Trish laughs. "We'll teach him." The door to the diner opens behind us, and Trish waves them inside before turning around to grab for more pre filled cups of hot chocolate.
"Good morning, Pete,” I say as Spencer and I walk out the door.
He raises his hand in a wave but quickly pulls it down again when it starts to shake on its own. Pete used to own the bait and tackle shop until the symptoms of his advanced alcoholism continued to worsen. He passed the shop on and now makes up part of the town’s retiree population.
Spencer grabs my hand, taking my thoughts away from Pete. Our covered fingers intertwine, and even in the brisk December chill, my insides are warm—and if I'm honest, a little gushy. I like that Spencer is a hand-holder. It's a simple gesture I've never taken time to consider before, but it's one that instantly makes me feel safe and secure. And maybe a little loved.
"This is just the cutest dog in the whole world." Pearl, Pelican Bay's resident hippie, bends down, scratching Frankie behind her ears.
Frankie stills immediately and sets her butt on the cold sidewalk. She leans her head to the left, giving Pearl more area to scratch, while her tail wags a steady beat next to my feet.
"How big do you think she’s going to get?" Pearl asks, switching to Frankie's other side.
Spencer's face pinches. "Let's hope not much."
Frankie turns and looks at him with squinted dog eyes from enjoying Pearl's petting, but it's enough to make you think she understood what Spencer said.
"Look at her paws. She's going to be big. I hope you have a nice huge backyard for her." Pearl looks to Spencer.
"Um…well," he hems and haws. I've never seen him look flustered before, but Pearl can bring the best of us to heel.
"She loves my backyard. Chases squirrels all day long."
My answer seems to appease Pearl. She stops petting Frankie long enough to fix a stray grey hair from her long braid. "That's good. You chase those nasty, little squirrels. Yes, you do," her voice softens, and she uses baby talk with Frankie, who eats up the attention.
Pearl stands and steps away, tugging at the bottom of her pea coat. Frankie's head follows her hands as they leave the spot behind her ears, but her dejection doesn't last long. She stands, her tail wagging back and forth, tongue lobbed off the side of her mouth, looking for the next person who will stop and give her attention.
She finds a new target in a matter of moments.
A short, balding man scurries by us with his face tucked deeply into the collar of his trench coat. He's no one I recognize, but the holiday celebration is the largest in the county, and it often drawls in people from surrounding areas.
Frankie barks. The loud sound startles the man and he misses a step. Frankie uses his trip as her opportunity to jump on him, her thick paws hitting him directly in the chest. The man takes a step back, tightening his trench coat.
He glowers down at her. "Stupid dog. Keep that mutt away from people," he mumbles, continuing on in his direction.
"Bad dog, Frankie." Spencer points a finger at Frankie but gives me a look like it’s somehow my fault. "Who was that?"
I shrug. "I don’t know. Probably someone from Whitecap." They're always coming over here to enjoy our city events while never hosting any of their own. I try not to give Whitecap assholes much brain space.
I’m a few steps ahead of Spencer before I realize he hasn’t moved. He steps to the side and pulls out his phone, jabbing at the keypad for a moment. Then, without another word, he turns the screen off and slips it back into his pocket. Men.
The crowd of people taking up room on the sidewalks of Main Street continues to grow as it gets closer and closer to parade time. I'm forced to stop and step around a group of teenagers huddled together on the corner before we make it to Anessa’s bakery door.
The bakery is bustling with activity. Every chair and couch is filled with a body, and those unable to get seats mill about the room, talking with people they know. And in Pelican Bay, everybody knows everybody. A line has formed at the start of the door, so Spencer and I quickly grab a spot at the back.
A few minutes pass as we slowly inch our way to the front. It appears people are ordering more food than the free cookies the city council’s paid for. Anessa must be happy with the increased business.
We’re halfway through the line when Anessa, the bubbly brunette, looks up and spots Spencer and me together. She hands over a small paper bag to an out-of-town customer and waves.
It isn't until we’re three people closer in the line that she shouts above the noise. "Aren’t you two adorable?"
I smile automatically and hope my cheeks were already red from the heat of the bakery rather than the attention.
Spencer doesn't have the same problem. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight. “Right? I plan to keep her if she’ll let me.”
"And who would say no to having her own hot Marine taking up space in her house? I've got my own in the back, plating cookies."
Bennett peaks his head out from a swinging bakery door. "He's a SEAL, too. Andyourhot SEAL heard you say Spencer was hot."
