Hooked on You

by Cathryn Fox

  Since no one is home yet, I’ll have time to stretch out and grab a few minutes alone. I step from the truck, and the smell of smoke reaches my nostrils. The neighbors don’t have a brush fire going in their barrel. Shit. I hurry to the back of the house and see smoke billowing from the kitchen window.

  What the hell happened?

  Chapter Three

  Kira

  I turn the shower off and grab a big fluffy white towel from the shelf. I have no idea why there is clean laundry in the B&B, or why the furniture is dust-free and all the wooden floors sparkle. The place has been closed up for nearly a year now—waiting for one of us to return—but when I entered, everything seemed pristine, the fresh scent of pine cleanser still in the air.

  I can’t help but think Gram’s old friend Ralph Conrad has been taking care of the place in our absence. Ralph and Granddad go way back, and from conversations overheard, they hated Hooked as much as my grandmother.

  I step from the shiny new four-piece en suite, a new addition since I’d been here last, and walk to my suitcase, grateful there is hot running water and power. Mom has been paying the utilities on the B&B but has been eager to sell it. I couldn’t get here before now, and after spending time in the place, being around Gram’s things, I’m hoping I’ll finally feel the closure, quiet the guilt that has been haunting me.

  I towel dry my hair, tug on an oversize T-shirt until I can figure out what to wear for tonight’s dinner, and slip on a pair of panties. I’m about to unpack, but the smell of smoke swirls around me and clogs my nostrils.

  Oh my God, no.

  I rush down the narrow staircase. Smoke billows, but through it, I find Nate dousing our dinner with the fire extinguisher.

  My breath hitches, and I don’t know if it’s from days of traveling, nearly getting killed this afternoon, or simply being back in my Gram’s place, but my throat grows raw. Folding my arms across my barely clad body, I hug myself, shaking almost uncontrollably.

  What is wrong with me? I almost burned Gram’s place down. Stories, heritage, Gram’s collection of paintings—all gone up in flames because I put a chicken in the oven and got lost in my thoughts and forgot about it. My heart squeezes and a garbled sound crawls out of my throat as smoke fills the air.

  Nate turns, his familiar grin returning when he sees me. “Blackened chicken, my favorite.” But the second his eyes meet mine, his smile drops, along with the fire extinguisher, and he steps over to me, putting a big hand on my shoulder. “Wait, are you okay?”

  “Not really.” I blink hard, push the tears back. “I’m here to get this place ready for sale, and I almost burned it down.” Then my brain catches up, and I stare wide-eyed at Nate. “But what are you doing here?” I glance over my shoulder to the street that passes by Gram’s place. “Were you driving by and saw the smoke?” That must have been what happened. “Thank God. With all Gram’s doilies and sheer curtains, this place would have gone up faster than methane under a Bunsen burner.” I gulp. “Looks like I owe you another thank you.”

  He angles his head, and his gaze moves slowly over my face. “You’re here to sell this place?”

  Okay, that’s what he took from all that. I nod. “Yes.”

  “And you think I’m here because I saw the smoke?”

  I nod again. Am I completely off base here? “Why else would you be here? Oh, wait, I gave you the address.” I glance at the clock. “But you’re early.”

  Nate goes silent as he looks at me, his body close, still invading my personal space. Dark lashes fall slowly over green eyes once, twice, and then, as if a lightbulb has gone on behind them, his lids suddenly widen. “Jesus, you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “Ah, you might want to sit down for this.”

  I gulp, as an awful feeling settles in my gut. Nate steps back and pulls a chair out for me. I move toward it, but as I walk, his somber expression changes, morphs into something that I’ve never quite seen in a man’s eyes before. He clears his throat then turns away toward the door as he says, “You might want to get dressed first.”

  I hug myself tighter. “If you have bad news, I’d rather not wait to hear it.”

  Keeping his back to me, he opens the screen door and swings it a few times to clear the smoke. “Trust me, Kira. You need to get dressed. You can’t walk around here in just a T-shirt. You’ll no doubt be uncomfortable when the guys—”

  “What guys?”

  “Just trust me on this—you need to get dressed.”

  His seriousness sends me flying up the stairs two at a time, and I hurry to Gram’s room and grab a pair of yoga pants. I don’t bother combing my wet, tangled hair. Less than thirty seconds later, I’m seated at the kitchen table.

  Nate pulls out the seat across from me and sits. “That was fast.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

  He taps the pad of his index finger on the table and traces some imaginary line. “First, I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

  “It’s okay. It was a while ago.” The canned response spills easily from my lips, even though I don’t feel okay about it no matter how many months have passed. He looks down, lines bracketing his mouth as he frowns and places his hands on his knees. I study his posture for a moment and get the sense that his words weren’t merely a courtesy, but that he really is sorry for my loss. I wonder if he’s had loss in his life, too. One that has cut deeply, still hurts. I touch his hand, and his gaze jerks to mine. “I appreciate your condolences, Nate,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “I never met her,” he begins quietly. “But her stories live on. She was an amazing woman, from what I hear.”

  I smile as tears form in my eyes, and the emptiness in my heart expands. “She was.”

