“You know I do.”
“Tommy needs to talk to me outside,” Aidan said. “Cover the bar for a few?”
“No problem,” Nancy said.
Yeah, right. She would’ve screamed bloody murder if Aidan ever asked that for himself.
Aidan followed Tommy out to the parking lot, which backed up onto the ocean. It was a blustery evening, with the tang of salt in the air. Clouds scudded across the dark sky, and gulls cawed around the trash cans. Tommy’s cruiser was parked in front of the restaurant in a spot reserved for the owner, who wasn’t in yet. If he did come in, what the hell, he could find himself another spot.
Tommy leaned against the cruiser and took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and offered the pack to Aidan, who shook his head.
“I quit.”
“Yeah? Good for you,” Tommy said, with a cynical half laugh that implied it wouldn’t last.
“What’s up?” Aidan said. “Ma complaining about me again?”
“No. But you really ought to call her.”
“I do call. It’s never enough.”
“You could come for dinner on Sunday.”
“I work Sundays. Some of us don’t make our own hours.”
Tommy shrugged and took a few drags off his cigarette before grinding it out under his shoe. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something. Aidan saw a glitter of gold, and his heart skipped.
“What’s this?” Tommy said, dangling the St. Christopher’s medal so it swung in the breeze.
Aidan took the medal and put it in his pocket. “You know what it is,” he said.
Tommy had given that medal to Aidan when he graduated high school, the year after their dad died. For protection on your journey, the card had read. Trouble was, Aidan’s journey never took him out of this shitty town.
“The clasp is loose. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed,” he said in a defensive tone.
Tommy watched him with cynical eyes.
“Why did I find that on the bluff the other night, when I was checking out an alarm at the new house?” Tommy asked.
They both knew which house he was talking about. The one built on land that had once belonged to their family. Tommy pretended like that didn’t bother him. But Aidan knew better.
“I worked a job there,” Aidan said, gazing out at the oily, black water. Moments like this felt like déjà vu. For good reason. They seemed to come over and over again. Tommy questioning him, acting aggrieved and disappointed, Aidan having to defend himself against the accusations. He was exhausted by it.
“What kind of job?” Tommy asked.
Aidan sighed. Like it or not, he was going to have to explain himself to his brother.
“What do you think, teaching astrophysics? I was tending bar at a party. Remember Brittany Pulaski, Samantha’s sister? She’s the manager for Harbor Gourmet now. She hooked me up with the gig.”
“Brittany Pulaski hooked you up? Why would she do that? She hates you.”
“I was surprised, too. The lady who owns that house threw a big party. Harbor Gourmet was catering. Who knows, they must’ve been short-staffed, because Brittany reached out to me. You don’t believe me, ask her.”
“Look, I believe you were there. I believe you were working. But that doesn’t set my fears to rest. Where was the bar?”
“What?”
“The bar, for this party. Where was it set up? Inside the house, outside?”
“The bar was outside, in a tent on the lawn, next to the pool house.”
“Then explain to me how this medal ended up under the window of the master bedroom around the side of the house.”
“How should I know, Tommy? There must’ve been a hundred people there that night. The medal falls off, somebody picks it up, drops it, drags it on their shoe. Or maybe I have a thing going on with the lady of the house and I dropped it climbing out her bedroom window, so her husband wouldn’t see me.”
“Like she’d ever be interested in you.”
“She likes me. We met before, on the beach. She came looking for me after that.”
“Bullshit. And why the hell were you on her beach?”
“It’s not her beach. It’s public. I got as much right to be there as anybody.”
“Gramps is dead. Let it go already,” Tommy said, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t lie. You’re not making it easy to help you, Aidan.”
“Look, I appreciate everything you do for me. And I work hard to stay on track, so I don’t let you down. Give me some credit. Stop riding me when I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I can’t stand to see you backslide. That’s all.”
“I’m not backsliding. I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t worry. Please, Tommy,” he said.
“Fine, I’ll back off. But you need to stay away from that woman’s house. You got it?”
A second police cruiser drove up, sparing Aidan from having to answer. Wayne Johnson and Mike Castro got out.
Tommy punched Aidan on the shoulder lightly. “You heard what I said. Now be a good kid, and set up a round for me and the boys, all right?”
For the next hour, Aidan hung around the edges of his brother’s party, keeping the drinks flowing, and basking in the reflected glory. When Tommy was around, Aidan became everybody’s kid brother. He felt almost included, almost like he belonged. But who was he kidding? Tommy’s guys thought he was dirt, and no matter what he did, they always would.
Then she walked in. Second time in two days, and he thought, She’s looking for something. Maybe she’s looking for me. Why else come to this place? Someone like her has got to feel a townie bar is beneath her. But maybe she didn’t. Or else she liked him enough to ignore that. It was possible, given the way she’d looked at him that day on the beach. His luck could still change. All he needed was one good break, and he had a funny feeling that this woman might be it. She hadn’t given him the time of day when she came in here the other night, and he offered to comp her drink. But then again, he hadn’t really tried.
He leaned over to his brother. “That’s her. That’s the woman who owns the house,” he said, under his breath.
