Page 7 of Chasing Sunsets

Her eyes light up at the suggestion. “I’d love that.”

“The offer’s open anytime,” I reply as my phone dings with a message. I pull it out and glance at the text from Parker, urging me to hurry because our first charter leaves in fifteen minutes. I shove the phone back into my pocket and look back at her. “That’s my buddy, telling me to hurry.”

“Probably a good idea. Your purchase is starting to leak,” she says, pointing to the water dripping onto the concrete floor under my cart.

“Oh crap. Yeah,” I say. “Um, you didn’t happen to get a phone yet, did you?”

She shakes her head. “No, not yet. It really hasn’t been a priority.”

I chuckle. “Well, it was nice running into you again, Tabitha.”

“You can call me Tabby since we’re friends now,” she replies.

“Tabby,” I say, “make sure you come by the dock for that ride.”

“I will.”

With one last wave, I head over to Mildred, complete my purchase, and rush outside. Parker is at the back of the truck, ready to help me load the bags into the bed.

“Damn, did you get lost?” he asks.

“No, I just ran into someone,” I reply.

“Who?”

“A girl I met at my mom’s shop a few months ago,” I say.

He chuckles. “I should have guessed.”

“Hey, Sebby, do you know anything about The Sandspur Campground near The Point?” I ask.

Sebby Hollister is technically my boss, and he’s also the grandfather of my friend Sebastian Harraway. Together with his buddy Donnie Dale, they have been running the company for four decades, teaching Sebastian, Parker, and me everything we know. They started with just an old fishing boat and a dream and gradually built it into the multi-vessel enterprise it is today. Although both Sebby and Donnie Dale are mostly retired now, Sebby still enjoys tagging along on some of the charters. Sailing and the ocean are in his blood, but he prefers to spend his days fishing now rather than doing the heavy lifting. He has handed over the reins to Sebastian’s parents, who manage the business side of things, while the three of us—who pilot the boats and teach clients the ins and outs of fishing in intracoastal and deep-sea water—ensure the fleet remains in excellent working order.

“What do you want to know?” he asks as he casts his fishing line.

“Do people actually live there, or is it just for rentals?” I inquire.

“Sabel’s friend Freda and her husband, Pete, own the place. As far as I know, no one lives there except for them. However,I believe some renters keep their trailers there year-round for whenever they come to town. Why do you ask?”

Sabel is Sebby’s wife, and she knows everyone on the island.

“I know Pete and Freda,” I say. Freda and my mom are friends from church. “I met a girl who was staying there a few months ago, and I ran into her again today. I just thought it was strange,” I reply.

“Perhaps she’s staying there while she’s having a home built. People do that all the time,” he suggests.

“I don’t think so. She seemed to be living day-to-day when we met.”

He shrugs. “Maybe she’s spending the summer there to figure things out.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He looks from the horizon back to me. “I could always have Sabel ask about the young lady.”

“Her name is Tabby,” I say. “But you don’t have to do that. I was just curious.”

He nods. “All right, son. Let me know if you change your mind, and I’ll put a bug in Sabel’s ear for you.”

I thank him and then get back to work, helping the party of five by showing one of the young boys how to bait his own line while Parker instructs his father.

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