Page 10 of Here & There

Nate looks wounded.

“We’ve got it, Stu,” I bark out.

The permanent frown on Stu’s face deepens. “What, is it illegal to be helpful now? Or are you the only one who gets to be a hero around here?”

If I wasn’t holding a beautiful ice cube of a woman in my arms, I’d grab Stu by the scruff and toss him onto the beach. Some days he knows how to poke a finger into what hurts. “You want to be helpful,” I say, my voice tight with barely restrained anger, “take my dog home.”

Luckily, Nate has no problem with slamming doors. After he thrusts Tink’s leash at Stu, he sends the door home with a loud thud.

I relax slightly with Stu handled. Though now there’s still the matter at hand. Or rather, in my hands.

But I can feel the woman looking at me. She’s harder to ignore than the tourists who come into my bar and giggle aggressively from their tables.

She swallows. “I think I can st-stand now.”

I don’t want to, but I set her down on her feet.

“Go grab all the sweaters in my office,” I say to my son.

Nate chews his lip.

Hurt plucks at my chest. He doesn’t know his way around his dad’s bar because he’s refused to spend any time here since he got here. “There!” I point my chin to the door on the far side of the bar.

Nate takes off, darting easily around the tables and chairs in his way.

“Kid barely picks up a dish at home,” I grumble. “You come along, and he’s breaking speed records.”

“I should s-s-swim more often.”

I scowl at her. “You can joke when you’re not hypothermic.”

Her teeth clack together like a tap dancer.

I can’t just cover up her wet clothes. I need to get her warmer faster.

“Change of plans,” I tell Nate as I redirect the woman toward the kitchen. “There’s a box in the shed at home.” Our place is a half-mile down the beach from the bar. There’s a detached room off the back deck that’s supposed to be a guest cabin, even though it’s just a loft with a tiny powder room. I use it to store things that hurt to look at. My sister’s stuff, mostly. “The box says Annie on it. Grab a pile of clothes out of there and bring them back here.” My little sister’s got about a foot on her, but something in there’s got to fit. And Annie won’t miss it; she hasn’t been back here in a decade.

Nate nods, and once again, he’s off. I can’t help the wash of pride I feel at how capable he’s been through all of this. I might even forgive him for staying up again last night.

I lead the woman across the kitchen, grabbing a stack of soft, clean bar towels as I pass the linen shelves.

But when she sees our destination, she pulls up short. “You’re not serious.”

I turn on the hose at my industrial sink, adjusting the water to the right temperature. “Of course I am.”

“I’m not getting in the sink!”

I stick the plug in the bottom. “I have a great dishwasher; he scrubs the sink down every night.”

“I said I’m not getting in the s-s-s-sink. I just need to find a hotel. Then I’ll be out of your h-h-hair.”

I rest my hands on the edge of the stainless-steel basin, letting out a long breath. Then I turn around, the tub still filling behind me. “Listen. I’ll make you a deal. If you get in there and warm up, I’ll make you a club sandwich. I make the best club in town.” It’s the only club in town if you don’t count the abomination of a sandwich they serve at the truck stop down the road.

She still looks hesitant.

“Plus, I’ve got an espresso machine out there. You seem like a…” I look her up and down, realizing too late how that looks—and how it felt to take in her wet clothes clinging to her. I clear my throat and turn back to the sink. “Like a London Fog kind of girl.”

With the little intake of air, I know I’m right. Hazard of working in beverages for the past twenty years. “We’ll deal with everything else later. For now, please just get in the warm water before you break your back from shivering.”

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