her hands on a French press and some decent dark roast.
Loch asked for a to-go cup and poured her coffee into it. “Well then, it looks like I’ve got a ferry to catch,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
The waitress topped off her coffee from the pot and glanced at the five on the counter. “Nothing,” she said. “Amir already got it.”
Loch hesitated, then grabbed her sunglasses, and they walked out together. “Thanks for the coffee.” Loch squinted into the sun and looked over at Amir. “Random women don’t often pay for my drinks.”
Amir paused, resisting the urge to look her up and down. “Then you’re hanging out with the wrong women.”
She started to walk toward the docks but stopped to look back at Loch. “I’m going into Bar Harbor before long to get some lumber. I can give you a ride unless you’re dying to catch that ferry.”
“I may take you up on that,” Loch said, sliding her sunglasses back onto her face. “If it isn’t any trouble.”
Amir turned back and started walking toward the docks. “I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Loch showered and pushed the long front layers of her hair back with some product. She never wore makeup and hadn’t owned a hairdryer since she was sixteen; she got enough of that at work. She dug around in her bag for her gray skinny jeans and paired them with black boots and a long-sleeved white thermal. She was still getting used to the cold here; it was a good fifteen degrees cooler than Manhattan with the wind coming in off the water, even in the summer. She remembered her wallet and sunglasses at the last second and stepped out on the porch to lock the door just as Amir pulled up.
It wasn’t far to Bar Harbor, and when they got there, Amir stopped first at a kitchen store downtown to let Loch buy a French press, then headed to the lumber yard where she loaded her wood order into the back of her truck. When they pulled out of the parking lot to head back to town about twenty minutes later, every street between them and the road to Innis Harbor seemed to be blocked off, and traffic had come to a standstill.
“Shit,” Amir said, looking at her phone for the date. “It’s Friday. I think they’re setting up for the Fat Tire Triathlon tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means these roads are all going to be closed for a while until they get everything set up and taped off.” She tapped her thumb on the steering wheel, then looked over at Loch as she pulled back into the lumber yard. “Do you have anything you need to be doing for the next couple of hours?”
“Actually.” Loch took off her sunglasses and looked at Amir. “For once, I don’t have to be anywhere.”
Amir got out and walked around the truck, opening Loch’s door. “Good,” she said. “Then let’s eat. I’m starving.”
They walked back into downtown, which was only a half mile or so. Amir led her through a few brick alleys until they came to what Loch assumed had to be a restaurant, despite the absence of a sign. Bright flowers and dewy green ivy dripped over the doorway of the old brick building, and a narrow path led to a crumbling courtyard with a white marble fountain in the center and a collection of tables surrounding it. They got the last available table, clearly because everyone in the restaurant seemed to know Amir.
“This is beautiful,” Loch said after Amir finished greeting most of the waitstaff and a few of the customers with a kiss on both cheeks. “How do you know everyone?”
Amir unfolded her napkin and put it on her lap, looking over and smiling at two older women in aprons peering at them from what looked like the kitchen entrance to the main building.
“My family is Persian, and there are a few other Persian and Iranian families here in Bar Harbor.” She leaned into the table and smiled. “In fact, I’d be willing to bet in about three minutes, one of those two ladies will be on the phone to my mother wanting to know who I just brought to the restaurant.”
Loch smiled and leaned back in her chair. “And what are you going to tell her when she asks?”
“That’s a good question,” Amir said with a raise of her eyebrow. “I’ll let you know how that goes.”
A carafe of white wine appeared on the table with two glasses, followed by a platter of grilled crostini drizzled with olive oil and a small bowl of dip toppe
d with bright ruby pomegranate seeds.
“What is this?
“It’s borani, with yogurt and pomegranate.” Amir spooned it onto the bread and handed it to Loch. “It’s basically eggplant dip, but there are some sneaky ingredients in there like pomegranate molasses and mint.”
Loch bit into it and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent. Sunlight shifted across her face, illuminating delicate silver lashes scattered through thicker black ones.
“Oh, my god, that’s amazing,” Loch said, opening her eyes. “I could literally lay around in bed and eat this all day.”
“A model who eats.” Amir scooped the extra pomegranate seeds off the top of the bowl and dropped them onto the borani on her bread. “I’m impressed.”
Loch looked down and set the crostini on her plate. “I wish that was true. I love food, but I don’t get to eat that much of it.”
More dishes arrived then, covering every available space on the table with bright color and intense, layered fragrances. Amir went through each one for Loch, letting her taste it before going on to the next. She tried one bite of everything, closing her eyes as if memorizing the textures and flavors, more relaxed than Amir thought she might be given that everyone she knew was still watching them.
Amir spooned some ghormeh sabzi into Loch’s bowl and leaned back in her chair.
“Wait.” Loch looked around at the rest of the dishes on the table. “Which one is this?”
“Loosely translated, it’s called green herb stew. My mom makes it every Sunday, but I actually like this one slightly better, not that I’d ever tell her that.” She dished more into her own bowl, as well, and looked up at Loch. “So, what’s your family like?”
Loch put her spoon down and ran a hand through her hair.
“I don’t remember much about my father, he died of a heart attack when I was six,” she said. “Then my mom started sending me here to spend summers with Samia every year, so I’d stay close to his side of the family.” She paused, then went on. “I have a younger sister, Skye, who’s a competitive swimmer at Columbia. She was always at swim camp in the summers, so she never really got to spend time here.”
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