Page 5 of Half Baked

Another problem with the paperwork. This is starting to seem on purpose.

I hit redial and sigh as the ring sounds. This had better be the last time. “This is Hayden Thompson returning your call,” I say as he answers.

“Yes, hello. I’m looking at your paperwork and it seems you have your name signed two different ways on here.”

“I… what?”

“There’s a Hayden N. Thompson, and a Hayden H. Thompson.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and will myself to take a deep breath. “My capital N looks like an H at times. I’m sure that’s all this is. Do they look similar?”

“Can’t be the judge of that, son.” His voice is pointed, clearly this man has too much power. It’s gone straight to his head.

“Alright, I’ll work on making mysignaturemore legible. Is there anything else about the permit application that would raise a flag?”

“That’s all, you should be good after this.”

“Great,” I grit out. “Thanks.”

I hang up the phone and stretch once more. What I need is a drink.

Chapter 3

Poppy

Istep into the low lit, hazy restaurant. If you can consider Rusty’s a restaurant—its vibe is more like that of a dive bar. But it has the best crab melts in town, maybe even in the state. And no tourists dare wander in here. After all, Rusty doesn’t even have a website they can scan first.

Sliding onto a shiny red barstool in the corner, I drop my chin onto my hand as my elbow settles on the counter. Pulling my phone out, I open the video I recorded and watch it once more.

“The usual?” Rusty himself approaches me.

I nod in confirmation, settled by the simplicity of the interaction. If I don’t have to speak a word through dinner here, I’ll be thrilled.

Not one second after the thought crosses my mind, someone slips onto the stool beside me. A quiet sigh escapes me, of course. There are four more empty stools down the line, and who knows how many more around the corner. But this person takes the spot beside me. Their plastic shrimp basket clatters as they deposit it onto the bar, followed by their half empty glass.

I lift my gaze, curious who would move over here to sit by me. But my eyes don’t have to travel far before I figure it out. Alarge, golden tanned hand comes to rest beside the glass, and I recognize it immediately.

“What brings you to Rusty’s, Poppy Seed?”

“Food,” I snort, furrowing my eyebrows as my eyes travel the rest of the way up to his face. “Why did you move over here?”

“To sit by you.”

He says it so plainly, like this is commonplace for us to sit together and share a meal. I watch his throat bob as he takes a gulp of his beer. All the while, I feel my scowl pinch tighter.

“What do you want?”

A gruff chuckle escapes him. “Nothing, I just thought…”

“Thought?”

“You ever heard of a siren?”

Rusty returns, depositing my sandwich and glass of white wine before me. Wordlessly. Exactly how this evening should be going.

I lift a chip from the red and white paper lining the plastic basket and mumble, “Like the sound? Yes, I believe I’m familiar.”

“No, a siren from sea tales. An extremely attractive woman that lures men in but is evil and deadly.”

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