I hop out of the truck and help Cupcake down, hookingher up to her leash and wrapping it around my wrist. Most places downtown are super dog friendly, as is most of the island, but Cupcake’s leash is nonnegotiable because I worry about other dogs more than I worry about her.
The ocean breeze wafts over us as we head to the coffee shop that has the best seasonal coffees I’ve ever tasted. Of course, it’s a small, locally owned place, so if I ever decide to move away, I’ll never find it again. I peer in through the glass to make sure the place is empty, since I don’t want to assume everyone will be fine with Cupcake coming inside.Wait, I recognize that curly head of hair and stocky build.
“Interesting start to the day,” I whisper to Cupcake, who only responds by licking her lips in anticipation of the dog treat the owner, River, keeps behind the counter.
The bell rings over the door as I step inside, and the scent of coffee and pastries fills the air. I love this little coffee shop full of crystals and plants and pastries that make my mouth water. The two men standing chatting at the counter turn to look at me at the same time. River grins widely, but Tucker angles his head away with what appears to be embarrassment flushing his cheeks crimson.
“Hey, Charles! And there’s my real favorite customer.” River leans over the counter and pats Cupcake’s head. With a grin, he disappears behind the counter real quick, then returns with a treat that he lovingly holds out to Cupcake. She scarfs it down with her usual gusto and licks his hand in thanks. “I gotta upgrade my treats for her. She deserves better bones.”
“She has better ones at home, trust me.”
River winks good-naturedly. “I’m sure of it. Charles, this is Tucker. Have you met?”
“We’ve met,” Tucker says sourly while making big eyes at River.
Well. This is a different Tucker than the one I encountered at sunrise. He’s holding a stack of papers in his hand and his blond curls are more disheveled today. My gaze must linger on the papers for too long because he shifts to hide them from me, only making me more curious. River’s gaze flicks between us, and I shrug subtly because I’m not sure what’s up.
“I’m going to get busy canvassing downtown. I’ll see you later.” Tucker leans forward to kiss River’s cheek, then disappears out the door without a backward glance. The kiss seemed friendly enough, but maybe it’s more than that.
“We’re just friends,” River says, effectively squashing my wayward thoughts. He leans forward on the counter, all twinkling doe eyes. “He was just telling me about your run-in.”
“Why did you ask if we met, then?”
“Because I’m a little shit. Anyway, that’s not the point. Tucker is a sweetheart. We’ve been friends since childhood.” River turns around to make my usual order. When he turns back, his smile looks a little more unsure. “He’s been through a lot. You plan to stay in town for a while, yeah?”
This feels like a setup.
I cannot say I’m averse though.
I never spent any time dating during my career and now I’m almost thirty-seven, single, with a bum knee and no direction in life. I don’t really have a lot to offer someone, especially someone as sparkly eyed and beautiful as Tucker.
“I bought a house, so I’m sticking around,” I reply in answer.
River blows a raspberry. “You know the lantern festival is at the end of October. A couple of months away.”
“Okay?”
“Marcia always needs volunteers.”
Marcia, the eighty-year-old woman I’ve become friends with through gossiping about television and learning to knit. How she puts together so many events throughout the year that bring large numbers of people to the island seems almost magical to me. But perhaps there is something magical about this island and the people here.
“Are you volunteering me?”
River winks. “I’m volunteering you. Don’t you need something to fill your time?”
“I need lots of things to fill my time,” I mumble, because it’s true.
River hands over two drinks with a secretive smirk. “Head on over to see Marcia. Give her this decaf mocha.”
I give him a skeptical look, then turn toward the door, but not before pausing at the community corkboard. A new white paper hangs on the board, with tear strips at the bottom, none of them taken yet.
Private guitar lessons by Tucker - call for prices. Ages 5 - 99 (100+ is negotiable).
I can’t help but laugh at the last bit. I reach out to play with one of the strips at the bottom that contains Tucker’s number. When I glance over toward River, he hurriedly looks away and busies himself cleaning behind the counter. Tearing one of the pieces of paper off, I pocket it and scurry out the door before River can give me any more crazy thoughts. A few people pass by outside and wave, so I wave back. I take a clarifying breath before heading toward Marcia’s little storefront to talk to her about the lantern festival.
But I pause halfway down the street to watch Tucker staple one of his flyers to a wooden light pole. He stands back for a moment and stares at it—either in happiness or irritation,I can’t tell from behind—then heads toward the other side of town with obvious intent in his step.
Cupcake and I head into Marcia’s little storefront. She comes out of the back all smiles and curly white hair, her smile growing at the sight of me, and I can’t help but feel a certain brand of special because of that reaction. Although I’m sure she reacts the same way to everyone who comes in to see her.
