“The tide here catches me off guard all the time. The water pours in much faster than at home. The guys at work told me about people getting stuck on Potter’s Island.”
“Every summer, someone—sometimes, multiple someones—will wander out on the land bridge at low tide and not listen to the warning. They’ll end up spending the night out there,” I said, slightly amused.
“You don’t feel sorry for them?”
“Are you kidding? There are signs everywhere, and people ignore them. They park where they aren’t supposed to and are angry at the city when their cars are flooded with saltwater. Then they stay on the island too long and call 911 when they can’t get back.”
“What does 911 tell them?” Luca asked.
“That being stuck on an island for the next twelve hours does not constitute a medical emergency. There are signs posted for water taxis, but they ignore those too. It’s like they expect the tides to stop flowing for them.”
“People tune out signs,” Luca said sympathetically.
“Potter’s Island literally has a siren that goes off when it’s time to go back,” I said, moving my hands emphatically to prove the point.
Luca chuckled at how worked up I was getting. “People tune out sirens too, I suppose.”
“You are far kinder than me,” I said. I noticed the sun had dropped below the trees, causing the road to be streaked with shadows.
“I’ve watched people miss plenty of stuff that’s obvious to me.”
I thought about his words. What was obvious to him was a mystery to the rest of us. “Oh, fine, make me feel bad for thinking the tourists are stupid.”
“I never said they weren’t,” Luca said, eyes gleaming, “but I understand how stuff that is so painfully obvious to some people is completely lost on others.”
The jeep slowed. “I think we’re here,” he said, pulling the vehicle into a gravel parking lot. “This place must be good if there are already this many cars in the lot.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, noting the loosely draped white Christmas lights swaying gently in the faint ocean breeze.
“Yeah, it is,” he said.
He and I both stared at the lights that somehow transformed the old two-story wooden structure into a magical place.
“I haven’t been here in years,” I said, wondering if the lights were a new addition.
“It’s definitely a first for me,” Luca said as he opened his door and I did the same. He raced around the jeep to help me out, but I was closing the door when he reached me.
“Sorry. Do you want me to get back in the jeep?” I said, grinning up at him.
“No, I guess not,” he said, but in a way that told me he did.
“Oh my gosh, you do,” I said, turning to open the door and climb back onto the towel covering the cracked leather seat.
“No, no,” he said, holding the door shut. “My attempt at chivalry is over.” He hung his head in mock failure.
“I’ll let you open the door to the restaurant for me,” I said.
“I mean, it’s not the same thing, but I guess it’ll have to do,” he said in faked defeat.
“The restaurant door is far more important than the car door,” I said, giggling. I was so grateful to be out with Luca and away from everyone we knew.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” he said as we neared the entrance.
For a joke, I reached for the door. He darted in front of me, blocking my way.
As Luca reached his hand out, the door swung open.
“Welcome to the BayTree,” the hostess said.
I forced my mouth closed to keep from giggling too loudly. Luca cleared his throat and tried his best to keep his amusement to a minimum.
“Thank you. We have a reservation for two,” Luca said as we entered the dimly lit restaurant.
This building had been here forever and had many different lives before it was a restaurant. From the appearance, I was pretty sure most of what I was seeing was original. The floor certainly was—worn and scuffed, completely unfinished. I couldn’t help but think of all the splinters you would get by walking barefoot across it. Rustic chic was in, making this one of the most popular tourist restaurants in this part of Maine.
“Do you prefer to sit inside, or outside on our heated deck? It overlooks the bay,” the hostess, who was maybe a few years older than us, asked in a cheery voice.
“He’s not from here. We’d better stay inside, near the fireplace,” I said, teasing Luca.
“No,” Luca said abruptly. “Outside, under a heater, please.”
“Of course. Give me a moment to get your table set up,” she said, disappearing into the restaurant.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Fine,” Luca said, averting his eyes.
I was pretty sure he was lying.
All around us were framed newspaper articles highlighting the history of the building and the restaurant’s opening. Luca studied them.
The hostess approached us and said, “Right this way, please.”
She led us around tables and past a roaring fire in a large hearth. Part of me wished I hadn’t teased Luca about not being able to handle sitting outside. A hot fire would’ve been nice. Outside, the air was cold, but it would be pleasant enough at a table under a heater.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said as she sat us near the edge of the deck. A full moon was reflecting in the rippling water, and the Christmas lights were twinkling above the heater which stood next to our table.
She paused for a moment, her gaze shifting out to the bay. “One of the perks of working here—great views. Chase will be your waiter,” she said, before turning and going inside.
“This is really nice, Luca. Thank you for inviting me here,” I said as I gazed across the table at him.
He casually rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for agreeing to go out with me,” he said, his voice no longer filled with laughter.
I studied him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He put his hand down. “Perfectly. Just a little hungry.”
“You’re lying.”
“I have a headache, but it will go away.”
I leaned forward and whispered, “Is there evil?”
