by B L Crumley
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why did you bring me flowers?” I blurted, regretting it as soon as it left my mouth. It was foolish to venture down this road again.
“To cheer you up. Because I care about you. And I thought you would like them,” he listed off, clearly not understanding what I’d meant.
“But you brought these flowers?” I stared at a giant violet iris that stood out among the other pink and yellow flowers.
“The wildflowers. Yeah, they used to be your favorite.”
Unnerved by his stare, I picked up the vase and took it to the sink to fill with water. “Yes, I remember.”
Suddenly, I felt him beside me. “I remember everything about you,” he said softly. I resisted the temptation to lean into his strong frame, to let him comfort me.
That wasn’t his right anymore, and I’d be wise to not forget it.
“I remember how you would snack on kettle corn on your breaks at the cannery and you’d come out to the boat where I’d be cleaning up and feed it to me because you said my hands had fish slime…”
His words were like a drug, luring me back to a time when I’d felt so good. His hand caressed my face, breaking the haze of the past I’d been sucked into and I pulled the vase from the sink and took it over to the breakfast bar. “Kenny, you’re making this really hard.”
He shook his head slowly. “You’re the one that has made this hard, Charlee. The walls you’ve put up, effectively shutting everyone out. I know you think you’re protecting yourself, but it’s just hurting you.”
“It’s hurting me?” I shot back. “No, you hurt me, Kenny.” I hated what he was saying because I felt he had no right to. Even though I knew it was the truth.
“I wish you’d quit trying so hard to hate me.” He took a step toward me. “Just tell me what to do to make it right with you, and I’ll do it.” He stood before me, and my breath lodged in my throat.
He’d caught me at a weak moment, and as he stared at my mouth, I knew he was going to kiss me. Overcome with unwanted emotions, I felt powerless to stop it, even though I knew I’d only feel worse about it later. He leaned forward, and I closed my eyes.
The doorbell rang, snapping me out of my Kenny-induced haze. I retreated several steps. “I need to get that.”
On the way to the door, I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. I had almost kissed Kenny. “Stupid, Charlee,” I muttered. Twisting the knob, I pulled on the door, as a nervous giggle worked its way up my throat. I swallowed it.
“Cole,” I blinked several times, just in case my mind was playing tricks on me. But no, standing before me illuminated by the dim porch lights was the Sheriff.
“You have impeccable timing.”
Oh no, I just said that out loud.
Cole eyed me curiously. “Are you being sarcastic?” he asked. “If you are, it’s fine. It’s just been a long day, but I wanted to—”
“No, I wasn’t,” I cast a furtive glance backward. Cole looked at me strangely. “Just forget I said that.”
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” I nodded, perhaps too eagerly. He had to be thinking I was nuts. Frankly, I was starting to think that myself.
“May I come in?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Might as well get this awkward moment over with. I stepped to the side and Cole walked past me.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I finally regained my senses and decided being hospitable was a favorable approach to the impending awkwardness.
“Sure, coffee if you have it.”
We entered the kitchen, and I barely glanced at Kenny before heading to the coffee maker. I thought I’d let the men figure this one out.
“Sheriff,” Kenny greeted Cole with an underlying layer of both surprise and irritation.
“Kenny,” Cole replied, uncomfortable. “Charlee, if this is a bad time I can come back.”
“No, it’s fine.” Kenny moved toward me. “I was just leaving.”
Liar. He’d been about to kiss me senseless.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Cole, before following Kenny out.
In the foyer, Kenny turned back to me and sighed. “Are you sure you going to be okay?”
“Yes, I’m good.” I gave him my best fake smile.
He leaned in close. “I can tell you’re lying,” he whispered.
I pursed my lips, not trusting myself to speak at the moment, hating that he knew me so well. Even after ten years apart.
“If you need anything, please call me.”
I nodded my agreement, feeling safe in doing so, seeing as how I didn’t actually have his number.
He fished his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out his charter fishing business card. “Here’s my number.”
Darn. I took it from him.
“Good night, Charlee.”
“Bye, Kenny.”
Hesitating, he closed the remaining distance and gave me a featherlight kiss on the cheek, then left.
Oh boy. I exhaled another deep breath and took my time returning to the kitchen, hoping that an extra thirty seconds might help my senses recover before I had to face Cole. Another man who, if I were honest, made my pulse beat faster.
Cole stood in the dining area studying the framed photos on the wall. He must have heard me approach as he turned. “When was this taken?” He pointed to a photo of me and Fern standing on her front porch. Fern wore one of her flamboyant outfits and I had on a slinky black floor-length gown.
I cringed. “That would be before senior prom.” I risked a glance at Cole, and saw he was smiling at me.
“You look very pretty.” He leaned toward me.
“Thanks,” I muttered, backing up. His behavior was abnormal, at least compared to most of our previous interactions, and I had no idea what to make of it. “Oh, I forgot about your coffee,” I scurried over to grab a mug and filled it up. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
“No, just black.” He’d followed me back into the kitchen.
