1
Chloe
I climbout of my car and wave my hand in front of my face as I glance around the parking lot. I hope no one notices the poof of smoke swirling around thanks to the fact that I think my car has started burning oil. I don’t know for sure that’s what it’s doing, but Google says it’s the likely reason for all the smoke. Luckily, no one seems to notice me or the pollution I created. There are only six cars parked in the square gravel lot and a few people walking out of Hawkins Lobster Shack—the weathered, wood-shingled, two-story building just left of the dock that drifts out into the Atlantic—are heading to two of them.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m wearing my best winter coat, which is my only winter coat and is six years old. It’s a simple, camel-colored, wool thing that I hope still looks as classic and professional as it did when I bought it. This is a job interview after all, although I’m assured it’s informal.
“Hello?”
“Hey are you there yet?” My friend Aspen Barlowe asks me.
“I’m just about to head inside.”
“Okay awesome,” Aspen says. “Terra will love you, and you’ll love Terra.”
“I appreciate your confidence and this job lead, even if it seems kind of sketchy,” I reply and laugh a little as I continue toward the front door.
Aspen laughs louder than me. “You are so straight and narrow, Chloe Hale. I am going to loosen you up if it kills me. I promise it’s legit and legal, just complicated. Families always are.”
“Mine wasn’t,” I say and think of the simple, sweet, and drama-free upbringing I had with my parents, may they rest in peace. But then I remember Jackson’s tales of the trials and tribulations with his family and add, “but my husband’s was, so I get it.”
“Okay, so stop worrying and go in there and knock Terra off her tiny little feet with your ideas,” Aspen says in that confident, take-no-prisoners way she tends to talk. I envy it. She’s a force, Aspen Barlowe, like a hurricane or tornado. I’m more of a slight breeze. “Oh man do I miss tiny feet.”
I smile and try not to laugh. I do have sympathy for her. “Still swelling?”
“Yep,” Aspen says. “Hands and feet are like over-inflated balloons. Doc says it’s not uncommon. I hate it.”
“When you get to hold that little munchkin, you’ll forget all about it,” I promise her, like I have any clue. I’ve never had a baby. Never been pregnant. Likely never will be, which is something I refuse to deal with emotionally. “I gotta go. Interview time.”
“Update me afterward,” Aspen replies. “And also, enjoy the eye candy.”
“What?” I say but she’s already hung up.
Did she say eye candy? What eye candy will there be if I’m meeting with Terra, who Aspen described as her ex-bestie turned mortal enemy turned tentative friend who is dating her ex but not baby daddy. Like I said, Aspen is a tornado, which means her personal life is a bit chaotic.
I take a few more steps. My hip screams as I walk, but I force myself not to limp. Winter in Maine is not good for my previously broken bones.
When I reach the front door, I can’t help but notice a white-haired man in one of the Adirondack chairs by the door. He has his hands on the cane between his legs with his head tipped forward. And he’s snoring. Loudly.
“That’s just Mr. Butterfield,” a voice says from behind me and I spin to see a man who isveryeasy on the eyes. He’s broad, with an incredibly tall frame and jet-black hair, sharp, angular cheekbones, and dark, penetrating eyes. He’d look ominous if it wasn’t for the friendly, easy-going smile on his full lips. “He comes in a couple times a week and eats the biggest bowl of clam chowder we offer and a lobster roll platter with extra tail meat, and then he falls into a food coma on the chairs out here. Sometimes at his table, which is worse because the other customers don’t like to eat to the sound of his snoring. They prefer the sound of waves.”
“I don’t know,” I say and find myself smiling back. “I find it quite melodious.”
Tall, handsome stranger’s grin gets bigger. “I’ll let him know when he wakes up. He might just treat you to your own bowl of chowder.”
The man moves past me and reaches to open the door, and that’s when I see the Hawkins Lobster Shack logo on the front of his white t-shirt with the word Staff across his back. He holds open the door and as I step inside, I turn to face him. The eye candy comment Aspen left me with is starting to make sense.
The whole place smells like drawn butter, toasted garlic rolls, and creamy chowder, and my stomach rumbles so loud I think he might be able to hear it. “I’m here to meet with Terra Hawkins.”
His smile grows and takes on a mischievous glimmer. He leans close. “You’re the web designer aren’t you?” he whispers. “Her top secret, secret hire for her secret project.”
“Not that secret if we’re talking about it,” I reply and laugh quietly.
“We can talk freely for now,” he says and glances at the clock above the bar. “I’m Jake Maverick. I don’t even technically work here, just help out when my girl needs me. I’m dating Tink…I mean, Terra.”
Aspen’s ex. Damn. He is finer than fine. This Terra girl is a lucky woman. I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. Chloe Hale.”
One of the servers whizzes by with a tray full of empty bowls and plates. “Mary can you please ask Tinkerbell to come out here?”
