Page 21 of Hometown Heart

"And then Margaret said the most extraordinary thing about the new harbormaster—" Dottie Perkins paused mid-sentence, her paisley scarf askew. "Silas, dear, you've given me two shots in this cappuccino."

I blinked. She was right. "Sorry, I'll remake it."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. The extra kick might help me stay awake through bridge club." She peered at me over her cat-eye frames. "Though you look like you could use it more than me. Everything alright?"

"Fine. I stayed up too late experimenting with some new recipes." The lie tasted sour. I busied myself wiping invisible spots from the counter.

"Well, if you need to talk—"

The bell above the door chimed, saving me from Dottie's well-meaning interrogation. Rory walked in. He unwound his scarf, carefully observing the scene.

"Morning." I reached for his usual mug. "Dark roast?"

"Yes, and maybe a few words about whatever's troubling you." He leaned against the counter. "You haven't posted your daily quote."

The chalkboard behind me stood blank—evidence of another break in my usual routine. I usually had some literary snippet or local wisdom scrawled across it before opening.

"Been busy."

"Right." Rory accepted his coffee but didn't move. "You know what they say about denial."

"That it's not just a river in Egypt?" My attempt at humor fell flat.

"That it's exhausting." He took a slow sip. "Almost as exhausting as not sleeping."

A group of high school students burst in ahead of their school day, filling the shop with chatter about an upcoming chemistry test. I welcomed the distraction, but their orders came out wrong—vanilla in a plain latte, forgotten whipped cream, temperatures too hot or barely warm.

"Sorry, sorry." I remade each drink, aware of Rory's steady gaze.

When the students left, he spoke again. "Brooks mentioned you might skip Sunday's pickup game."

"Got inventory to do."

"You've done inventory on Monday mornings for six years."

"Maybe I'm changing things up."

"Maybe you're hiding."

The words were unnecessarily pointed but accurate. I grabbed a clean rag, attacking imaginary coffee rings. "Don't you have hockey plays to diagram or sonnets to critique?"

"Actually, I have a free period." He settled more firmly onto his stool. "Perfect time for a chat about how fear can make us miss the best parts of life."

"I don't need—"

"A lecture? No. But you need something." He set his mug down.

The morning rush kept me just busy enough. Rory retrieved a pile of papers from his messenger bag and started in with a red pen.

When the crowd thinned enough that Sarah could manage alone, I grabbed a clipboard and muttered something aboutchecking on deliveries. I turned the handle on the back door. At least I could have a momentary escape.

The side alley beside Tidal Grounds was quiet except for the sounds of the harbor. I leaned against the wall and let my thoughts drift. Finally, the tension in my shoulders began to unwind.

I heard the sound of boots announcing Rory's approach before I saw him. He rested one gloved hand on the weathered wood siding and tucked the other into his coat pocket.

"Delivery's late?"

"So, I made that up. I needed some air."

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