He unwrapped the silverware and placed the white napkin on his dark jeans. “I’m fine. Let’s look at the menu. The guys told me the Lobster Mac N Cheese is fantastic. They also suggested the Lobster Ravioli, but I’m more of a Mac N Cheese kind of guy.” He rattled on until the waiter appeared at our table.
“Welcome to the BayTree. Have you two been here before, or are you joining us for the first time?” he said as he poured each of us a glass of water from a silver pitcher.
“I’ve been here, but it’s been years.”
His eyes rested on me. “Well, we’re glad you’re back,” he said with the hint of something I didn’t recognize.
“And you, sir, have you dined with us before?” the waiter asked, his eyelids drooping low as he appraised Luca.
“No, this is the first time, but I’ve been told to order the Lobster Mac N Cheese,” Luca said cheerfully.
“Yes, it’s a definite favorite of our patrons. So the Mac N Cheese for you, sir? … Miss, do you happen to know what you would like?” he said, turning to me.
“I hear the Lobster Ravioli is good.”
“It is,” he said with a nod. “Is that what you would like?”
“Yes,” I answered, handing him the menu I hadn’t bothered to open.
“Would either of you like something to drink besides water, some hot tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” I answered for Luca and me.
“Very well. I’ll be back in a moment with some warm bread and honey butter.” He looked at me one more time and abruptly turned to go into the restaurant.
“Man,” Luca said after he was gone, “I’m glad I can’t read people’s minds.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m pretty sure
I’d end up punching him in the face,” he said, and took a sip of water.
“Why?” I couldn’t believe Luca would ever say something so violent.
“You didn’t notice how he was staring at you?” Luca said, raising an eyebrow.
“I noticed something,” I said, realizing that Luca interpreted the waiter’s overfocus on me as attraction—I did not. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I didn’t think that.
“Something?” he said. “Siena, it was like I was a toadstool and you were a fairy princess.”
I took the opportunity to change the subject. “I’ve always wondered if fairies are real.”
He leaned back. “My mom told her clients they were.”
The waiter returned, placing a basket of steaming bread and warm butter between us. “Enjoy,” he said and left.
Luca took a piece of the bread and spread an inch of butter on top of it.
I took a risk. “What was your mom’s job? You’ve never told me.”
He slowly chewed the bite of bread that was in his mouth and took a drink of water.
“She was a psychic,” he said. “At least, for the last eight years or so.”
“A psychic?” I asked, confused. Previously, he made it sound like his mom was awful, and I assumed that meant whatever she did was illegal or mean, but being a psychic was neither illegal or mean—unless she cheated people.
“The term ‘medium’ is more accurate,” he said, the muscles in his jaw flinching.
“Being a psychic or a medium is bad?” I asked, taking a piece of the bread.
“Few things are worse.”
“Did she lie to people, tell them she could channel spirits when she couldn’t, or something?” I was thinking that it might be the lies that made it such a horrible profession.
“No,” he said. “She never lied.” His jaw remained tight.
The hostess showed another couple to a table not far from ours. Luca took advantage of my distraction to turn his gaze out to the bay. Moonlight sparkled as the water started to spill over the oyster shells beneath the high deck.
“Have you ever been on a sailboat?” he asked, his voice subdued.
“No,” I said, watching him gaze out at the bay.
“Me neither, but that’s my dream.”
“To go on a sailboat?” I asked.
“To live on one. To float out in the middle of the ocean, away from the rest of the world. Away from the—.” He stopped mid-sentence.
“Away from the evil,” I said.
He offered a weak smile. “The bread is delicious,” he said, reaching for a second piece. “You should eat the piece you’re holding.”
I placed the bread onto the appetizer plate in front of me.
“The butter is amazing,” he said as he finished spreading another inch on the piece he held.
I accepted the knife he offered me and spread butter over my bread. The smell was intoxicating, the taste even more so.
“Something about warm bread on a cold day,” he said, relishing his second piece.
I said, “Wouldn’t you miss fresh-baked bread if you lived on a sailboat?”
“I’m not talking about only eating fish for the rest of my life or anything. I’d still go to the store for supplies, and I’d want a boat big enough for at least a small oven.”
“Freshly baked bread on a sailboat,” I said, contemplating the idea.
“Nice, right?”
“Yeah.” I was surprised by how good that idea felt.
A shadow crossed our table. With his attention on me, our waiter said, “May I fill your glass?”
Both Luca and I sat straighter. I didn’t realize how much we were both leaning toward each other.
“No, thank you,” I said. My glass remained mostly full.
“I’d like some,” Luca said, holding his glass up.
“Absolutely,” our waiter said. “You two picked a beautiful night. Sometimes the winds off the ocean are too strong, but tonight is perfect. The sailboats are my favorite. Your meals should be out in a few minutes.”
He disappeared as abruptly as he’d appeared.
“Do you think he heard us?” I said.
“I think he was far too busy focusing on you to actually hear you,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“He’s not attracted to me,” I said, and took a sip of water.
