I nod. “I was thinking the same. Ronnie’s great, but no need to go there.”
The smell hits us as we sit down at the bar: hot oil, lemon, Old Bay, and the permanent undertone of the ocean.
Johnny’s knee bumps mine as he settles in, and he doesn’t move it. Neither do I.
“Well, hey there, stranger.” Ronnie saunters over, hazel eyes bright, dish towel slung over one tattooed shoulder. She’s maybe thirty-five, bleached hair cut blunt at her chin, the kind of energy that could power the whole boardwalk if you hooked her up to it. “Thought you got swept away by the ocean.”
“Sorry. I’ve been… busy.”
“Clearly.” Ronnie’s eyes go straight to Johnny, assessing him with zero pretense. “I’m Ronnie. You are?”
“Johnny.” He smiles, and I watch Ronnie’s eyebrows lift a fraction when his dimples make an appearance. Yeah. I had the same reaction. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She pulls two menus from under the bar that she knows we won’t look at. “Nat’s been here eight weeks and you’re the first person she’s brought through that door. So.”
“He’s a friend,” I say quickly. “Boat trouble. He’s been staying with me while his boat gets fixed.”
The lie comes out smooth. They always do. I’m my father’s daughter, even when I don’t want to be.
“Boat trouble. Hm.” She holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “The usual?”
“Two of them,” I respond.
She nods and heads behind the bar to put in our order.
Johnny motions toward the jukebox. “I’m going to see if there’s anything worth listening to.”
Ronnie comes back the second he’s out of earshot, leaning across the bartop and dropping her voice.
“Two months and you finally bring someone in. I was starting to worry about you out there alone.”
That lands somewhere soft and unguarded. I’ve spent two months telling myself the solitude is fine, that I’m fine, that being alone in a beach house with no one to talk to except a woman who forgets my name half the time is just how things are. Hearing Ronnie say she worried chips at something I’ve been holding together with discipline and denial.
“I’m fine, Ronnie.”
“I know you’re fine. I’m just saying it’s good to see you with someone.” She glances over at him and her mouth curves. “He’s cute. Little intense, though.” She nods toward the jukebox where Johnny’s standing with his back to the wall, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds. “Reminds me of my ex-husband’s Navy buddies. They never could relax in a room either.”
She says it like it’s nothing, already reaching for a rag to wipe down the bar, already moving on.
But I look over at Johnny. She’s right. He’s flipping through songs, but nothing about him is relaxed. His jaw is set and his shoulders are tight, coiled, like he’s ready for something to go wrong.
Ice prickles across the back of my neck.
I shove it down. It probably means nothing. People carry themselves all kinds of ways for all kinds of reasons.
“He’s just a friend,” I say.
“Mm.” The look Ronnie gives me is the one she reserves for things she doesn’t believe but isn’t going to push. “Well, bring your friend back. I like the company.”
She squeezes my hand and goes to check on another customer. Johnny slides back onto the barstool beside me, and I feel the warmth of him across the two inches of air between us. He’s smiling, but his shoulders haven’t loosened.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Slightly better selection than I expected,” he says, nodding back toward the jukebox. “Emphasis on slightly.”
Before I can respond, Ronnie slides two baskets of fish and chips across the bar. She watches Johnny take his first bite.
“Well?”
