Fresh Catch Read online

  Nodding, I walked with him to an open booth. We sat facing each other, his hand over mine, and debated beers.

  "I want to try the shandy," he said, his brows furrowed in thought as he studied the menu.

  "Please don't," I replied. "It's not right to mix beer with lemonade. It's a crime against reason."

  "But I don't like hoppy beers," he argued. "The ones you drink, they're like liquid pinecone."

  Absently, he ran his thumb over his bottom lip. I wanted to jump across the table and do the same, if for no other reason than I hadn't felt that lip in the past half hour.

  "Then try a Belgian wheat. If you're nice, JJ will throw a slice of orange in there for you," I said. "It will taste the same if you close your eyes."

  Cole glanced at me, his lips quirking up into a smirk. "Are we still talking about beer?"

  I barked out a laugh. "Mostly," I replied. "The same could be said for balls."

  "That is false." He pointed at the menu, a silent command to focus on my ale of choice rather than his mouth.

  "All right," I said after the waitress took our drink orders. A Juliet Imperial Stout for me, a Night Swim'ah for him. "Let's date night the shit out of this."

  "Do you come here often?" Cole asked, fighting a grin. He couldn't manage a straight face. He winked and God help me, it unleashed a rush of butterflies in my belly. I was in it deep with this man. "Forget that. Tell me about yourself, Bartlett. Tell me things you've never told me before. All the things we skipped. The basics. What d'you do for fun?"

  I held out my hands and then let them fall. "Reading. I like books, but you already know that."

  "But I don't know why you like it," he said. "Start there."

  "I blew off school when I was a kid but now I wish I'd paid more attention," I said. "If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have pissed away my time."

  "We're never given things when we want them," Cole said. "It's the universe's way of fucking with us."

  "Something like that," I said, laughing.

  Cole reached for his beer, asking, "When was the last time you took a vacation? I can't imagine lobstermen observe traditional holidays. The lobsters don't give a fuck whether it's Christmas or Columbus Day, right?"

  "It can be challenging, yeah. But I got away a couple of months ago," I replied. "I sail down to Provincetown—that's in Massachusetts, on the far end of Cape Cod—every year for Pride. The past few years, I've rented a house with a bunch of guys. It's always a good time in P-Town. Parades, events, shows. It's a trip I never miss."

  "Why? What makes it important?" Cole asked.

  "It's like coming home, but instead of parents and siblings, it's people who welcome and accept you in the most thorough way. And you've slept with most of them at one point or another." I ran my knuckles over my jaw as I watched him take in this information. The hard set of his jaw and thin line of his lips told me he wasn't a fan of my past exploits. "Have you ever been to Pride?"

  He blew out a breath, his expression turning pensive. "No, I haven't." He reached for his glass but didn't drink. "I've never known how I'd fit in. If I'd fit in."

  "Trust me, you and your slim-fit polo shirts will fit right in," I replied, laughing. "Maybe…you could come with me next June. We could go together."

  "Yeah. Maybe," he said, bobbing his head slowly. "These friends of yours—the ones you've slept with—would we stay with them? Is that what we'd do? A bunch of us in a house? Musical beds, perhaps?"

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "Is that your way of asking whether I'd share you?"

  Cole lifted a shoulder while he drew lines in the condensation on his glass. "I'm just trying to understand how it goes," he replied.

  "No, it wouldn't be like that," I said, dead serious. "If we bunked with my buddies, I'd bite your neck and piss a circle around you to make my intentions clear. Hell, I'd do that regardless of where we stayed. Your fine ass wouldn't leave my sight."

  His cheeks flushed red, and I liked that. He bit his lip to hold back a smile, but it didn't work. I took his hand in mine just to feel an ounce of that electricity.

  "All right. Good to know," he said. "Aside from that celebration, do you get away from the Cove much?"

  "I take long weekends when I can," I said. "It seems like I'm always going to weddings. Back before marriage equality was passed nationwide, it was legal in Massachusetts. Many of my friends went there to get married, so I was always sailing down to the Cape." I glanced down, suddenly feeling shy. "I did the internet minister thing a couple of years ago. I've officiated for some of my friends. A few people in town, too."

