Seventeen years later
The smell smacks me in the face, and out of nowhere memories of my childhood come flooding back. Like an old-fashioned movie reel, pictures of the marshes, the beach, my mama and daddy flash through my mind. The crippling sadness and pain that I’d expected doesn’t overwhelm me though. No, the warmth that blooms in my chest is foreign to me, a feeling that I hadn’t experienced in years.
Rolling the window down, I inhale deeply, letting the smell of the pluff mud invade all my senses. It was a lifetime ago that I’d last smelled the scent of decaying leaves and salt water, but the moment it registers in my brain, I know I’m home.
I crank the radio up even louder and belt out the lyrics to my favorite Journey song as I cross over the bridge that announces I’m in Beaufort County. As the wind whips my long, auburn hair across my face, I look out over the marsh, and an egret soaring low over the water catches my attention.
I’m lost in the memories of my childhood, the happy times, when the music cuts out and is replaced by the ringing of my cell phone.
I groan at the name that appears on the screen and then accept the call. “You’re ruining the best part of the song.”
Deep laughter that rivals the rumble of the engine of my sports car comes through my speakers. “Well, hello to you, too, Grace.”
A small smile plays on my lips, and even though he’s not here to see it, I press my lips together to suppress it. “What do you want, Riley?”
“Just checkin’ in.”
“I just crossed into the county,” I tell him. Taking another deep breath in, I ask, “You ever smelled the marshes down here?”
“Once, when I was a kid. Thought I would puke it smelled so bad.”
I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t smell bad. It’s just an acquired…smell, is all.”
His disdain for the smell I’m so fond of triggers a memory.
“This will be good for us, Gracie. We’ll have a fresh start. And for the first time in our life we won’t have to smell that terrible smell every time we walk outside.”
“But I like the way it smells, Mama.”
“Don’t be silly, baby. No one likes the smell of the marshes.”
You’re wrong, I thought to myself, but not wanting to upset her, conceded. “Okay, Mama.”
“Grace? You still there?” His deep voice cuts into my thoughts. I shake my head, trying to clear the memory from my mind, the ache from my chest.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“So, how much longer till you get there?” he asks, and I can hear his office chair squeaking across the line.
“Not too much longer.” The sunshine makes it impossible to remain sad, and the contentment returns. “But it’s beautiful here today. I think I’ll stop and grab a bite to eat on the water somewhere.”
Something buzzes across the line. “Oh, hey, sorry, it’s a client, I need to get that. Let me know when you get settled.”
“I’m a big girl, you know. You don’t need to keep checking in on me,” I argue.
He sighs loudly. “Just let me know when you get there, okay, Grace?”
Arguing with him would be a waste of breath, so I relent. “Fine.”
Without another word, he disconnects the call and Steve Perry’s voice resumes right where it left off, declaring that he’ll always be mine, faithfully.
Twenty minutes later, I pull my car into a public parking space on Bay Street. Slowly, I push out of the car, stretching my legs for the first time in almost three hours, and gaze out over the Beaufort River, the water sparkling under the bright sun.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and begin walking along the waterfront in search of a place to have lunch that has outdoor seating. The combination of warm sun and cool breeze is too nice to waste sitting inside.
I spy a cute place in the center of the shops and restaurants. The sign announces it has fresh local seafood, so I make my way up the stairs and settle on a bar stool, dropping my purse in the empty seat beside me. It’s not outdoors, but it’s got a great view of the water through the large glass windows that cover an entire wall, and they’re open, offering an amazing cross breeze.
“Can I get ya something to drink?”
Not bothering to look away from the boats that seem to glide across the water, I mumble, “Just a water, no lemon, extra ice.”
I’m lost in a memory of my first boat ride, the thrill of flying across the ocean, the boat jumping over waves as my mama held me tightly and my daddy navigated, a beer in one hand. The memory should have been a pleasant one, something to hold on to and cherish, but instead it does nothing more than cause my heart to squeeze in pain.
My eyes well with tears, but I swallow hard and, forcing the moisture back, refuse to give in to the pain of the past.
“You sure you don’t want a cosmo? A martini that I’ll probably make incorrectly?”
Sarcasm drips from his voice as he plunks a glass of water on the bar in front of me, the liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass. I jump back to avoid being sprayed by the liquid. There’s barely any ice at all, and I cut my eyes to the man in front of me, irritated that he’d obviously not listened to my request.
“I’m sorry,” I tell his back. “I was lost in thought. That was rude of me.”
Kill him with kindness.
His broad shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t respond, so I continue rambling.