“Yeah? So?”
“Watch, you’re gonna see I was telling the truth before. This lady likes me.”
“That rich chick likes you?” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not lying. Watch. You’ll see.”
10
The bar was crowded and noisy, and all the booths were taken. I was lucky to find an empty barstool at the far end, near the bathrooms. The bathroom doors kept opening and closing, letting out powerful blasts of air freshener. The place was a dive, with kitschy beach décor—all anchors and ropes and fake lobster traps. I’d just taken off my coat, and I was already tempted to put it back on and leave. But then the bartender came over. I remembered him from the beach. I remembered thinking he’d seemed dangerous at first, then deciding I was wrong. But that moment was when I noticed him for real. I noticed that he had one of those perfect, lazy smiles that make the world seem warmer and more welcoming. There was even a dimple in one cheek. He was wearing this deep-blue chambray shirt that matched his eyes, and khaki pants. His hair was brushed. He didn’t look thuggish tonight. He looked like a college guy, the one in your dorm that all the girls had a crush on.
“Hey, you. I was hoping you’d come back,” he said.
I practically looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. You ran off last time, before we got a chance to talk.”
“Um. Well. Doesn’t look like we’ll get much chance to talk tonight. Busy in here for a Wednesday.”
Stupid line. But I was feeling self-conscious. I’m not generally the sort of woman who goes to bars alone, and to have the hot bartender start flirting me up right away—it threw me.
“We have our two-for-one happy hour on Wednesday
s. Everybody likes a cheap drink,” he said.
“I could use a cheap drink myself tonight. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
“I know your name. You told me on the beach, and then I tended bar at your party. I wouldn’t forget a woman like you.”
He had a sexy voice, gravelly, a little rough. I extended my hand. He gripped it for half a second too long, gazing into my eyes. He was extremely handsome. Sandy hair gone blond at the ends, blue eyes that crinkled at the edges from staring into the sun, tall and broad-shouldered, perfect white teeth. Like a surfer from a beach movie, or an underwear model. I should have gotten up and walked out right then. But things were so messed up, and I needed to dull the pain. So instead, I asked his name.
God, was I stupid.
“You forgot my name?”
He actually looked hurt. I told myself he was probably pretending, and anyway, I secretly liked it. His reaction should’ve been a warning sign. Instead, it gave me a cheap thrill.
“I’m sorry. I’m not good with names.”
He nodded. “Aidan Callahan. Nice to meet for real this time, Caroline—?”
“Stark.”
“Can I get you a Moscow mule, Caroline Stark?”
“Oh. No. Those were just for the party. I’ll take a vodka and soda, if you don’t mind. That’s my drink.”
“Good to know. Be right back.”
But he didn’t come right back. A lot of the customers seemed to know one another, and they all knew him. I liked that. I like a guy who’s outgoing. Jason’s reserved, even sullen sometimes. I can’t always tell what he’s thinking. But I watched Aidan glad-handing the cops at the other end of the bar and thought, That’s a simple, down-home, easygoing guy. And easy on the eyes. If only I were ten years younger, or not married, I’d … No. I’d better stop thinking like that, or I’d end up acting on it when I shouldn’t. I absolutely shouldn’t.
They were teasing him as he poured another round, calling his name. Aidan. Aidan Callahan. An Irishman, obviously; we had that in common.
Aidan came back smiling, carrying two drinks and a dish of mixed nuts.
“Are those both for me? Do I look like that much of a lush?” I said.
I gave him a seductive laugh, and thought, Where the hell did that come from? It had been a long time since I flirted. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, but apparently it was like riding a bicycle. As he slid one of the drinks closer, his hand brushed mine, and I got this thrill. He was looking at me with—I have to say it—lust in his eyes. It was blatant. And I’m thinking, this could be my chance for revenge on Jason. Not to murder him, okay? To sleep with the hot bartender, like any red-blooded betrayed American wife would do in similar circumstances.
“Nope, one of ’em’s for me,” Aidan said. “You don’t mind if I drink with you, do you? Or would you rather not associate with the riffraff?”
“Are you the riffraff in that scenario?”
“The help.”
To be honest, on any other night, I might have been above having a drink with him. Not because I’m a snob, but because it’s pretty low to walk into a bar and start drinking with some random guy you barely know. But that night, I was willing to lower my standards of behavior. That night, I was not proud.
“If you’re the help, then count me in,” I said, and raised my glass.
He clinked his glass against mine.
“Sláinte,” he said.
“Cin cin.”
We both took a swig. He’d made the drink powerful. I liked feeling it burn going down. I liked feeling the room fade away and start swaying. I needed to forget, and this guy was helping me do it.
He leaned down and put his elbows on the slick wooden surface, his face a foot from mine. Even in the dim light, his eyes were very blue.
“Cin cin? That’s Italian, right?” he asked.
“My mom’s side. And boy, did she like to drink. I get that from both sides actually.”
“The other side—?”
“Irish.”
“Ah, that explains the freckles,” he said, and traced a finger gently across the bridge of my nose.
Wow. His touch was so unexpected, so forward, it made me squirm on my barstool.