  Cole blinked at me, silent for longer than comfortable in this type of conversation. "That's—that's amazing," he replied.

  "You really think so?"

  "Yes," he said, slapping both hands on the table. "I want to hear all about this. How did you start?"

  I rubbed my neck, thinking back. "It all started when some friends from Portland were planning their wedding and they couldn't find an officiant they liked. They wanted someone who knew them and actually gave a shit about them taking this step in their relationship. For reasons I still don't understand, they decided I was the guy for the job."

  "And you kept going?" Cole asked. "After that wedding, you kept officiating?"

  "Pretty much," I said. "I didn't set out with the intention of starting a side hustle in the wedding business, but I'm happy to take part in these special days."

  He shifted, leaning out of the booth and peering around the tavern. "I want to know who you've married here," he said. "You've got me hooked on townie gossip."

  I held out my hand, ticking off each couple on my fingers. "The harbormaster and his wife. It was the second marriage for both of them. If you believe the rumors, they filed for divorce because they were cheating on their partners with each other. Now," I said, pausing, "I can't tell you whether those rumors are true but I know they got together right after their divorces, and they were engaged a month later."

  "Huh," Cole murmured. "He's a nice guy. I haven't met the wife."

  "She's a physician's assistant a few towns south of here." I held up another finger. "The couple that runs the inn. They bought the old motel about eight, maybe nine years ago, and fixed it up. They don't have any family. They moved up here for a fresh start after a gruesome tragedy. I don't know the particulars, only that it was bad. It seemed only right to offer my services to them."

  "Whoa," he murmured. "I can't believe you've never mentioned this. The innkeepers with the horrible history and you moonlighting as a minister. All this time, and you've kept this incredible side of yourself hidden."

  I took a sip of my beer as I considered Cole's comment. "I'm not like most people," I said carefully. "I don't feel the need to post all my thoughts and experiences on the internet, or see anyone else's thoughts and experiences. I'd rather take my time to understand someone piece by piece. I don't want to condense anyone down to a blurb or caption. I want to hold and treasure every piece, and I want someone to do the same to me."

  Cole brought his fingers to his eyelids. He laughed, but I couldn't imagine why. Unless he thought I was an antiquated fool. That was entirely possible.

  "I am so happy we're doing this," he said, dragging his hands down his face. "I'm truly amazed by you, and I want to hear more."

  My eyebrows arched up. "Really?"

  "Let me hold and treasure this piece of you," he said. Warm sensation rippled down my spine with his words. "Okay?"

  "There was a couple I met a few years ago," I said, resting my head back on the booth. "Two of the strangest people I've ever met but I've never forgotten them."

  "What made them so strange?" he asked, his face split in a warm smile.

  I shook my head, still struggling to put those two into words even after several years. "To start, they were wandering around the docks in Wellfleet at four in the morning. He's a doctor, she's some kind of scientist, and they wanted me to take them on as deckhands for the haul
. At first, I thought they were high on Ecstasy or something. Turned out, they were just really fucking weird."

  "You are always short-staffed, aren't you?"

  I waved him off. "I don't work the water when I'm outside of the Cove, but there's an old timer down there who had a hip replacement that year. A bunch of us pitched in to help him out so he could cover his costs. It was just one weekend. I didn't need a full crew for that."

  "Okay, now that we've established you're the nicest guy in the world," Cole said, gesturing to me, "tell me about this strange couple."

  "From the first moment, they were like magnets. Chemistry so intense I could see it radiating off them. What they had, it was palpable. Part of me was jealous," I admitted. "But the other part of me was happy I was able to stand in the presence of real, limitless love. Even if they were annoying."

  "You married them? On the boat, at four in the morning?" Cole asked. "How did that work, legally? If they were wandering around the docks, they couldn't have had a proper marriage license."

  "I married them while the sun rose over Cape Cod Bay. It was one of the coolest ceremonies," I said. "It wasn't legal, but that wasn't an issue for them. They belonged to each other and it didn't matter whether they had the documentation to back it up."

