He would have remembered.
He would have remembered how this felt.
“So,” Fray went on, “a meeting? Want me to call the boys in?”
Ciaran shook his head to clear it, bringing his mind back into focus. He met Fray’s eyes, but not for long. He didn’t want him to see what he was struggling to hide. “Not yet. Let me see what I can find out first.”
“Okay.” Fray was unfazed, as he was with most things. He was also completely oblivious to the shift Ciaran felt just moments ago. “Tobin must have spoken to him in the boat on the drive down. Got his name from the manifest, at least.”
Ciaran looked over at the boat to see Tobin was now standing there, leaning against the wheelhouse. “You two just gonna stand there looking pretty all day?” he called out. “Or you gonna come help me offload this?”
Fray laughed. “Well, I look pretty all day, no matter where I stand, thank you very much.”
“Then come be pretty over here, carrying shit off my boat.”
Fray snorted, and they traded insults as Fray headed over to the pier. Ciaran got the feeling Tobin was yelling for the sake of appearances because the new cop in town was probably watching them.
Ciaran smirked as he followed Fray over, and Tobin met him with a grin as they went into the enclosed cabin.
“His name’s Douglas Sawyer, cop from Hobart. That’s all I know. I asked him about his fishing gear, what he likes to fish for, and he said something about finally having some time to throw in a line. He asked me if I live in the Cove. I said yes.” Tobin shrugged. “Other than that, he never said a word.”
Ciaran nodded slowly. “Hmm. I might have to go say hello.”
Fray grinned as he picked up the first crate. “The good old Tenebrae Cove welcoming committee. Because that worked out so well last time.”
“The last cop was an idiot,” Ciaran muttered.
Tobin picked up a crate and shoved it into Ciaran’s arms. “This guy’s different,” he said. “The last guy was chatty, said too much. This guy’s older. The silent type, watchful.”
“Great,” Fray said, giving Ciaran a pointed nod. “A moody asshole. Just what this town needs one more of.”
“Hey, Fray,” Ciaran said with a sweet smile. “Fuck off.”
“Dunno, Ciaran,” Tobin said. “In the box he was carrying, there was a coffee machine and an old vinyl record player. He had a few albums stacked to one side. The first one? Bruce Springsteen,Born in the USA.”
Fray shot Ciaran a fantastical grin. “Holy shit. Your favourite. Maybe your luck’s about to change, Ciar. Wonder if he likes dick.”
Ciaran bit back the sigh he desperately wanted to let out. “Hey, Fray,” he said again, his smile not so sweet this time.
“Fuck off,” the three of them said in unison.
Ciaran couldn’t help but laugh... but damn. Bruce Springsteen? On vinyl? Maybe this guy wasn’t as bad as the last one. Ciaran was still trying to forget about his initial reaction to seeing him, the curiosity, the pull he’d felt, and he’d missed whatever joke Fray had aimed at him.
“Sorry, what was that?”
Fray snorted. “You’re picturing listening to Springsteen on vinyl right now, aren’t you?”
Ciaran sighed long and loud that time. “Hey, Fray,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, off I’m fucking,” he replied with a laugh as he carried the crate out.
Tobin and Ciaran followed him, and before too long, they had the boat unloaded, and then they each set about their day.
Tobin would spend the morning working on his boat, cleaning it from top to bottom, logbooks for coastguard purposes, and whatever else he did on it; Ciaran wasn’t entirely sure. He lived in the boathouse down past Fray’s place. He was a quiet guy, mostly. Happy with his own company or a good book.
Fray was the town’s resident mechanic and handyman. His shop was at the end of Bay Road past the jetty, and it was also the refuelling station. It kept a steady pace with passing fishing boats and trawlers, and he kept all the engines in town running.
Not that there were many.