  “Did you know your grandfather well?”

  “Not really. I was young when he died at sea. I have a few memories, but not a lot.”

  A beat pulses between us then he glances around the room. He spreads his arms. “This is going to come as a shock to you, but I’m living here, Kira.” He glances down, points to the floor with his index finger. “Right here, in your grandmother’s B&B.”

  I sit up a little straighter. Have my two near-death experiences today affected my hearing? “I’m sorry. I thought you said you were living here.”

  “That’s exactly what I said. And I’m not the only one. Lots of seasonal fishermen have rooms here, as well.”

  I jump from my chair. “Like squatters? Are you telling me this place is full of squatters?”

  His lips quirk. “No, we’re not squatters.” He stands up with me, dips his head. “You haven’t been in the dining room yet, have you?”

  “No,” I say and turn toward it. “When I arrived, I threw the food in the oven, which I clearly don’t know how to use, considering all I ever do is nuke food, and went straight to the shower.” What I don’t tell him is, after entering and seeing all things Gram, I needed a moment to pull myself together. My heart will need a soft blanket wrapped around it before I take it on a painful trip down memory lane.

  “You need to take a look,” he says quietly, almost gently.

  He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me into the living room. My breath catches, and my heart swells as I glance at the big oak table where Gram and I had tea parties with neighbors and friends. There was so much laughter back then. The tightness is a painful reminder of how much I loved and how much I lost. Gram was the epitome of family, and this is the only place I ever had a sense of home and hearth. Growing up in British Columbia with two research professors, I was used to evening meals spent talking to them over their laptops. I’d eventually stopped bothering.

  Gram’s essence surrounds me and memories bombard me, interrupted when Nate takes my shoulders and turns me so I see the old-fashioned cash register and humongous old pickles j
ars full of cash. Rawness scrapes at my insides, and a manic laugh full of happiness and sorrow rips from my throat. Oh, Gram you sure loved your pickles. After we finished a jar, she would fill the bottles with spices and eggs. I didn’t much care for pickled eggs, but Gram made them, so I ate them. It made her happy, which made me happy.

  But why are the jars filled with money? I wait for a switch to click, to shine some light on the situation. It doesn’t.

  “I don’t get it,” I push past my tight throat.

  “This place is still a B&B,” Nate explains.

  I turn back to him. What the hell? “How, who runs it?”

  “Well, that’s the hard part to explain. No one runs it, yet everyone runs it.”

  Still no switch clicking. I narrow my eyes, check his pupils. “Ah, are you sure you’re not the one with a concussion?”

  His lips quirk. “Positive.” He pulls a dining room chair out for me, and I drop into it. My wobbly knees are grateful.

  “Here’s how they explained it to me,” he says, settling himself into one of the antique chairs beside me. “Your grandmother was one of a kind and believed everyone had goodness in them.”

  Perched restlessly on the edge of the chair, I nod, agreeing with that observation. “She did.”

  “Before she died, she left instructions with Ralph to keep the doors open for the lobster fisherman or anyone who needed a warm bed.”

  “Anyone can come and go?”

  “Sort of. Only the locals know about this place, and the fisherman.”

  “Who has keys?” I ask. My mother had given me one, and the other key in my possession came to me after Gram’s death, along with very careful instructions.

  “Lots of people. Not that anyone locks their doors around here.”

  “I can’t believe it.” I’m from the big city and people coming and going at all hours sort of freaks me out. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

  As if reading my body language, he says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

  “I don’t feel safe.” I dart a glance around, half expecting someone to jump out at me. I live alone, have for a long time now. I need my quiet, and I’m not used to sharing space with people. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  “You’ll meet the fishermen. They’re good people just trying to make a living, Kira.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “The money.” My gaze flies to the jars stuffed with colorful bills. “They’re honest, respectful, and reliable. Do you think the money would still be there if they weren’t?”

  “Whose money is it?” I ask,

  “Those who come and go pay what we think we should, and that money gets used for upkeep. Ralph helps out by buying things, and we all take care of the lawn, fix what’s broken, clean up after ourselves, do laundry, dishes. That kind of thing. Yesterday, I took a couple hundred from the pot, because the back deck needs some work. I’m good with my hands, so I thought I’d take that on while staying here.”

  Back in high school science class, one of our projects was to create a spinner that could twirl the longest. My brain feels like it’s on that ride right now. “I just—so you’re telling me Gram runs the B&B on the honor system.”

  He nods and sits back in his seat, kicking his long legs out. “Crazy, but it works.”

  “Gram always was a bit eccentric, but this is kind of bizarre—and sweet, I guess,” I say a little more quietly. “I suppose I can believe it of her. The entire fishing village was like a family to my grandparents. Even from the grave, she’s protecting and caring for those she considers her people.” A burst of warmth moves through me, and it’s like I can feel her arms around me now, happy that I understand. Then another thought zaps me like an electric current. “I’m back here to sell this place. The house went to my mother, and she wants it gone.”

  Nate sits, scrubs his chin. “All good things eventually come to an end,” he says like it’s no surprise to him. Once again, I can’t help but think he’s had a loss.

