“I don’t even know how he feels,” I admit, voicing the worry at the back of my mind that I’ve been ignoring. “We haven’t talked about… after. What if this is just a vacation fling to him? What if he does this with all the tourists who come through?”
“Didn’t you say you’re his first tourist?” Heather points out. “His first guided tour ever? Stop borrowing trouble, Rose. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
Before I can argue further, my stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Heather laughs. “And that’s my cue. Go feed yourself – you forgot breakfast again, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I admit sheepishly.
“Classic Rose. Go eat something. And stop overthinking everything!”
I stare at the meager groceries inside my fridge after hanging up, but nothing appeals. Instead of forcing myself to cook, I throw on some real clothes, grab my keys, and head out to explore the town.
The chrome trim of a vintage diner catches my eye – how have I never noticed this place before? Inside, it’s exactly what you’d expect: worn vinyl booths, chrome-edged stools lined up at the counter, and the comforting aroma of coffee and grilled onions hanging in the air.
The BLT and fries I order arrive quickly, and while I take my first bite, my attention is drawn to a striking woman sitting in a booth not far from mine. She’s probably in her mid-thirties, with long black hair and the most incredible green eyes I’ve ever seen. But what really catches my attention is what’s in front of her – a large bowl filled with nothing but eggs. Hard-boiled eggs, I realize, as I watch her pick one up.
My jaw drops as she pops a whole egg into her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing it. Without missing a beat, she reaches for another one, repeating the process as if eating popcorn at a movie theater. I try not to stare, but I can’t help myself – I’ve never seen anyone eat eggs like that. A giggle escapes me as I imagine the terrible gas she will have later. The poor woman’s family won’t be able to be in the same room as her.
I’m so distracted by this peculiar sight that I nearly knock over my soda when someone slides into the booth across from me. I look up to find Koko, looking somehow both ethereal and entirely at home in the dated diner.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, her voice carrying that musical quality I remember. “I just wanted to check in and seehow you’re enjoying the houseboat and the vacation package. I hope Levi’s been treating you right.”
Something in her eyes suggests she’s probing for more than just a review of the accommodations. After that sunset sail and how I kissed Levi right in front of Captain Orin, she could be fishing for gossip – but no, Koko doesn’t strike me as someone who’d care about tourist romance stories.
Something shifts, and suddenly I feel like I’m seeing her with new eyes. Her features have an agelessness, and something in her bearing reminds me of Martha from the oyster farm – that same sense of being anchored to this place, as if she’s grown from its very soil.
“Everything’s been wonderful,” I say carefully. “Better than I could have imagined.”
Koko’s smile deepens, knowing and mysterious. “Lublin Harbor has a way of giving people exactly what they need, even if it’s not what they thought they were looking for.”
Her words stir something in my chest – that same feeling I get when I’m near the kraken, that sense of something larger than myself, something ancient and powerful just beneath the surface of the ordinary world. I think about Levi, about the kraken, about all the wonderful things I’ve experienced since I arrived here.
“Yes,” I agree softly. “I’m discovering that.”
Koko flags down a server and orders a cup of tea. I notice how the waitress straightens up as she approaches, treating Koko with a deference that seems out of place in the casual diner setting. There’s something different about the mayor, something that commands respect without demanding it. When I first arrived, I found it odd that a bakery owner was the town mayor, but I understand now. Koko commands respect without even trying.
“The storms can be fierce here,” Koko says after the waitress leaves, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Especially the sudden storms that sweep in during summer. There was a terrible one just the other day – I hope it didn’t affect you. The wind and hail destroyed several canvas umbrellas over my bakery’s outdoor tables.”
My hand unconsciously moves to where I’d bumped my head, but I catch myself and make it look like I’m just tucking some hair behind my ear. “Oh, I took cover during the storm and was perfectly safe,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Though I was surprised by how it seemed to come out of nowhere.”
“Ah yes, that one was… unusual,” Koko says. “Normally, we have more warning. If you ever notice the sky darkening quickly, make sure you seek shelter right away. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our guests.”
“I will,” I reply. “Although I have felt very safe and welcomed here since I arrived.”
“That’s what we strive for,” Koko says, accepting her tea from the returning waitress. “Lublin Harbor prides itself on being welcoming to everyone… to all kinds of people.” Something in the way she emphasizes ‘all kinds’ makes me think she’s talking about the town’s acceptance of anyone who might be considered different. Given the array of unique characters I’ve met – from gruff but warm Martha at the oyster farm to the eclectic mix of locals at the marina – I believe her. I’ve also noticed pride flags proudly displayed in several shops’ windows. However, my mind drifts to my kraken, and I wonder if that acceptance extends beyond just the human residents of this peculiar town. “This town has a way of watching over those who find their way here,” Koko adds, and I find myself nodding.
“You’re an artist,” Koko says, not really a question. When I look at her in surprise, she gestures to my hands. “You have smudges on your fingers.”
I glance down at my hands, remembering my morning’s attempts at capturing the harbor. “Yes, though I wasn’t very successful today. Everything I tried to draw came out wrong. Except…” I trail off, thinking of the kraken sketch that had flowed so easily from my pencil. Something about Koko’s presence is so warm and welcoming that I almost forget myself, the words about my mysterious savior right on the tip of my tongue. But then I catch myself – this isn’t my secret to tell. No matter how safe Koko makes me feel and how welcoming she says her town is, the kraken trusted me with something extraordinary, and I won’t betray that trust.
“Except?” Koko prompts, her eyes twinkling as if she can see the internal struggle playing across my face.
“Just… something else I was working on,” I finish lamely.
“Some things demand to be captured on paper,” she replies. “They speak to our souls in ways that can only be expressed through art.” She takes a sip of her tea. “You should stop by the bakery again before you leave town. You’ve got to try the rogaliki while you’re here. They’re little crescent cookies filled with jam.”
“I will. Thank you,” I say, pushing aside my now-empty plate.
“And Rose?” She stands smoothly, placing a few dollars on the table for her tea. “Sometimes the things we think are impossible are just waiting for us to be ready to accept them.”
