Good deal.
She opted for black jeans, and because it ran cool at night, a sweater. Not black, she ordered herself, as that was her first choice. She chose the one Seth and Harry had given her for Christmas—worn only once—and in nearly the same shade as her kitchen cabinets. She considered changing her habitual silver studs for something more fun and frivolous, then decided that worrying about earrings was too much for a simple drink with a friend and his wife.
She took some trouble with her makeup mainly because those needs could come calling—and maybe there was a local boy who could meet them at some point.
No reason to scare him off, whoever he might be.
Night had fallen when she set out, so she left the porch light on—new fixture yet to come—and locked up. Alarm system, she thought, installed very soon.
When she glanced back at the house, she nearly went back inside. It looked so appealing sitting there, so quiet. One drink, she ordered herself, and pushed herself to drive away from solitude.
She’d never been into town this late—no reason to—and saw that Friday night hopped a bit. She imagined that those strolling along the boardwalk by the marina were tourists, but it was likely a mix with those on the street, poking into shops open late, sitting out with heaters at outdoor tables.
She knew Loo’s sat a block off Water Street, tucked between a seafood restaurant and a snack shop. She spotted Kevin’s truck, found a parking spot half a block down from it.
She needed to come back at night with her camera, get night shots of the marina, the old character homes, the bold red door and the blue neon curl of LOO’S over it.
Music pumped against the door before she opened it.
She’d pictured a little bar, but it proved bigger—even boasted a small dance floor, packed now as crowd-pleasing rock beat out. She smelled beer and fried food, perfume, sweat. The bar itself dominated one wall in dark, aged wood backed by more than a dozen taps. She heard the whirl of a blender and immediately decided on a foamy frozen margarita. As she scanned, Kevin waved from a table near the dance floor.
She wound her way through, found her hand caught in Jenny’s.
“I’m so glad you came! Kevin didn’t think you would.”
“Couldn’t resist.”
“Sit, sit. Kevin, get Naomi a drink.”
“What’ll you have?”
“I hear the song of a frozen margarita—with salt.”
“I’m going to get that going for you. It takes a while for them to get to the tables. Jenny?”
“I’m still nursing this one.”
As Kevin moved off, Jenny swiveled in her chair. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
“I . . .”
“I’m on my second glass of wine. I get loose easy. It’s just I always wanted to be tall, and look what happened.”
“I always wanted to be petite. What are you going to do?”
“I looked up your website, your photos. They’re wonderful, really. There’s this one of a water lily, just one water lily with these ripples around it where it floats? I felt like I’d been on vacation just looking at it. And this one of an old gravestone in a cemetery, and you can see the shadow of the church. The dates? She was a hundred and two when she died, and it still made me tear up. I can’t remember the name on the stone.”
“Mary Margaret Allen.”
“That’s right.” Jenny’s eyes, nearly the same soft doe brown as her hair, smiled. “What I’m saying—I take a good snapshot. Slices of life, the kids and all, I mean. And it’s important to have the record, those memories. But what you do, it just grabs emotions right out.”
“Best compliment ever.”
“It’s a true one. Kevin said you needed dishes and glassware and such.”
“I do. I was thinking white and clear, and done.”
“Well, going that way you can jazz it up with napkins and so on. The thing is . . . He took some pictures of the kitchen with his phone, and showed me. I just love the soft green of the cabinets, and the pewter tones of the hardware, the gray of the walls. It’s like you’re pulling the tones and colors from outside in.”
“I can’t resist that either.”
Jenny sipped her wine, gave her long, loose hair a push back. “I think it’s just right, if that matters. And it struck me how if you went deep, deep blue with the dishes, like cobalt blue, you’d have that pop behind the glass, and keep with that scheme.”
“Cobalt blue. It would look great.”
“I think it would, then you go for color in the glassware, softer, like blues and greens—a mix, just tie it in. I can give you sites to look at, and I’ve got a stack of catalogs. And before Kevin comes back, because I’ll embarrass him, I’m going to ask you to ask me to come over and look at the place, at his work, and what you’re up to. I know he said you took this old glider and chair and redid them. I love doing that kind of thing, finding something someone’s gotten rid of and making it new.”
“Sure you can come by, have a look.”
“I swear I won’t be a pest or take advantage.” She beamed at Kevin when he came back with a jumbo margarita.
“I’ve talked her ear off. Stop me.”
He set the drink down, sat, kissed his wife’s cheek. “Shut up, Jenny.”
“I will. Plus I love when they do this number.”
“I could take a bath in this,” Naomi commented. She took a sip. “But I’ll drink it instead.”
She angled to look at the band as she recognized the Springsteen classic—and the voice lit the suggestive lyrics of “I’m on Fire” like a slow-burning match.
He wore black—jeans and a T-shirt, worn motorcycle boots. He stood, the guitar slung low, his fingers working the frets and strings while that voice wrung every drop of sex out of the words.
She should’ve known.
“Xander and the band play here every few weeks,” Kevin told her. “They’re the Wreckers.”
She said, “Oh.”
And deep inside as those bold blue eyes met hers, as that voice sent out lures and warnings, something inside her said, Oh damn.
She figured she’d need every drop of that margarita to cool off.
Eight
He came over on the break with a bottle of water and an easy swagger. Jenny pointed a finger at him.
“You know what that song does to me.”
“You can thank me later,” Xander said to Kevin, and sat—slouched, with his long legs stretched out. “So.” He gave Naomi a slow smile. “How ya doing?”
“Good. I’m good.” She felt like someone had started a brush fire under her skin. “You’re good, too. My uncles are huge Springsteen fans. They’d have approved your cover.”
“How many uncles?”
“Just the two. They took my brother and me to the E Street Band’s reunion tour at Madison Square. Have you ever seen him in concert?”
“In Tacoma, same tour. Blew the roof off.”
She relaxed enough to smile. “Yeah, they did.”
A blonde in a tight pink shirt came up, circled Xander’s neck from behind. “Are you doing ‘Something from Nothing’?”
“Last set.”
“How about coming over, having a beer? Patti and I are right over there.”
“Working, Marla.” He wagged his water bottle.
She wasted the sexy pout, in Naomi’s opinion, as Xander couldn’t see it with her chin resting on the top of his head. “You could come over anyway. Hi, Jenny. Hi, Kevin.”
Her gaze tracked over to Naomi. “Who’s your friend?”
“Naomi,” Kevin said, “Marla.”
“Visiting?” Marla asked.
“No, I live here.” And didn’t that sound odd, Naomi realized. She lived here.
“Haven’t seen you around before. You must . . . Hey, are you the one who bought the old place on the bluff? You’re working there, right, Kevin?”
“That’s right.”
“You must be rich or crazy.”
“I’m not rich,” Naomi said, adding a half smile because the pouty blonde’s statement struck her as more baffled than needling.
“You know it’s haunted, right? They should’ve told you it was haunted.”
“I don’t think anyone mentioned it.”
“I’d be scared out of my mind staying there alone. You take pictures, right? Patti figures you’re looking to open a photography studio.”
“No. I don’t do studio photography.”