“He had to make an appointment to see his own grandfather?”
“Yes, and from what Jesse told me, that didn’t go so well at first. Somehow, he convinced Pop to give him a chance—to give him one year at the firm—and Pop agreed.” Sophie smiled. “My brother’s a very good lawyer, and he showed ’em just how good. He and Pop sort of worked their way into an understanding, and their relationship grew from there. Ours, too—mine and Pop’s. But it’s just another thing I’ll never really be able to forgive my dad for.”
“For keeping you from your grandparents?”
She nodded. “I wish I could have known my grandmother while she was still here.”
“Hey, it’s never too late. According to Curtis, she never left.”
“Don’t start that again.” Sophie laughed.
“I’m glad to see you laugh. For a moment there, you almost looked like you were going to cry.”
“For a moment, I almost did,” she admitted. “My grandfather means a lot to me, and knowing he wasn’t going to be happy with me upset me a lot.”
“How’d you leave it with him?”
“He’s okay. He’s not happy, but he didn’t slam the door in my face, either. I guess it’s one of those situations where he knows that he’s going to have to accept something he doesn’t like, and that probably isn’t easy for him.”
“I don’t see him staying mad at you for too long.”
“I hope he doesn’t.”
“Would it be prying if I asked what you did?”
“I told him I was going to buy a restaurant.”
“You mentioned that the other day, but I didn’t think you were serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. I bought a place …”
“Already? Where?”
“Here. In St. Dennis.”
“Great. That means you’re definitely planning on staying around for more than just a little while. Good news for me.” Jason grinned. “So tell me about your restaurant. Would I know it? Have I been there?”
“I doubt it. It’s not really a restaurant yet. It’ll be awhile before it’s up and running, but I’ll let you know when.”
“Are you going to tell me where it is?”
She paused. “I’d rather show you. And I will, on Tuesday. That’s when I go to settlement. After Tuesday, it’ll be all mine.”
“It’s a date.” He tugged at a strand of her hair. “And speaking of dates, since you’re not interested in having dinner with me tonight, how ’bout Friday night?”
“I’d love to. Sure.” She licked ice cream from her fingers. “What time?”
“Seven work for you?”
She nodded.
“Want me to pick you up at the office?”
“No. I’ll be sweaty and disgusting from moving boxes around. I’ll need to go home and shower and change.”
“You’re staying in Jesse’s old place on Hudson Street, right?”
“I am. Do you know the address?”
“Sure. We played poker there a few times.”
Sophie made a face. “Poker? At Jesse’s? I didn’t know he played.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“That bad, eh?”
“I don’t remember him ever winning a hand.”
“Slow learner.” She wiped her hands on the last of the clean napkins and balled them up in her hand. “I guess I’ll see you on Friday.”
“I guess you will.”
Jason stood and offered her a hand. As he pulled her up, her gaze lingered on his fingers. She hadn’t noticed until then how big his hands were. They were hands with character, not particularly smooth, given the nature of his work, but not rough, either. She had a momentary flash of those hands on her skin, and she averted her eyes.
“Where are you parked?” he asked.
“Just down there in the lot.”
“Want me to walk you?”
“No. Go eat your dinner. I’ll see you soon.”
“Right.” He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on the side of her mouth, then started to walk away. He’d gone about ten feet, then stopped and called to her. “Hey, did you hear about the lawyer who witnessed a car accident?”
“Yeah, yeah. He handed out business cards and said, ‘I saw the whole thing. I’ll take either side,’ ” she replied. “I told you, I’ve heard them all.”
“How ’bout this one, then …”
“Save it for Friday.” Sophie laughed and kept on walking. “And get some new material.”
Friday started out rainy and cool, but by five o’clock the clouds had lifted and the sun was shining.
“Lots of tourists coming into town this weekend. Place is going to be mobbed,” Violet grumbled as she straightened up the office kitchen, something she did every Friday before she left for the weekend. Sophie had offered to help, but Violet brushed her off. “I’ve been taking care of this office for sixty years. I think I can manage.”
“Okay, then.” Sophie swung her bag over her shoulder. “So why will there be a lot of tourists this weekend?”
“The nice weather brings them out like swarms of bees. Come Saturday noon, the sidewalks will be crowded and you’ll be hard-pressed to get so much as a cup of coffee at Cuppachino.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to get my coffee early,” Sophie said. “Violet, I’m taking off now, so I’ll see you on Monday.”
Violet continued wiping down the counter. “Early for you, isn’t it? Big date tonight?”
“Actually, I’m having dinner with Jason Bowers tonight.”
“In my day, that would have counted as a date.”
“It still does.” Sophie smiled.
She flipped off the light in Jesse’s office as she passed by, paused to consider taking a file or two home, then decided against it. Jesse would be back tomorrow afternoon, and she suspected his first stop after his home would be the office. Sophie decided to leave things just as they were.
The air smelled so fresh and clean when she stepped outside that she paused on her way to the car just to take a deep breath. She could smell the magnolias across the road and the tulips at the library on the opposite corner. Everything felt new and happy, and that suited her mood just fine. She drove off looking forward to dinner with Jason.
