Page 39 of Blush
Sadie needed some space. A three-hundred-guest wedding had taken over the winery, and she didn’t want to spend another day holed up in the house worrying about her paper. A quick search on her phone suggested a restaurant in Southold called the Fish Market.
She felt strange behind the wheel, as if she were playing a role in a film from a glamorous bygone era. It was a moment of absurdity she would have liked to have shared with Holden.
Holden. Another reason to get on the road, distract herself. Every time she looked at her phone or computer, she couldn’t help stalking him on social media.
She turned left off the property onto Main Road. Peconic Bay Boulevard ran parallel to it, and she’d overheard winery guests saying the other day that it was the smarter route to take when a little tipsy. Sadie knew her grandmother would have a fit if she’d heard that; they were very careful not to let guests drink and drive.
Sadie took a detour on Indian Neck Lane to see the water. She didn’t get out of the car, but just turned off the engine and stared out at the Peconic. On a whim, she reached for her phone, and this time instead of taking the easy way out with a text, she dialed. The phone rang and rang, and she could imagine Holden looking at the incoming call, debating whether to answer, his fair brows knit together with irritation.
The call went to voicemail.
Sadie tossed her phone back into her bag. So much for that.
The Southold Fish Market was a simple clapboard building across the road from the water. The outdoor tables were full. Inside, walls were lined with chalkboard menus of the day’s shellfish and whole fish, and ice-packed fish was on display throughout the room. She ordered fish and chips and paid for it at the counter.
“We’ll call your number, hon,” the cashier said.
A couple cleared a table just in time for Sadie to take their spot, a window seat. She checked her phone, still hoping for a response. Nothing. Before she could get worked up about that, she noticed Mateo Argueta across the room.
He was deep in conversation with an older man whose back was facing Sadie. She tried not to stare, but she’d found herself thinking about Mateo, hoping she’d run into him during her brief outings in the vineyard. With the change of scenery, his dark good looks were even more striking. Clearly, she wasn’t alone in her feeling on this; the two women at the table next to her were stealing their own glances.
Mateo and his lunch companion stood and shook hands. The older man left. Mateo, still standing and looking toward the door, noticed her and gave a nod. Sadie wondered if she was supposed to go over and say hello, cursing her social awkwardness. Yes, she probably should.
Crossing the room seemed to take an extraordinary number of steps.
“Hi, Sadie. What brings you out here?” he said, his black eyes sharp.
Before she could answer, her name was called for her food order.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. Now, this was awkward. She had to return with her food, essentially inviting herself to eat with him. But whatever—they basically worked together. Or he worked for her grandfather, so it was like a business lunch.
When she returned with her fish and chips, he pointed out the window.
“A table opened up outside,” he said. “Do you want to grab it?”
Sadie never understood the appeal of outdoor eating. She was sure this feeling was the product of growing up in Manhattan. The outdoor restaurant tables always seemed to be on a bus route or jutting out onto the sidewalk, and all the people walking by looked at you and your food. It was different out here, with the view of the water and the fresh air. But she was a creature of habit.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Those outdoor tables are prime. I’ve never seen one passed up.”
“I’m more of an indoors person,” Sadie said.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?”
“Because your grandparents are farmers,” Mateo said. “You can’t get more outdoors than that.”
Sadie shrugged and sipped her Diet Coke.
“You shouldn’t drink that,” Mateo said. “It’s poison.”
“It’s not the healthiest, but...”
“No, it’s poison.”
“That’s a little judgmental coming from someone who works at a winery.”