Figures, he probably didn’t eat sugar. Or drink it. What a sad way to live.
I handed him the cup, and our fingers brushed as he took it, sending a spark up my arm. What was going on here? First Kenny, now Cole. Something must be wrong with me.
He took a sip, eyeing me intently. It made me nervous. Well, more nervous than I already was. I moved to the fridge, needing something to occupy me.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, scouring the shelves. My stomach danced with butterflies. I closed the door, realizing there was no way I could eat right now.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
I couldn’t take whatever this was anymore. “Cole, is there a reason you stopped by?” I said it as politely as I could, but he was the one who said he wanted to talk, and now he just kept staring at me.
“Yes.” He set his mug down on the granite island. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Did everyone think I was that fragile? I eyed him skeptically. “I’m good.”
“Okay, fine. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to do something stupid,” he sighed.
Finally, this version of Cole I could deal with.
“Like what?” I asked innocently.
“You know. Like hunt down another suspect.” He gave me a pointed look. “Charlee, I know you’re thinking that it’s just Rockfish Bay.” He made quotations with his fingers. “But there are some dangerous people here.”
“Got it,” I agreed quickly. Apparently, too quickly for him to buy it.
His eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t think you do. If anything were to happen to you, your dad would kill me.”
That got my attention. “Cole, I’m not your responsibility. I’m an adult and have been on my own for ten years now, and I don’t appreciate you or anyon
e else telling me what to do,” I snapped.
“Is that when you left here?”
With that question, I feared our conversation was headed a completely different direction. One I wasn’t sure I was ready to go down.
“Yeah,” I said, the anger fleeing my tone.
“Was it because of him?” he asked hesitantly, his gaze veering to the flowers on the counter. The him in question didn’t need a name. I knew exactly who he was referring to.
“Yes,” I said on a rush. “But I’m sure you’ve already heard all about it. This town is a cesspool of gossip.”
“I don’t put much stock into what I hear. That’s why I asked you.” His eyes connected with mine. He wanted to know about my past, and I had no clue what to make of that. “He’s why you haven’t come back.”
That was a statement, not a question. But how would he know that?
“Okay, that I heard from gossip,” he admitted guiltily.
“It’s the truth,” I divulged, and surprisingly it felt good to say it, so I continued. “Probably most of what you heard is true, unfortunately. Kenny and I grew up together; our families were friends, so we hung out. I had a crush on him when I was twelve and he was fourteen.
“Then three years later he noticed me, and that was it. I had my whole life mapped out. After high school I planned to go to college and culinary school so I could come back here, where Kenny and I were going to start our restaurant. Kenny never wanted to go to school, and was working to save money so we could have our dream. I was such a fool.”
“You were young,” Cole said gently. “There’s nothing wrong with having dreams.”
I met his gaze again. “No, I suppose there’s not. Except it really sucks when they fall apart.” Something in his eyes said he understood, that he’d experienced that kind of pain, too.
“When I came home for spring break my freshman year, Kenny proposed. He wanted me to quit school and get married that summer. He said he didn’t want to wait to begin our lives together. That getting an education was a waste of my time and money.”
Cole raised his eyebrows, clearly disagreeing with that.
“I know, it made me mad, too. But I loved him. I told him I needed to think about it, and that I wanted to finish up the year. When I came home for the summer six weeks later, I’d decided that I was going to marry him.
“That I would give up on part of my dream because ultimately, it was Kenny that I wanted. I stopped at the grocery store on the way to my parents, and the checker told me she was sorry about me and Kenny.
“Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about, and I must have mumbled something like, thanks, because she said ‘I always thought you two were so great together. I never would have pictured him with the Wells girl.’” I stopped, reliving that memory in my mind, something that I feared I would never forget, for in that moment I thought my life was over, and even now it was painful to think about.
“Ashley,” Cole said.
I nodded. “He got her pregnant, and then he married her. Instead of me.” My voice wavered. “And the despicable thing is he said he felt he had to do the honorable thing since there was going to be a child.
“But he’d already cheated when he asked me to marry him. Apparently, honor didn’t matter then.” I felt Cole’s hand on my back, a gentle pressure that was meant to comfort, and weakened what remaining defenses I had left. I looked up at him. “I already had a job for the summer, so I stayed until the fall, and then I left. And never came back. Well, only on occasion and never for more than a few days.”
“Until now,” he said, giving me a partial grin.
“Yeah. Until now,” I repeated. “My future plans are undecided at the moment.”
He removed his hand and leaned against the counter behind him. “Because of Kenny?”
I shook my head. “Oh no. He’s not part of my life anymore.”
Cole’s gaze zeroed on the flowers and giant bag of kettle corn Kenny had brought. “Is that so?”
“Okay,” I motioned to the gifts. “I don’t know what that is. And honestly, I’m not ready to deal with it now either.”
“That’s fair.”
“My turn,” I said, turning to face him. “How did you end up in Rockfish Bay?”