“Drat, thought I covered those with makeup,” I said, and my voice came out several octaves lower than normal. My breathing was quicker. I flashed on this movie I’d seen years ago. A woman picks up a guy in a bar and within minutes they’re screwing like animals up against the fence in the alley. I told myself, That’s crazy, stop this, calm down, act your age. I picked up my glass and downed the rest of it in one gulp. Then I held it against my cheek, and my neck, hoping the icy coldness of the glass would still the throbbing in my blood and make me behave. But no.
“Never cover those freckles. They’re perfect. Irish and Italian together is the most beautiful combination. But I bet you’ve heard that all your life.”
I was not entirely certain whether he was flirting with me for real, like he truly found me attractive. Or whether he was joke-flirting with an older woman, to get a tip or something. Not that I cared. But I was conscious of the gap between us—age-wise, class-wise, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-wise. I wasn’t taking myself too seriously, and I wasn’t sure yet that I’d be taking Aidan home. In fact, I was still telling myself not to go there. But I hadn’t thought about Jason and the crash-and-burn disaster of my marriage in at least three minutes, which had to be some kind of miracle.
“Your glass is empty. Hold on, let me get you another.”
He went away and came right back with a fresh vodka. If nothing else, I’d be giving him one helluva tip for the drinks. But thinking about cash reminded me about the missing money, and I got upset all over again.
Then he started asking me about myself, and that distracted me.
“So, do you live here full-time, or are you a weekender, like everybody else in town these days?”
“It was supposed to be just weekends. But … I don’t know. My life is up in the air right now. I’m taking things one day at a time.”
“Yeah? That doesn’t sound good. Anything you want to talk about?”
He sounded so sincere that it’s possible I teared up. I was very vulnerable right then.
“No. Thank you. My life is a mess, but I shouldn’t impose. We barely know each other.”
“It’s fine, really. Listen, I’ve been there. I’ve had troubles of my own. The temptation is to keep everything in and go through it alone. But it can help to talk. It can especially help to talk to the bartender.”
That got a laugh out of me.
“No joke,” Aidan said. “We’re like priests. We hear confessions, and we give our own special absolution. It comes in a bottle, though.”
“I like that. Sounds like more fun than the kind the church doles out.”
“For sure. Freshen your drink?”
My glass was empty already. I handed it to him, and he walked away. I started wondering how much he knew about me. He claimed he’d tended bar at my party. I didn’t recall seeing him that night, but the party had been crowded, and the catering staff large. If he was there, did he hear about Jason and the Russian woman? Were the other guests gossiping about me, about the epic fail of my marriage, in front of him? Did he think that’s why I was here, flirting him up? I thought I was being all sexy and mysterious, but instead I was a pathetic old cougar, dumped by her husband for another woman, hitting on a guy young enough to be my son. No, wait—I wasn’t that old. My much younger brother.
He came back with fresh drinks for both of us.
“So,” I said. “Are you from around here?”
That line was corny as hell. I started thinking maybe I was a pathetic drunken cougar coming on to a hot young guy after all. But the nice thing about Aidan was, he didn’t seem to mind. He took a swig of his drink and gave me that slow, sexy grin.
“Born and raised, never made it out. Prob’ly gonna die here.”
“You could do a lot worse than this place
. It’s beautiful. The water, the sky. The town is adorable.”
“The part you go to, maybe. Guys like me, we’re on the outside looking in. I meet a woman like you. Beautiful, sophisticated. I can imagine what your life is like, but I can never really touch it, you know.”
“I’m not sure what you mean. Here we are right now, having a conversation.”
He shrugged. “I think you do know what I mean. We could have this conversation. We could even have chemistry. But you’re out of my league. And I know that, so I would never take it further.”
I was thinking about telling him to give it a try and see what happened. But before I could decide to, somebody called his name, and he stood up. The rush of disappointment I felt was intense, and I was drunk enough to give it voice.
“Don’t go,” I said.
Aidan’s eyes widened.
“Hey, hold your horses. I’m busy here,” he said, over his shoulder, to whoever’d called him.
He leaned back down to me, his face inches from mine. I was looking at his mouth, and then he smiled again. His smile was killer.
“Hey, see those guys at the other end of the bar?”
“The cops?”
“Yeah. The chief there, sitting near the door—he’s my brother. He’s gonna order another round and expect me to put it on the house. Then he’s gonna want me to stand there and entertain him, even though I’d rather stay here talking to you.”
“That bum.”
“I know, family’s a bitch, right? Would you consider doing me a favor?”
“Anything. Name it.”
Yes, all right, I was down to do whatever he asked. Already.
“Let’s make Chief Callahan wait for his next round. I’m gonna go over there, and you call me right back.”
“You mean, like, order another drink?”
“No, it should be more than that, or I’ll have to top them up first. Pretend like you and me are close, and you don’t want to let me out of your sight. Can you do that?”
“Aidan, get your ass over here,” the big cop called out.
The summons was almost nasty, and I felt for Aidan, the kid brother to this jerk of a cop who obviously ruled the roost. I didn’t stop to think. I took Aidan’s side.
A Stranger on the Beach Page 4