  Cole laughed. "Now I'm jealous of them, too."

  "The strangest part came last year," I continued. "It was December, a couple days before Christmas, and they showed up at my door. I still don't know how they found me."

  "That is strange," he said.

  "They wanted to make it legal," I said. "I married them again. This time, I did it in the middle of my kitchen."

  "Knowing how you react when people show up at your house uninvited," Cole mused, "you must really like weddings."

  "Only certain weddings," I replied. "I only marry people I can see staying together for the long haul. I've passed on officiating for folks who didn't seem right for each other, or ready for the commitment. The ones who just want a party. The ones who need something to do. The ones who think it's the next milestone they should check off in their life. I don't want to be associated with any marriages that end, you know?"

  "Does that mean you believe everyone has a lobster?"

  "A what?" I asked.

  "You know, a lobster," Cole said, laughing. "From that episode of Friends. Lobsters mate for life, and they walk around holding claws—"

  "Lobsters do not mate for life," I argued. "Female lobsters take turns with the dominant male in a given area."

  "Huh. That's a very different type of relationship than the one I'd imagined," he said, his brow wrinkling. "That pokes some holes in my theory."

  "Setting aside biology for a minute, I do believe it," I said. "Everyone has a lobster, but you have to haul up a lot of empty traps before you find it."

  "Isn't that half the fun?" Cole asked with a smirk.

  "If you had to estimate," I started, reaching for my beer, "how many broken hearts did you leave back in California?"

  Cole rocked back with laughter. "I don't need to estimate," he said. "It's zero."

  "Oh, great. You're one of those assholes who doesn't even realize he's beaten the shit out of someone's heart," I replied. "That doesn't bode well for me."

  "I am not one of those assholes," he said, still laughing. "I'm an entirely different breed of asshole. The kind who works too much and never has time for relationships. After a while, not having time for relationships turns into forgetting how to be in relationships. Then that turns into forgetting how to speak to people who don't work for you. Not long after reaching that point, your virginity grows back and you start researching the monastic approach to life."

  "Or sailing to Maine?" I asked.

  "Well, yes," Cole replied with hesitance. "But I took to the water because I needed time away from my business. Things weren't going well. No, that's not accurate. The business is strong, really strong—"

  "I've seen your boat, babe," I replied, my tone right on the edge of salty and surly. "You also offered me thirty grand to stay in my nine-by-nine guest room. You don't have to pull out your earnings statement."

  "All fair points." He nodded to himself before continuing, "But now you have me wondering. How many broken hearts do you have to your name?"

  "I don't do hearts," I lied. "My history is of the no-strings variety."

  Cole stared at me for a long beat, his gaze inscrutable. "I'm not sure I believe that," he said. "You bring fish to nursing homes. You drive yourself crazy with budgets and regulatory guidance for the town council. You ask after Fitzy's son when everyone else avoids the topic. You marry the innkeepers because they don't have any family. You take in lost sailors even when they fuck up your nights." He shook his head. "You're all heart, Bartlett. All strings."

  "Maybe," I conceded. "But I haven't broken anyone's heart. I'm certain of it."

  "Not yet," Cole replied. "You seem like the kind of guy who would have a dog. You're the grumpiest motherfucker I've ever met but that crusty shell only hides a sweet, gooey center. Like crème brûlée. So, tell me. Why don't you have a dog?"

  "I did," I said softly, glancing down with an aching sigh. "I did, and she was the best dog in the world. Sheilagh. She was the best girl."

  "Oh," he murmured. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

  "It's okay." I shook my head and looked away. "She lived a long life, and she really was the best girl. Before the arthritis took her legs, she loved coming on the boat with me every day. She loved the water. She'd run up and down the deck, barking at the seagulls. I knew…I knew when it was time. I just didn't have the strength to put her down."

  "I'm sure." Cole reached across the table and took my hand. "That must have been a difficult time."