It was her first real date in months, her first dinner date since the last time she and Christopher had gone to Ethan’s two nights before she discovered him in the backseat of his car with Anita the Skank, as Gwen still referred to the woman in texts, emails, and phone conversations. Anita was welcome to him. Eventually, he’d probably cheat on her, too.
Thinking back over their relationship, it occurred to Sophie that Anita might not have been Chris’s first indiscretion. There’d been times when he’d broken dates at the last minute, begging off because of work. In retrospect, she knew there was a good chance he’d been “frying other fish,” as her mother once said about her father.
Sophie sighed as she pulled into her driveway. What was the point in getting involved with anyone if you were just going to be disappointed? How do you know when to trust, and when to run? There should be something, some sign, she was thinking while she unlocked the front door, something you could rely on to know the good guys from the bad guys. She said as much to Gwen, who called forty minutes later, just as Sophie emerged from the shower.
“What brought that on?” Gwen asked.
“I have a date for dinner and I was thinking about how nice it would be if we knew right off the bat who was going to mess with our minds, as opposed to the guys you could trust.” She tucked the phone between her shoulder and the side of her face. “Think of how much time and aggravation that would save.”
“You mean, like maybe a little red dot in the middle of the guy’s forehead that sort of pulses when he’s lying?”
“I hadn’t thought of anything quite that specific, but I like it. That would work.”
“So who’s the guy?”
“Jason Bowers.”
“Jason, y
our grandfather’s landscaper? Friend of your brother’s? That Jason?”
“That Jason.”
“I doubt he’s a game player.”
“Why would you say that? You’ve never met him.”
“I don’t have to meet him. He’s Jesse’s friend. Most guys don’t mess around with their friends’ sisters. Unless, of course, they’re A-holes and just don’t care.”
“Point well taken,” Sophie said thoughtfully. “He and Jesse are friends, but he’s even closer to my grandfather. He’d never do anything to jeopardize that relationship.”
“There you go, then,” Gwen said cheerily. “He could be one of the good guys.”
“He is a good guy.”
“Just be careful. You haven’t gone out with anyone since he-who-shall-never-be-named-again. Rebound relationships are tough on everyone.” She paused. “On the other hand, rebound sex can be very good. Then again, of course, it can be very terrible.” She paused again. “Most of the time, it’s terrible.”
“Who’s talking about rebound sex?”
“No one. But you were thinking about it, right?”
“Not in those terms,” Sophie said dryly. “At least, I wasn’t. Until now …”
“You look great.” Jason stood in the doorway. “I’ll be the envy of every guy in Walt’s.”
Sophie could feel his eyes from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’d chosen her favorite dress, a long, lean gray knit, sleeveless with a deep cowl collar. She’d belted it with a wide swath of multicolored leather that hung loosely on her hips, stacked a row of bangles on her left wrist, and slipped into her favorite red heels. She wore round moonstone earrings set in silver and a wide silver band on the middle finger of her right hand. Aside from the wedding, it had been months since she’d been this dressed up—this decked out—and it put her in a happy frame of mind.
“Thanks. So do you.” He did look good, she mused as she grabbed a cardigan to throw over her shoulders and a black clutch. Khakis and a lightweight brown sweater suited him.
“Another beautiful night on the Eastern Shore,” Jason commented while she locked the front door behind them. “Warm temps, starry sky, light breezes. I could do without the humidity, though.”
“I’d think you’d be used to it, having lived in Florida.”
“That’s why I could do without it. It’s not as oppressive here, but still.” He paused in front of the pickup. “I hope you don’t mind the truck. It’s my only ride, unless you’d rather take the dump truck or the Bobcat.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” She walked to the passenger-side door. “The Bobcat might have been fun, though.”
“It’s only a one-seater. You’d have to sit on my lap.” He opened the door for her and watched her slide in. “Of course, as small as the ’cat is, finding a parking spot would be easy.”
He walked around the front of the truck. “Captain Walt’s okay with you? I should have asked first.”
“I love Walt’s.”
“Good. I heard that soft-shells from the lower Bay are in this week.” Jason climbed into the cab and started the engine.
“Soft-shell what?”
“Soft-shell crabs. What kind of a St. Denniser are you?”
“The new kind. I’ve only been here for a week, remember.”
“I’d think it was in your DNA.”
“To listen to you, one might think you’re a native.”
“I eat out a lot, and when you eat out in a Bay town, you get to know what’s local and what’s in season, and you learn how to eat like a native.”
“So what’s the deal with soft-shell crabs?”
“They’re crabs that are caught after they’ve molted their shells but before they’ve grown new ones, so they’re soft,” he explained. “You eat the whole crab.”
“What do you mean, the whole crab?” She frowned.
“Claws, appendages, legs, torso …”
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.” She grimaced.
Jason laughed. “Your brother loves them.”
“My brother will eat anything. Surely they’ll have something else on the menu.”
