“And a couple of small parties coming up,” she finished. The last thing she needed was those two twisting her words or gossiping. Sabrina might still be irritated about losing the engagement party, and Heather ran a blog, mostly based on gossip. She turned her head toward the group.
After a minute, the conversation veered toward work, kids and Lainey’s next project. They leaned back in their seats, pleasantly full and relaxed.
Eventually, Mia pushed her plate aside. The words farmers’ market and undercutting drifted over, followed by a low laugh.
“I’m just going to say hi to some people I know,” she said.
She stood and walked over to their table. Heather noticed first and paused mid-sentence. “Hey Mia. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Looks like we had the same idea for lunch,” Mia replied. “Hope you’re enjoying it.”
Sabrina nodded. “Food’s great.”
“Yes. It is.” They talked a minute more, then Mia excused herself. “Well, have a nice afternoon.”
She turned away, her pulse ticking a little faster. Maybe they hadn’t been talking about her at all. Maybe she was imagining it. Or maybe she’d walked right in the middle of something she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Either way, the unease didn’t go away as she slipped back into her seat.
CHAPTER 11
Friday night,as the sky turned salmon and gray and the moon was just peeking out over the horizon, Caleb headed toward the outskirts of Haywood Lake, the radio cranking out oldies while he tapped the beat on the steering wheel. He was meeting several of the guys for drinks and dinner at the Rusty Anchor Tavern. Apparently it was far enough off the beaten path that the pavement ran out a half mile back. The place sat near an abandoned marina, a place he hadn’t known existed until now.
He pulled up beside a weather-beaten dock. The lot was full, although that wasn’t saying much since it was fairly small. There were a handful of trucks, a couple of battered Jeeps, a vintage Chevy that’d been restored to its former glory, plus a couple of mud-splattered Harleys side by side.
The tavern was a squat, low-roofed building with cedar siding faded from the sun and time. Light spilled from the windows, creating uneven shadows across the parking lot. A rusted tin sign that read The Rusty Anchor hung outside double wooden doors, its paint faded and the anchor graphic chipped. The whole place gave off a vibe that you could either let down your hair or be smart enough to keep your wits about you.
Caleb stepped inside and glanced around. The walls were paneled in faded knotty pine, something he hadn’t seen for a long while. A row of mismatched barstools hugged a dented copper-topped bar, every one occupied. Heads turned when he walked in, then everyone went back to drinking. The place smelled of fried fish, cedar smoke, and cold beer. High-top tables filled the middle of the floor; booths lined the sides.
He spotted Titus, Finn, and Ford in a corner. And surprise, surprise, Nate Kinney had decided to grace them with his presence. Nate had been tied up on a long-term security detail that had just finished. Caleb barely knew the man even though they both had a cabin on the Brotherhood campus. He ordered a beer and headed over.
Titus lifted a hand. “About time. We thought you got lost.”
Caleb slid into the booth. “Didn’t realize we were going off-grid to get dinner.”
“Classy, isn’t it?” Ford said, grinning.
Caleb glanced around. “That’s one way to describe it. Although it’s got that old Florida vibe going.” He smirked. “Really old Florida.”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, it does. But Owen keeps the place tight. You cause a fight, you’re out.”
“Owen?” Caleb asked.
“Owner, Owen Fletcher,” Nate replied. “I’ve stopped in a few times after running training sessions near the creek.”
Titus arched a brow. “You making friends?”
“Hey. I have friends.” Nate shot him a look. “I said I know him. Didn’t say anything about singing ‘Kumbaya’ while braiding friendship bracelets.”
The guys chuckled. Caleb grabbed a menu. “Well, if you trust him, that’s good enough. Although I’d hate to arm-wrestle some of the guys here.”
“Ass,” Nate said, shaking his head. “Food’s solid. Beer’s cold. And nobody bothers anybody.”
Caleb leaned back. “Works for me.” He was just about to ask what was good on the menu when a voice cut in.
“Evenin’, gentlemen. You ready to order?”
He glanced up and nearly did a double take. The server standing beside their table was young, red-haired with freckles, pretty enough to stop traffic, but she moved like someone was going to jump out at her. Her blue eyes were sharp, clocking each of their features.