“Whatever you say,” Luca said, spreading butter on another piece of bread.
Luca leaned away from the table when our waiter reappeared, carrying two ceramic bowls with charred oven mitts. “These are very hot,” he said as he placed the first one in front of Luca and the second carefully in front of me.
“That was fast,” Luca said.
“We do our best,” he said with a lazy smile. “Can I get you two anything else?”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your meals.” He went to another table to take their order.
Luca took a bite of his Lobster Mac N Cheese. Strings of hot cheese trailed to his mouth. “The guys weren’t kidding. This is seriously good.”
I cut a ravioli into fourths and speared one of the smaller pieces with my fork. “Very good,” I said as its creamy texture indulged my mouth with happiness.
We were silent for several minutes, enjoying our food. Gulls called to one another as they swooped down into the partially filled bay. We could hear the sound of waves gently lapping against the exposed oyster shells.
In the relative silence of gulls and waves and the murmurings of other diners, I felt grateful. Grateful that I was here with Luca, away from the castle I imprisoned myself in, and away from the vindictive eyes of the people at our church and town. Here I could be free, I could be me.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said as Luca took his last bite of food.
He placed his fork against the thick ceramic bowl. Even at home, he ate so quickly he was starting to wash the dishes before the rest of us were halfway through with our meal.
“Thank you for coming with me.”
Luca ate another piece of bread as I finished my ravioli.
“Would you like dessert?” he asked.
“Maybe we could split something,” I suggested, not sure I could eat any more, but not wanting our time together to end. “I’m going to find the restroom. Feel free to order while I’m gone.”
“I’ll get a menu. We can pick something out when you get back,” he said.
“Perfect,” I said as I scooted my chair back.
Inside, the restaurant was warm and cozy, with fires burning in at least two fireplaces.
“Can I help you?” our waiter said, noticing me on his way back to the kitchen.
“Where’s the restroom?”
“Up the stairs—here, I’ll take you,” and he began leading the way toward the front of the restaurant. Next to the stairs, there was a sign that pointed up for the women’s restroom.
“I’m sure I can find it,” I said.
“It’s an old building. The restrooms are kind of off the beaten path.” He led me up the stairs.
I winced at the first step.
“Injured?” he asked.
“I hurt my knees,” I said.
“That’s too bad,” he said dismissively.
How Luca thought this guy was into me, I had no idea. He could barely stand walking in front of me.
The second floor was as dimly lit as the main floor and equally crowded with delicious smells in the air. Every table or so, I saw a dessert that made me forget I was full. We continued toward a side hallway. He was right; this was out of the way.
“Here you go,” he said, stopping in front of the women’s restroom.
“Thank you,” I said.
He hesitated. “You aren’t what I expected.”
“What you expected?” I asked, puzzled.
“You’re the one who was with Thomas when he died. Siena’s your name.”
Heat rushed through me.
“Ar
e you paying your servant boy to date you, like you paid Thomas? You going to kill him too?”
I reached for the restroom door—my escape. He moved out of my way, not trying to block my path.
“Beth was right about you,” he said as I slammed the door and slid the lock into place.
I stood with my back against the door, breathing rapidly. My head spun. My body shook. I thought I was safe here, that no one knew me or Luca. I was foolish to have believed I could ever escape. Stupid to have left my house.
I felt dizzy. Tears stung my eyes. Beth was right? What did that mean? I wanted to turn and run from the building, but what if he was still outside the door when I left? I looked around; there was a sink and a door. I went toward the door—maybe there was another entrance, one less out of the way. One he wouldn’t be waiting at. I opened the door. There was a toilet, and there was another door. The room was oddly large for a simple water closet. The second door was not as tall as the door leading into the water closet, the top of it angled with the ceiling.
My pulse quickened. Maybe it was a way out.
I stepped into the water closet, leaving its door open. I turned the knob of the angled door, assuming it would be locked if it didn’t lead out of the restroom. The knob turned. I pulled open the door, excited at the prospect of eluding Beth’s horrible waiter friend. The cold was overwhelming, the space dark, subtly illuminated by the bright lights of the room behind me. This was not an exit. It was … I studied it … part of the attic.
The bottom of the roof tilted upward, wooden trusses shoring up the roof. There was plenty of space for me, or anyone else, to enter. The floor felt stable, finished with thick planks of wood—not like the simple plywood used in modern attics. This wood was made to support the weight of many people and heavy furniture, not merely to keep you from accidentally falling through the beams of the attic. This space, despite the beams crossing along the edges, was another room. I shivered, my breath coming out in a cloud. Above me was the strong wood supporting the roof; there was no insulation. This could never have been used as a room, at least not during the winter. Its inhabitants would’ve frozen. It was merely attic access. I tried to relax … and calm my swirling emotions. What were the emotions? All that made sense was to feel anger at the waiter, but I felt more. Much more. What was it?
Gifted (Awakening Book 2) Page 11