“Mom,” she whispered, low so only Skye could hear.
“Barb’s giving me the family discount,” Skye said with a wink.
The woman nodded. “Now go get a table in the bar. I’ll be there in half an hour, tops.”
As they walked out of the store, Ocean glanced at her mother. “We’re going to a bar?”
“A restaurant. It’s right around the corner on the wharf. Barb’s going to meet us there. Is that okay?”
“That’s great. I’m starving,” Ocean said. She was actually glad. Her mom having someone to connect with meant maybe—just maybe—Skye would want to stay longer in town. The more of that she did, the better.
They dropped the dress in the car and walked the block toward the harbor. The restaurant looked like it had been lifted right off a postcard and plunked on this wharf. Weathered shingles, white trim, a striped awning fluttering in the breeze. Lobster traps and coiled ropes decorated the outside like props in a movie set, and from the porch you could see the masts of boats rocking in the slips. Definitely New England, down to the shimmery water, salty air, and gulls circling overhead.
Inside, the place felt cozy but worn, as if it had a million stories trapped in the walls. The wooden floors were scuffed from years of boots, the kind of scuffs you didn’t see in the shiny chain restaurants back home. Brass rails along the bar gleamed where countless elbows had polished them smooth, proof that people actually hung out here instead of just posting about it. Sunlight slanted in through the big harbor-facing windows, bouncing off glassware and giving everything a soft golden glow.
A handful of people lingered over plates piled with fries and lobster rolls that made Ocean’s stomach growl. Half the seats at the bar were already taken. Locals, she guessed. They all seemed comfortable, like this was their spot, the kind of place you claimed as yours.
To Ocean, it felt different from anywhere she’d been in California. No giant TVs blaring sports, no trendy décor designed for Instagram, no one pretending not to see each other. Just a bar, a harbor view, and people who looked like they’d known each other forever.
As Ocean scanned the room for an empty table, she caught it—the sudden change in her mom’s face.
Her eyes were locked on someone. Following her gaze, Ocean spotted the bartender. And he was staring at Skye.
Ocean knew exactly who he was. She’d seen the pictures of him when she and Jo flipped through the old albums.
Caleb Reed with that easy smile, Skye clinging to his arm like some prom-night princess. He was older now, sure, but in that rugged, weathered way that made him look like a movie cowboy. Still unmistakable.
Skye’s high school boyfriend.
Ocean’s lips tugged upward. Oh, this just got good. Very good.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Skye
* * *
Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. At my age, there was no excuse for feeling like a jittery teenager again, heart stuttering at the sight of a man I used to crush on nearly thirty years ago. In that moment all I managed was a quick raise of my hand, a tiny wave that felt ridiculous the second it left me.
I hadn’t known Caleb worked here. I hadn’t even known he was back in Harbor View. Last time I’d checked…yes, I’d actually looked him up online…he’d been living in Boston. A lawyer. Married. A life far away from the village.
I steered Ocean toward the table furthest from the bar, settling with my back to him. Out of sight, out of mind. Or at least, that was the hope.
Maybe meeting Barb here had been a mistake. The thought wormed its way in. Had she picked this place on purpose? She knew about Caleb and me. Those clumsy high school years that still, somehow, had the power to make my stomach flip.
I shook the idea off almost as quickly as it came. Paranoid much, Skye? This was the closest restaurant to her shop. Convenience, nothing more.
“Who’s the guy staring at you? The one you were totally eyeing?”
Ocean didn’t even bother to look up from the menu when she asked the questions, but the little sparkle tugging at her lips told me she’d noticed more than I wanted her to.
“What guy?” I asked, too quickly, and immediately hated how defensive I sounded.
“You’re blushing, Mom.” She smiled. “The good-looking old guy behind the bar? He’s still eyeing you, by the way.”
I opened my mouth, searching for a denial that would sound convincing, but the server arrived just in time to rescue me, pen poised for our drink order. I latched onto the interruption like it was a life raft.
Once he walked away, Ocean leaned across the table. “Is it okay to order a lobster roll? There’s no price on the menu. I totally get it if it’s out of our budget.”