  “Maybe I can talk her out of it,” I say, but the words are dry on my tongue. Mom hated everything about Lunenburg. She couldn’t wait to see the fishing village in her rearview mirror. I do a quick mental tally of what I have in my bank account, but I wouldn’t even have enough for a down payment. I’m a graduate student using grant money to work on a theorem.

  “What the hell?” a male voice says as he comes through the back door.

  “That’s Jason,” Nate says when my entire body goes stiff. “He’s like a bull in a china shop and has never learned to use his indoor voice. But he’s a hell of a hard worker and holds the record for oyster shucking.”

  Oyster shucking?

  “Jason,” Nate says. “In the dining room.”

  “Holy shit,” he bellows. “Were you trying to cook dinner or make a sacrificial offering to the gods?” He waves his hand in front of his face as he walks through the threshold, and his head jerks back in surprise when he finds me sitting next to Nate. “Hey,” he says, flashing me a smile.

  “This is Kira,” Nate explains as I take in the man’s fishing attire. Nate changed out of his and is now in a navy suit, but Jason looks like he just stepped off the boat. Although he removed his boots before entering, house rules put in place a long time ago. “She’s—” Nate begins.

  “She’s Gram’s granddaughter,” he says, his eyes wide with a mixture of warmth and concern.

  “Wait, you called her Gram?”

  “Everyone does. Sometimes I’d call her Grammy. She always liked me best,” he says, grinning. “I was her favorite.”

  I take a moment to let that sink in. These big, rough and tumble men called her Gram? How weirdly adorable. My heart tightens a little more. She always wanted grandsons and must have adopted them all as her own.

  “You’re all she ever talked about,” Jason says.

  Ribbons of guilt flow through my veins, and I struggle to fight back the tears. I should have come back more often. I swallow and ask, “You knew her well?”

  Jason rubs the scruff on his face. It’s hard to tell his age with all that hair—most grow a beard this time of year to help keep them warm—but I’m guessing he’s in his early thirties.

  “We go way back.” He grabs a chair, spins it around, and plops himself onto it like we’re about to have a long chat. “I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger. Gram was right—you really are gorgeous.”

  I flush at the unexpected compliment. Maybe the lighting is different on the East coast or something, because I don’t usually get too many compliments. I wonder how they’d act if they found out I was a mathematician. Would they react with blank stares, or go squirrelly and find an excuse to leave? I glance at the scar cutting through Jason’s right eyebrow, and he runs his fingers across it.

  “This?” he says, arching his brow at catching me staring.

  Damn, I didn’t mean to be rude. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—” I tear my gaze away and glance at Nate, who seems to be watching me carefully.

  “Got this in a bar fight defending a woman’s honor,” Jason says, leaning a little closer to me. I steal another glance at him, taking in his cocky smile. I’m not sure I believe him, but I like the way he puts me at ease.

  “All right, Jason.” Nate jerks his head toward the stairs. “Enough lies. The shower’s free. Go make use of it.” Nate turns his attention to me. “He got that when he drank too much rum and thought it would be fun to tightrope-walk on a metal guardrail. He fell and cut his eye open. I took him to the hospital, and he left with fifteen stitches.”

  “Come on, who’re you going to believe?” Jason jerks his thumb toward Nate. “Bridgette’s boy here, or a guy who would stand up and defend your honor in a room full of brawlers.”

  “Bridgette?” I ask. Does Nate have a girlfriend? I glance at his left hand, but the
re is no ring. Though that’s not a sure sign. A ring can be dangerous on the boats, and most fishermen take them off. I guess he could be married. But would he have agreed to dinner with me if he were? I hope not. Then again, is it that big of a deal? He saved my life, and we’re sharing a meal. There is nothing between us. We’re just a man and a woman who live in the same house, eating at the same table.

  “Never mind,” Nate says quickly and fists his right hand, placing his left hand over it to crack his knuckles. I cringe at the sound. “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of Kira, so I suggest you get to that shower sooner rather than later.”

  Jason stands and pushes his chair in, another one of Gram’s quirks. “I take it you didn’t eat? Want me to make us all something?”

  “You guys all cook here?” I ask.

  Nate nods. “Kira and I are going out to the Grand Banker for a bite. There will be plenty of time for you two to talk later.” Nate turns to me. “But I’m warning you. Don’t believe anything he says.”

  I laugh, enjoying the comradery between these two fishermen. They must have some fun out on the boats. Not that I’d ever get to see firsthand. I’m terrified of open waters. It’s an irrational fear, but when I was young, there were so many stories of fishermen lost at sea, it frightened me. Granddad was also a casualty of As el Mar, as he called it. Years later I realized it meant he loved the ocean and knew someday he’d die by it.

  Jason gives Nate a playful punch on the shoulder. “Don’t be jealous that the ladies like me better than you.”

  Nate grins and shakes his head. “He’s full of lies, Kira.”

  I nod, but anyone who calls my late grandmother Gram is probably okay. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner.”

  He shrugs. “It’s your first day in town. I think a lobster feast is in order, don’t you? Let me treat you.”