  I shrugged. "She loved catching rays at the lighthouse. She'd lie down in front every afternoon, when the sun was right overhead."

  He regarded me for several moments, his hand warm over mine and his eyes crinkled with concern. "It's a nice spot," he said.

  "I left her at the house when I went out on the water one day," I continued, "and when I got home, I couldn't find her. Then I knew. I knew she went to the lighthouse, and—and she was gone." I gulped down a knot of emotion. "She didn't want to be a bother to anyone. She wanted to nestle into her favorite spot on a sunny day and close her eyes."

  Cole's hand retreated, and he scooted out of his side of the booth. He came around the table, settled beside me, and brought his arm around my shoulders. "Owen," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

  "I buried her there, at the lighthouse. On the side with all the beach plum bushes." I ran my free hand down my face. "Cried the whole damn time," I admitted with a laugh.

  "Have you thought about adopting another dog?" he asked. "Not that you can replace Sheilagh."

  "I have thought about it." I jerked my shoulders. "But whenever I think about it, the time isn't right. Puppies are a lot of work, and I—I don't know that I can do it."

  "You need a dog," Cole said. "And I need to stop with the depressing questions."

  We sat there for several minutes, Cole's arm tight around my torso and his lips pressed to my temple. It was then I noticed the quiet in the tavern. Glancing up, I found the citizens of Talbott's Cove watching us. JJ was frozen behind the bar, a rag in one hand, a dripping glass in the other. A group of waiters were clustered nearby, their arms crossed over their chests. Patrons sat motionless, their forks still and eyes wide. Even Annette stopped reading long enough to glance in our direction.

  "We have an audience," I whispered to Cole.

  I felt him smile. "I know."

  JJ shook free from his stare and set down his towel and glass. "There's nothin' to see here," he shouted, his Down East accent thicker than ever. "Eat ya food, mind ya business. All of you now. If ya want to gawk at my customers, get the hell outta here."

  A gust of relief blew through me. I'd never expected anything short of acceptance from these people, but the world was packed wi
th contradiction. Good people often made hateful choices. Friends turned their backs and families closed their doors. It mattered that JJ was willing to speak up for us, more than I'd expected.

  I cupped Cole's face and kissed him. It was quick—as quick as I could be with him—and when I pulled back, life in The Galley was back to normal. "Thanks for coming over here," I said. "I like having you next to me."

  His eyebrows arched up. "You like easy access to my dick."

  "I enjoy both of those things," I said, laughing as I dropped my hand to his thigh. "I'll think about it. A dog. I need some time."

  Cole shook his head. "I know how you are," he said. "You need to think everything through."

  "You should know Sheilagh used to sleep on the bed with me," I said. "If she was still alive, she would've climbed on top of you and slept there."

  "Cozy," he murmured. "Hey. That's interesting." He jerked his chin toward the far end of the bar. I craned my neck to see a man at Annette's side. "Who's that?"

  "Jackson Lau," I said. We were flat-out staring now, and we weren't the only ones. All the eyes that had once been on us were now trained on them. Talbott's Cove operated an equal opportunity gossip mill. "The town's chief of police."

  Jackson pulled his wallet from his back pocket, thumbed out some cash, and dropped it on the bar. He brought his hand to her lower back and tipped his head toward the exit.

  "It looks like they're…friendly," Cole said. "And by 'friendly' I mean he's fucked—"

  "No." I speared him with a sharp glare. "This is one situation where I don't want your filthy thoughts."

  With her lips pursed, Annette hopped off the barstool and shoved her book into a tote bag. She went to sling it over her shoulder but Jackson relieved her of it first. She scowled at him. I couldn't explain the genesis of this feeling, but I was proud of her. I wanted to high-five her, and tell her to make him work for it.

  "Yeah, they're very friendly," I said.

  "See? It was a good thing that you broke up with her," he said.

  I rolled my eyes. "I didn't break up with her."

  "Close enough," he replied.

  Jackson and Annette crossed the restaurant, his hand low on her back and a town's-worth of eyes following them. She glanced in our direction as they passed, and offered a small smile.