Page 11 of The Beachgoers
five
— Now —
CELIA’S BEEN WATCHING FOR HIM.
Shane can tell. Twenty years of working aboard lobster boats has taught him in surprising ways. Like this—he knows how to read people. He has to, hauling lobster pots. He and the crew are like gears of a well-oiled machine. Every action, every task, meshes with another. And if one of the boys is off, or tired, or distracted, their inattention can take someone down in a random uncoiling rope, or a swinging pot.
So yeah, he knows how to read people. On the Atlantic Ocean, his life depends on it.
Which is why heknowsCelia’s been waiting. It’s the way the front door of her guest cottage opens before he’s even on the front porch. She must’ve been watching for him at the window.
Okay, so something’s up this afternoon. His radar is tuned.
“Celia,” he says, climbing the steps. And that radar picks right up on it—Celia’s upset. Or worried. Her sad smile gives it away. This isn’t her typical wide smile that reaches her hazel eyes, oh no. There’s no mistaking the difference. And as for pushing the screen door open and catapulting herself into his arms like she did just yesterday? Not a chance of that happening. “Is now a good time to stop by?” Shane asks. Holding a small bag, he stands beneath her porch overhang and waits.
Celia nods, then opens the screen door wider for him.
“You sure?” Shane hesitates there on the porch.
“Yes. I have some time before getting ready.” Still, she holds the door open while standing inside.
Shane considers her. She’s wearing a gingham sheath tank over cuffed jean shorts—surely not an outfit for the grand beach inn’s opening night festivities. He steps inside and stops just near the door. And takes her arm in his free hand. “What’s wrong?”
“What?” Celia steps back and tips her head. “Why would you think that?”
He gives a short laugh and matches her steps, moving closer and dragging a finger along her jaw. “Your eyes,” he tells her. “Have you been crying?”
“Argh.” She brushes at her cheek. “Oh, you know. It’s such an emotional day. One that’s been a long time coming.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Come on,” she says then, backing up again before turning toward the kitchen. “Have something to drink.”
But Shane stops her. He abruptly takes her arm again and turns her to him, right there in her living room. “Hey, hold on.” There’s some impatience in his grip, his tone. “I’m good, Celia. I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls a clear plastic box out of that bag he’s been carrying. “It’s a corsage,” he says, softening his words. “For tonight.”
Celia takes the box. Inside it, two white rosebuds nestled in greens are set on a slim gold cuff bracelet. “Shane, this is so thoughtful,” she tells him. “Thank you.”
“Have one for Elsa, too. I’ll give it to her later.”
Celia, nodding slightly, watches him.
“It’s a special day for you two.” Shane touches a strand of her auburn hair. “A dream come true?”
“Could be.”
“Couldbe?”
“Not sure if I believe in dreams anymore,” Celia says, setting her corsage beside a seashell vase on a small table. “That’s ended for me, for a lot of reasons.”
“Okay. Celia.” Again Shane catches up and turns her to him. “Enough bullshit. Something’s wrong. Because you were infinespirits last night. Dinner at your place. And a beautiful time afterward at my place, in the shower. Then The Sand Bar, for drinks.”
Celia waves him off with a quick breath. “About all that. I don’t know… life just surprises us sometimes.” As she says it, she turns and walks to the kitchen.
And Shane is, well, dumbfounded. After wavering there—hands thrown up in the air—he calls out, “You’re right. Lifedoessurprise us. In good ways, too.” Grabbing her corsage box, he hurries to the kitchen. And doesn’t stop talking. Celia’s standing at her white painted table and fussing with a daisy in a glass bottle there. The salty scent of the sea drifts in through an open window. “One random invitation from Lauren, and look what it surprisedmewith. Working things out with my brother.” He crosses the room to Celia. “And I metyou,” he says, setting her corsage on the kitchen table now.
Again she looks long at him, then whispers, “You did,” before walking to the sink.
“Whoa, whoa. Is that it?” At the counter, Shane leans around her, trying to meet her eye. “Is it me? Is that what’s bothering you? That maybe you weren’t ready for us?”
