“Um… I’m afraid I won’t like it.”
He took off his sunglasses and set them on the table as if he wanted to get a better view of her. He was still smiling, his eyes squinting in an adorable way. He leaned on his forearms. “I’ve never seen anyone look as worried as you did just now,” he said with another huff of amusement. “Try it.” He nodded toward her fork.
Callie took a deep breath and then plunged the fork into her mouth. The caviar popped on her tongue as she chewed, the taste overwhelming her senses, filling up her mouth, and the texture of it against the spongy egg gave her a shiver. She swallowed quickly and took an enormous drink of her mojito, the rum sour against the sweetness of the caviar.
Luke threw his head back and laughed. “This is fun,” he said, his eyes roaming her face.
“Thank you for that taste,” she said, happy to finally see some of his actual personality coming through again. His light-heartedness calmed her a little. “I’ll have my crab cake now.” She stabbed a bite with her fork.
“Want to know something? I’ve never had a crab cake,” he said.
“What?” She held her fork mid-bite, contorting her face into a dramatic look of disbelief. What resident of the Outer Banks hasn’t eaten a crab cake? “I tried yours. You have to try a bite.” She reached out for his fork and scraped a bite across the plate, handing it back to him.
He put it in his mouth and chewed, his eyebrows rising in response. “That’s not bad,” he said with a nod.
“Not bad? It’s only my favorite food of all time.”
He smiled again, his eyes on her.
“So tell me more about The Beachcomber,” he said. “How did you end up in Waves?”
As they ate, she told him a little about how she and Olivia had admired the house over the years and how Gladys had told them the minute it was on the market, but she hadn’t gotten into a whole lot of detail. There was no need, really, for him to become invested in her story because it was clear after seeing all this that Callie wasn’t someone who he could ever get serious about. Her line of vision narrowed on the long bench at the bow of the boat, thinking that it looked a lot like the spot where that bikini model had been in the photo.
“It’s nice, I’m sure, to work for yourself, to create something from the ground up,” he said, picking at the last few bites on his plate. “I still sort of work for my father. Well, it’s my father’s company, but eventually, I’m taking over.” She noticed a slight wobble of uncertainty in his eyes when he said it. It was just subtle enough for her to question whether or not she’d actually seen something, but she swore she had.
“Do you want to take over the company?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
“Yes,” he said a little too quickly.
She stared at him a moment, trying to figure him out.
“What?” he said, his shoulders tensing.
“Nothing.” Her words came out softly, surprising her. She felt bad for rattling him. She hadn’t meant to. But as she watched him, he visibly relaxed, clearly trying to regain his composure.
“You looked at me disbelievingly,” he said much more calmly, and she was taken aback yet again. Most of her relationships had ended because she’d been closed off and her boyfriends always complained that they could never tell what she was thinking.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, trying to cover up her shock. “How could I disbelieve anything you say when I’ve only just met you?” Perhaps she’d misinterpreted his body language.
He smiled, but there was a little uncertainty behind his eyes and she wondered again if her hunch had been right in the first place. But there was no need to press it. What he did with his life was completely his business.
Just as they’d finished eating, the boat was docking, the motors slowing as they reached land, and he stood up. “Getting you another mojito. I’ll be right back.” Before the captain had completely steadied the large vessel, Luke was at the bar getting two more drinks.
Callie looked around. Sleek, dark wood sailboats bobbed in the water beside them, their vast, white sails tied up, their decks empty. She noticed the very large cottages that dotted the coast. They seemed to stretch as far as she could see, their Caribbean colors making them look like a string of beads, walls of windows overlooking the ocean, and she wondered if the boats belonged to those residents.
As a kid, on the summers when she’d visited the Outer Banks with Olivia and her family, they’d come to Avon, to visit its one-screen movie theater on rainy days. The landscape was much more rural then; it had grown up so much, and now, while there were still pockets of that simpler lifestyle along the Outer Banks—Waves being one of them—the clientele had certainly changed.
A pang of worry struck her as she hoped that there were still enough people who would embrace more modest accommodations. Restoring The Beachcomber was the biggest risk she’d ever taken in her life, and while she’d never felt freer, she knew that in the end, she had to make a living. There was a part of her that considered going back to the security of a nine to five job, but she recognized her fear and pushed forward whenever the thought crept in.
Luke came back and handed her another mojito. “Want to take a little walk?”
“Sure. Thank you,” she said, standing up with her drink. The captain had lowered the ladder so she could exit easily.
Callie stepped onto the weathered wood of the dock that led to walking paths along the beach, careful to keep hold of her glass as she made her way over to a patch of wildflowers growing in the sandy soil nearby. Luke came up behind her. The sun’s rays were still strong despite the evening hour. She strolled along the dock beside Luke, admiring the gaillardia that lined it. Its blossoms were like bursts of sunshine: The daisy-style petals were burnt orange with yellow tips, making the flowers seem as though they were little blooms of fire against the sand-colored sea oats surrounding them. She resisted picking herself a bouquet, knowing there wasn’t anywhere to put it on the boat.
She turned to Luke. He looked like a poster boy for some sort of beach fashion ad. The shirttail of his nautical button-down was untucked in a casual but perfectly executed way, his sunglasses dangling from his fingers. He grinned at her, the lines from so many days in the sun showing around his eyes.
She reached over and delicately slipped the stem of a gaillardia between her fingers, cupping the bloom in her hand. “Aren’t these beautiful? They’re so vibrant.”
“I’ve never noticed them. Are they weeds?” He bent down to take a look.