Page 8 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

T he Silver Catfish wasn’t fancy by city standards, but for Pickwick Bend , it was as close to date-night elegant as it got.

Tucked against the curve of the river, the restaurant boasted an old-fashioned porch, stone fireplace, checkered tablecloths, and the best house made slaw this side of the Mississippi .

She’d texted Declan earlier in the day asking to meet him at the restaurant.

Team practice had run late. And she’d still had the smell of Acen in her mind when she went home.

So , she’d made the request, Delcan had replied yes but with concern about why, and she’d showered Acen right out of her mind. She hoped.

Declan stood when stood when she walked in.

She hadn’t worn anything fancy—just jeans and a fitted navy blouse—but the way his eyes lingered made her feel like she’d stepped off a movie screen.

“You look…” He hesitated, then smiled. “ Exactly how I hoped.”

Rose arched an eyebrow. “ So —tired from work and practice and mildly skeptical about the playoffs?”

Declan laughed, offering his arm. “ Come on, Coach . Let me feed you something fried and delicious.”

She let him lead her to a table by the window, where the light glinted off the water and the cicadas outside hummed their steady Southern chorus.

“I wish I could have come and watched y’all practice today, but the animals were booked solid at my office, and I barely got out in time to clean up myself.” His eyes smiled into hers.

“No worries.” She answered. ‘ You’d most likely be a bit bored watching practice. Lot’s of yelling and do-overs on plays. Nothing like a real game.”

He chucked, and she felt herself relaxing.

“So, you really grew up in Charleston ?” she asked, her voice curious but easy.

He nodded, lips quirking up in a half-smile.

“ Sure did. Big ol’ porch, live oaks with moss hanging like laundry lines, humidity so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

Of course, that part isn’t much different here.

Mama always had sweet tea in the fridge and Motown playing on the radio.

That was her favorite. Ask me to sing the words to any of those songs.

I can do without even thinking about it. ”

She laughed. “ That sounds nice. We didn’t have all that here, but Pickwick Bend’s always had its own rhythm. Slower maybe. But sure, and steady. Daddy said it was the kind of town where everybody knew your name and all your business. Like all the other small towns.”

He chuckled. “ Sounds like home to me.”

She smiled. “ You chose to come here, remember? Nobody made you.”

He looked out over the river a moment before answering.

“ Yeah , I did. After vet school, I had offers in bigger places— Nashville , Birmingham … even somewhere out in Texas . But none of them felt right. I guess I wanted roots. Not to say there aren’t roots in Charleston .

Those are some very deep roots there. But it’s more formal.

You know? I wanted a place where folks still wave when they pass you on the road and care if your dog goes missing. Pickwick Bend had that.”

“You really came here for the dogs and the wave-smilin’?”

“Not just that,” he said with a grin. “ There’s something about small towns.

The way they hold onto their stories. The way people show up for each other.

I figured if I was gonna put down stakes, it should be somewhere that still remembers how to sit on a porch and talk.

Plus , on the more practical side, there’s the lake.

And lower taxes and property costs. And I’m the only vet in town here. ”

She smiled at that. “ Well , you picked right.”

He tilted his head. “ What about you? Ever think about leaving?”

“Lord, no,” she said, shaking her head. “ I mean, sure, I’ve wondered what it’d be like to live in a place where you’re not always running into your third-grade teacher or the boy who broke your heart in high school at the Piggly Wiggly .

But Pickwick Bend’s in my bones. I have my own house.

And the coffee shop. And my team. Those girls?

They drive me half-crazy, forget their gloves, argue over the lineup—but they’ve got more heart than sense, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

And friends I’ve known since birth…or at least school.

And as much as I complain about everybody knowing everybody’s business, there’s comfort in that.

In knowing there are multiple people who will go out of their way to help me if I need it.

Just because we’re an extended family. You can’t get that in the city. ”

She paused for breath. “ Good grief. Listen to me going on and on about all this. You must be regretting asking me to dinner about now.”

He leaned in, eyes intent on her face, listening.

Not nodding politely or glancing at his phone like most folks did these days—but really listening. Like her words mattered. Like he was collecting each one and tucking it away somewhere safe.

It made her pause. Made her feel seen.

“You’re not just waiting for your turn to talk, are you?” she asked, almost teasing, almost amazed.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “ I’m hearing you.”

And Lord help her, that might’ve been the rarest thing of all.

Then their catfish arrived, golden and steaming, and giving her the excuse to break eye contact with him. This was getting a little more intense than she’d expected. She forked up a mouthful of succulent, tender catfish and almost moaned. It was that good.

Declan leaned in and asked, “ What made you say yes?”

Rose blinked, coming back to reality at the table. “ To dinner?”

He nodded.

She thought about it, and decided honesty was the best policy. “ You asked nicely. And I figured I could use a distraction.”

He didn’t press. Just smiled. “ Well , I hope I’m a good one.”

And for the most part—he was.

But as she sipped sweet tea, she tried to ignore the ache creeping in behind her ribs.

Declan was good company. Thoughtful . Attractive . Present .

He made her laugh. Made her think.

But as the check arrived and he reached for his wallet, she found herself wondering— is this what peace feels like, or just the absence of pain?

He walked her to her truck, his hand brushing hers. He paused beside the driver’s side door, eyes searching hers.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

Rose hesitated. Then nodded. “ Yeah . I think I’d like that.”

He leaned in - not quite a kiss. Just close enough to feel his breath, smell the faint pine of his cologne. Then he pulled back and smiled.

“Goodnight, Rose .”

“Night, Declan .”

She climbed into her truck, heart thudding - not from what had happened, but from everything that hadn’t.

She drove home slowly, the stars scattered above her like questions with no easy answers.

But out in the parking lot, leaning against a truck that didn’t belong to him, Acen Wheeler watched through the shadows.

He hadn’t meant to drive by.

Honestly. And he blamed Riley for mentioning that Rose had a date tonight and where she would be.

He’d told himself he was just taking the truck for a drive to make sure that carburetor repair was working right before handing the truck back to the owner.

Told himself that he’d just happened to take the long way – even though The Silver Catfish was at the end of a very long dead-end road he had no business being on tonight.

That turning into the lot was about needing to check a slight rattle under the hood.

But when he saw Rose —her head tilted back in laughter, Declan’s hand resting casually on her arm, both of them glowing in the light of the full moon overhead—it was like something inside him cracked wide open.

He’d seen her smile a thousand times.

But not like that.

That smile was soft. Unburdened . Hopeful .

And it wasn’t for him.

Acen clenched his jaw, swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat, and turned away.

He wasn’t sure which hurt more—the fact that Rose was moving on… or the gut-deep fear that maybe she should .

He waited until he was sure her truck had disappeared on the highway home before he cranked up his own and rolled into the night with his own twisted thoughts his only company.