“Really, I have better manners than that.” I force a stiff laugh and push my sunglasses to the top of my head.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, his bicep flexing, and sighs. Turning to face me, he freezes, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before giving a quick shake of his head. When his gaze meets mine, I suck in a breath and hold it as he pins me with a dark stare. My irritation melts away as I study his face, the troubled look in his eyes reminding me that we all have our demons.
His jawline is sharp, something the stubble fails to conceal, and I can’t help but notice that his bottom lip is ever so slightly fuller than his top lip.
My heart pounds as I meet his bright blue eyes, a sharp contrast to his dark hair, and match his intense gaze.
He hasn’t so much as blinked, his eyes stormy, brooding. A scar cuts through one of his eyebrows and I’m intrigued to know how he got it.
His face is as hard as his body, and I squirm under his appraisal.
I scramble for the right thing to say, but fail to come up with anything, telling him lamely, “I really am sorry.”
He lifts a shoulder, but his demeanor doesn’t change. “No worries. Can I get you a menu?”
“Uh, sure. That’d be great.”
He slides a laminated piece of paper across the bar. “I’ll check back on you in a minute.”
I watch him stalk away, miffed.
I glance down and try to see myself through his eyes.
My makeup is pristine, something it always is if I’m awake, my hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. A vintage pearl necklace hangs loosely at my throat. Red-soled heels, which he probably couldn’t see, finish off the tailored suit I’m wearing.
Groaning, I realize I do look like I should be ordering a frilly drink.
If only he knew the truth.
“So, what can I get ya?” he asks, propping a hip against the bar. He’s drying his hands with a bar towel, and my gaze lands on his tattooed forearms. I study the images, curious as to what they represent.
The sound of him clearing his throat pulls me out of my trance, my cheeks pink from the embarrassment of being caught staring at him.
I hold up the plastic paper. “Uh, I didn’t even look at the menu.”
He raises his eyebrows, clearly unamused.
“What do you like?” I ask, once again trying to lighten the mood, hoping that he’ll finally accept my apology.
I’m not sure why I even care what he thinks of me. I didn’t move here to make new friends, I have plenty back home.
This is home for now.
He tilts his head to one side and his eyes roam my body, studying me carefully. I try to sit up straighter, hoping that he doesn’t notice, but he smirks, and knowing I’ve been caught I let my shoulders slump.
His sharp burst of laughter catches me off guard and I jump.
His lips still tipped up, he tells me, “I’m a fried fish platter kind of guy. With a tall glass of our local IPA.” He pauses, and his eyes roam my face once again. “But you look like a shrimp pasta with a glass of white wine kind of girl?”
My cheeks heat under his appraisal of me, and I shake my head. “Why couldn’t I like fried fish, too?”
He smirks. “Not sure I’ve ever worn pearls to The Crab Shack.”
I press my lips together. He’s got a point. It’s just not accurate. I grab the glass of nearly tepid water from the bar and take a sip through the straw, making a point to maintain eye contact with him the entire time. Lifting a shoulder, I tell him, “I don’t see why not. They’d really complete your outfit.”
His face splits into a grin and my belly flips. He’s handsome pissed off, but that grin makes him ten times more attractive. He glances down at his shirt, and then his eyes come back to me. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He swallows and I’m entranced by the way the muscles in his neck work. “So, you gonna order?”
I nod. “I’ll take the shrimp pasta.”
“Good choice. Glass of wine?”
I pick up my water glass. “Water’s fine. I don’t drink.”
His eyes widen. “You don’t drink?”
“Nope. Not a drop.”
He looks around the nearly empty patio and then back to me. “You don’t drink, but you decided to sit your fancy ass at my bar?”
Unsure if I should thank him for the compliment or be irritated by the obvious judgment, I wave my hand at the waterfront to our left. “I wanted the view.”
He glances to the side, then nods and asks dryly, “Not from around here, huh?”
I press my lips tightly together and cut my eyes away, shaking my head.
My Nana’s face flashes in my mind, her look of disapproval at my lie still able to make me squirm even when she’s not around. “You?”
He gives a quick nod of his head, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “Born and bred.” His face registers disgust. “It’s like a different world around here.”
I want to ask about his obvious disdain, but don’t. “At least this world has beautiful views.”
He shakes his head as he mutters, “Definitely come from different worlds.”
“What was that?” I ask.
A young couple take a couple of seats at the end of the bar and he pulls the towel from his shoulder.
“I’ll get your pasta order in. Enjoy your view.” He smiles this time, not wide, but enough that it lightens his dark features and my breath catches. “Name’s Bronn. Holler at me if you need anything.”
I watch as he makes his way down to the guests and lament the fact that I won’t be enjoying the view of the water like I’d hoped. Instead, I’ll be spending the rest of my lunch trying not to get caught ogling the bartender.