My mouth pops open. How could that be possible? We have the best oysters in the world right in our backyard. One of Mal’sfriends, Lynelle, literally ships her catches to restaurants all around the world—they’re so popular they’re global.
As I’m letting my brain catch up to what he said, a server approaches our table. She has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, a baby-blue shirt that’s cut way too low in the front, and a smile that saysNotice me.
"Can I help you pick something from the menu?" She directs her question to Max, as if I’m not standing here.Rude!
"Sure. We’d like to do the sampler. Please don’t shuck them ahead of time. I can do it." The woman’s green eyes meet mine. "I’ll take crackers, lemon, and hot sauce too, please."
Her gaze tracks Max’s, probably waiting to see if he agrees. But when he dips his chin slightly, she scurries away.
While we wait, Max steals a couple of stools from a group that’s leaving, and I walk to the next tent over to grab some drinks. Returning with a glass of white wine for me and a beer for Max, I’m not surprised to find the server leaning a little too close to him while she places a tray filled with ice and six oysters in the center of the table.
"That was quick," he says, grabbing my wine and placing it on the table before linking our fingers. Goosebumps race up my arm at the feel of his calloused hand in mine—at the way they look together, his strong and mine dainty. "Celeste was just asking if we need help, babe." His eyes widen, a plea for me to go along with it.
"Oh, how kind, Celeste? We don’t need help, but thank you." I slide onto the stool next to him, forcing my face into a smile, andCelestesaunters away. "Babe? Really, Max?" I whisper.
He runs a hand through his thick hair, scratching his neck slightly. "Sorry, she was making it weird. But that’s what friends do, right?"
"Friends pretend to be your date to hold off the treasure trove of women that throw themselves at you?" I smother the amusedlaugh threatening to break free. "Do you and Howie hold hands often? To chase off unwanted advances?"
"Nah. We usually just do it because we want to." Max smirks, and a laugh bubbles out of me. "The guy has shockingly soft hands."
"Wait! He really does. I don’t know how he does it." And now I’m sort of jealous of my cousin holding hands with Max.What is happening to me?
Max takes the lager I forgot I was still holding from my hand and gulps down a big glug. "God, that hits so hard after the day I’ve had." He sips it again, less ravenously this time. "So, how do we do this?"
I follow suit, sipping my wine. "Well, you’ve really never done this?"
He shakes his head no.
"Okay, I’ll walk you through it." I reach out, wrapping my fingers around the wooden-handled shucking knife. "There are a couple of ways to do this, but I prefer to use the lollipop method."
"Why’s it called that?" Max carefully examines everything on our table.
"You’ll see. Okay, first, this is called a shucking knife." I hold it up so he can get a good look. "I’m going to insert it here at the shell hinge."
Max picks up an oyster and points to the spot that I’m pushing the knife into.
"You want to make sure it’s really in, even if you have to wiggle it, just keep going."
Max laughs. "That’s what she said."
"What? Who said?"
He shakes his head, laughter still rolling through him. "Nevermind."
I get my knife into the shell deep enough and hold it up in front of us. "See… lollipop method, because it looks like one. Now, we hold it here—typically with gloves on for safety—and wiggle it back and forth until the shells separate at the hinge." I follow my own instructions: popping the top shell off and running the knife under the muscle to detach it.
"Wait, what did you just do?" Max points at the oyster.
"It’s attached, and if you don’t run the knife through there, you can’t slurp it down." Reaching across the table, I grab the toppings. "Do you think you’re a hot sauce guy or a lemon juice guy?"
"Hot sauce? I like things spicy." Max winks, and I feel my cheeks heat.
"Oh boy, okay." I add a few dashes to the shell and hand it over to him. "Down the hatch."
His face twists, apprehension clearly etched on his features. "Do I chew it? Or—"
Placing my hand on his forearm, I squeeze lightly. "You can if you want. You've got this. It’s good, I promise."
