I grinned. “That’s right. Did you eat a lot growing up?”
“Actually, not really,” she said, taking a sip of her soda. “Money was always tight, especially as new fishing regulations rolled in. They’re to preserve the environment, but make it hard to earn a living. Eating a lot of lobster would cut into profits.” She shrugged. “But my dad always organized a big summer potluck and people would bring lobster rolls and sides and all that.”
There was a wistful smile on her face.
“Did it stop after he died?”
She fidgeted with her napkin, ripping it into even slices. “No. One of my dad’s closest friends, Gunnar, took over organizing it. Actually, he hired me to work on his boat after they passed, which he definitely didn’t have to do. He’s also the one who bought my dad’s boat when I realized I had to sell it.”
She looked out the window. The sky was growing dark and a few drops of rain landed on the glass. “It hurt to be out on the water without my parents. To check buoys that weren’t our colors.” At my questioning expression, she added, “Everyone had buoys in certain colors attached to lobster traps. My family’s buoys have a red, light blue, and dark blue stripe. The colors have been the same for generations.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand, reminded of how privileged I was to have my family, to never have worriedabout money.
“Anyway,” Olive said, shaking off her sadness. “After that one season with Gunnar, I took an online data entry job and pulled away from the community. It felt safer to just be on my own.”
I dragged her chair over to mine, the loud scrape causing a few people to look our way, and lifted her onto my lap.
“Lars,” she hissed. “We’re going to break the chair.”
I grunted. She might have a point. These chairs were flimsy, but I needed her in my arms. “You’re not alone anymore, sweetheart. Never will be again, okay?”
“I mean, I might need alone time at some point,” she mumbled.
I pressed my smile against her hair. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Maybe.”
She huffed, but her body relaxed against mine.
“Ready for more book shopping?”
She perked up at that and wiggled in my lap. “Yes.”
Something was wrong with Olive.We were in a new bookstore—a smaller one this time with new books and fancy displays—but Olive had only picked out two books. I gently pried them from her hand so I could hold them for her.
“Does this store not have a good selection, sweetheart?”
She turned to look at me, her eyes wide as if she’d forgotten I was there. “What?”
“We’ve been in here a while, and you haven’t picked out that many books.”
She fidgeted and looked down at the floor. “Am I being too slow?”
I frowned. “Not at all. This is your day.”
“But it’s not fun for you. Do you want to do something else?”
She was shifting around like she was restless or uncomfortable. I crouched down a bit so I wasn’t looming over her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m not bored. I love seeing you excited about books.”
She chewed her lip. “But these are a lot more expensive.”
I cupped her face. “That doesn’t matter. Get what you want.”
Olive turned back to the shelves and half-heartedly looked at a few more books before putting them back on the shelves. She’d put up a fight when I’d paid for the used books and for lunch, but I wondered if something more was going on. She’d been so happy earlier and now she seemed…shit. Was this one of Olive’s dark moods? Or had I done something to upset her?
I trailed her through the store a bit longer until I caught a hint of her bitter scent breaking through her deodorant. That was it. I couldn’t stand for her to walk around upset.
I put my hand on her lower back, gently rubbing. “Are you okay?”
“I think I want to go home.”