“You just missed the oysters by a couple of weeks. The season’s over for this year, but they were awesome.”
“You do realize that you’re bragging on the oysters like a native.”
“Gotta call ’em as I see ’em.”
“So what’s in season now? Besides naked crabs.”
“There’s always rockfish.” He glanced over at her. “Striped bass. Excellent fish.”
“I’ve had that, and I liked it.”
“It’s always on the menu at Walt’s. And clams. Hardshells. Also good.”
The truck turned onto Kelly’s Point Road, which led to the municipal building, Scoop, the marina, and at the end of the dock, Captain Walt’s, where thirty-seven years ago Walt brought his bride, Rexana, and his dream of having a first-class seafood restaurant right on the Bay.
“This place started out as a waterman’s shack,” Jason told her after they’d parked and walked the length of the dock to the door. “Walt’s added on to it over the years.”
“That would account for the funky way the building kind of rambles along, half on the dock, half on the shore. I think that haphazard look gives it character.”
They stepped inside and waited for the hostess. Jason had made reservations, and had requested a bayside table.
“This is so pretty,” Sophie said once they’d been seated. “I love looking out at the Bay.”
“It’ll be even prettier once the moon rises,” he told her. “It sort of flows right across the water.”
They studied their menus for a moment before giving their orders to the seasoned waitress. Wine was ordered and poured.
“Here’s to the first of what I’m hoping will be more dinners in the moonlight.” Jason raised his glass and touched the edge to Sophie’s.
She met his eyes over the top of the glass, smiled, and wished she’d never thought of that red-dot-on-the-forehead thing. If such a thing existed, would it be pulsing now? And would she be willing to take a chance if it were?
“You know, right out there,” he nodded in the direction of the Bay, “about one hundred and fifty or so years ago, pirates used to drop anchor, row ashore in the dead of night, and terrorize the townspeople. They’d kidnap a group of women, put them in a makeshift pen, then ransom them back to their families. They reenacted it last year on First Families Day to raise money for the historic society.”
“What do you mean, they reenacted?”
“Some of the guys dressed up in pirate gear, grabbed some women out of the crowd, and carried them to the pen, which was a roped-off area in front of the library. Then the mayor auctioned them off.” Jason smirked. “Your brother got hit with a big ticket. He bid on Brooke, but she thought she was worth more and refused to leave the pen until he upped the ante.”
“Wish I’d been here for that.” She smiled up at the waitress who was serving her salad. “They do that every year?”
“They do something different every year. I’m not a member, so I don’t know what they’re doing this year.”
“Did you dress up and play pirate?”
“Sure. What guy hasn’t wanted to be a pirate at least once in his life? Oh, sure, he was probably eight or nine at the time, but delayed satisfaction is still satisfaction.”
“Who did you kidnap?”
“What?” He frowned. The question was obviously unexpected. “Oh. Mary Beth Sykes, I think.”
“I don’t think I know her.”
“Probably not.” Head down, he took a few bites of salad.
“Looks like I have a lot to learn about my new home.”
“There’s always something going on here. Even in the winter. It’s been really good for the merchants. The tourists have done a lot for St. Dennis. Even I’ve benefited.”
“In what way?”
“Everyone spruces
up their properties before the tourist season begins. Shops, office buildings, private homes, the B and Bs, restaurants—everyone puts on their best face to impress the day-trippers and the weekenders, hoping they’ll come back, maybe even to rent one of the cottages or book rooms at the inn or one of the B and Bs for their next weeklong vacation. I’m super-busy by the first of March and running right through the fall. I had time to work on your grandfather’s place because we could start early, before the big push.”
“It’s stunning, what you did there.”
“Thanks. It was an interesting project because of its scope, but also because I had to do a lot of research before I began.”
“How did you go about doing that?”
“We started with some old photos that your grandfather had. Then, once he decided which era he wanted the garden to reflect, it was just a matter of determining which plants—trees, shrubs, flowers—would have been growing here at that time. The photos helped a lot, but it wasn’t always possible to identify some of the plants because of the quality of the pictures.”
“You like your work.”
“I love my work. There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”
“That’s how I feel about opening my restaurant.”
“Ahh, yes, the mysterious restaurant.”
Sophie laughed. “Nothing mysterious about it. I’ll happily show it off to you as soon as it’s mine.”
“Tuesday, right?”
“Right. Meet me at the office around one, and I’ll take you there. That is, if the time works for you.”
“I’ll make it work for me.”
Their entrées were served, and Sophie tried not to stare at his plate.
“Soft-shell crabs,” he told her. “Don’t judge.”
“They just look like little aliens that have been …” She shook her head. “Never mind. I won’t say another word. I’ll just sit here quietly and eat my beautiful rockfish, and you can have at those … things. Enjoy.”
He caught the sarcasm and smiled. “I will.”
The waiter returned to their table and refilled their glasses.
“Damn, two glasses of wine with dinner,” Sophie mused. “I usually limit myself to one.”
“Any particular reason?”
At the River’s Edge Page 23