“Bad luck,” he said dryly.
I laughed, feeling lighter inside than I had in a long time. It felt good to talk to someone about Kenny other than my mom and Fern. Cole hadn’t made me feel like I was pathetic. That it was okay to feel the way I did. That I was okay.
“Work brought me here. I was with the DEA, working undercover. I followed a drug trafficking operation here from where I was living in central California. After the bust, your dad convinced me to stay.”
“He’s good at that.”
“Yes, he is,” Cole agreed, with a far-off look in his eyes.
“But that’s not why you stayed, is it?” I ventured there was another reason.
“No, my wife left me,” he said candidly, and I felt the pain in those few words.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, wishing I had something better to offer.
“It’s okay. I think I knew it was coming. Being undercover, I was gone a lot, and even when I was around, I was working long hours. And so, she found someone else,” he admitted.
I felt there was more to the story, but knew it took a lot just for Cole to share what he had with me. “I was ready for a fresh start and I figured that being a sheriff in a small town would be less stressful, and let me have a more normal life.”
I snorted, and slapped my hand over my mouth.
He chuckled. “I know, and look how that’s turned out.”
“Do you like it here?” I asked seriously.
His eyes seared into mine. “I guess you could say it’s growing on me.” It was clear there was a veiled meaning with the way his gaze devoured me, and I had no idea how to respond.
“Did you like it here?” He turned my question back on me, only in the past tense.
“I did.”
“Then maybe you could again?”
“Maybe,” my voice came out in a whisper.
He pushed himself away from the counter. “I should get going.”
What? He was going to flirt with me like that, then just leave? “Okay,” I mumbled weakly.
In two steps he was right beside me. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have any pants from college that fit, either.”
My eyes snapped to his as I felt a blush creep up my neck. He winked. “Good night, Charlee.”
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as I heard the click of the front door closing behind Cole, a huge rush of air escaped my lungs. Finally, I could breathe again. And eat.
The two attractive men that had descended upon my evening sure knew how to suppress a girl’s appetite, because my stomach was tied up in knots. But now they were gone, and it was just me and Moose, and I was going to make up for the interruption.
A somewhat pleasant interruption, but still. It may not have been wise to share as much as I did with Cole, but at the same time I assumed he’d already heard a similar version of the story. And I’d learned a few things about him. Not that it mattered, since he lived here, and I didn’t, but unless I’d completely misread his signals, he seemed interested in wanting me to stick around.
Standing in front of the fridge, I stared at the contents inside, then glanced back at the kettle corn on the counter. It really was delicious, and I couldn’t even remember the last time I ate it, since they only sold it at the cannery, and I avoided that place like it had been contaminated with the Ebola virus. Why not?
I closed the fridge and reached for the bag of sugary, salty popcorn. It didn’t disappoint. After devouring close to half of the giant bag, I decided I’d better call it qui
ts. Besides, I had work to do, and I didn’t need to feel bloated on top of it. Then again, it was a little late for that.
A quick glance at the clock revealed it was just after eight. I had no clue what constituted Sting Ray’s usual bar hours, and by city standards eight was too early to go out, but here in Rockfish Bay when almost everything closed by nine or earlier, maybe there was a decent chance he would be there. It was worth a shot. Squeezing back into the jeans I’d worn earlier that day, I donned my leather boots and wool peacoat to help ward off the November night chill.
Ten minutes later, I found myself sitting in my SUV in the parking lot outside of The Black Oyster Bar. The place could have been the poster child for a classic hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Essentially, it was a dump. For starters, the building had no windows, which led me to believe that either the owners were too cheap to put them in, or they wanted to hide whatever illicit ventures or debauchery was going on inside.
The weathered wood siding had maybe been painted once in its fifty-plus-year existence, but only random streaks of lead-based paint remained. Plastered to the side of the front were painted wood letters, spelling out The Black Oyster, except the c, k, and t were missing so it read The Bla Oyser. Maybe that was German for something…
Pushing away my fears, and Cole’s strong warning to stay home and not do anything stupid, I got out of my vehicle and purposefully strode to the door. A sticky substance latched onto my hand as I gripped the iron door handle and gave the heavy wooden door a hard tug.
Inside, the offensive stink of stale smoke assaulted my nostrils, making my eyes water. Two hardened logger types glanced up from their drinks at a nearby table and gave me the once-over. A shiver raced up my spine as I tried to wipe my hand off on my jeans.
Country music filled the air, broken up by the sound of crashing pool balls at the back, but I walked straight ahead to the bar. The bartender was a man probably in his thirties, but with his ball cap and scruffy beard it was difficult to tell. His eyes raked over me, brazenly checking me out. For once, I was thankful for the colder weather, which had ensured that I was fully clothed.
“Hi,” I said as I stepped up to the wooden bar, covered in nicks, careful not to touch the surface for fear of some type of contagious bacteria that could be lurking there. “I’m looking for a man named Sting Ray. Is he here?”