Page 13 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

SHANE SWATS JASON’S SHOULDER.

When he does, Jason looks up at him standing beside the booth. “What’s that for?”

“Swap seats with my girl,” Shane tells him, stepping back.

As he says it, Maris slips out of her booth seat to let Celia out.

Jason stands, too. “Better yet,” he says, taking Maris’ hand and leading her to the jukebox, then turning to Shane. “Have the booth to yourselves.”

There’s just the hum of easy talk in the bar, then. Casual laughs and conversation come from surrounding tables. The crack of pool sticks reaches them from the billiard room—where someone gave a hard shot. Briny salt air drifts in through the bar’s propped-open door.

All as Jason and Maris wander off. All as Shane motions Celia into his booth seat, then slides in beside her .

“Finally,” he says, reaching an arm around her and leaving a kiss on the side of her head.

***

They sit close in the cover of shadows. The dusky light frees them, somehow. Sitting in their dark booth, it’s like they’re alone in the noisy bar. There’s only flickering light coming from a candle in a red-glass globe on their table.

Shane feels the touch of Celia’s fingertips on his skin.

She’s tracing one tattoo on his forearm, then another.

He watches her beside him. She wears a rust-colored buttoned cardigan over frayed black jeans.

Her auburn hair is in a loose side-braid; his gold mariner chain shows beneath the top undone buttons of her cardigan.

And her finger doesn’t stop moving its feather touch on his skin.

“Tell me about your tattoos,” she says.

“Which one?”

Her finger lands on a four-pointed star. “This.”

“That one?” He takes a breath and just enjoys her skimming touch. “It represents the four elements. Earth, air, fire and water. What I live with most days on the sea.”

“Really. Earth I can get. And that sea air. Water, of course. But fire?” she asks, looking up at him.

Shane nods. “Some mornings? The sun rising out over the Atlantic? It’s a flaming ball of fire like you’ve never seen, so red. And lighting up the entire horizon.”

“Mmh,” Celia barely says, moving to another tat. Her finger keeps tracing. “I remember this one. Your first tattoo. 6h 12m. How often the tides change.”

“Every six hours and twelve minutes. Guess you’re a regular sailor now, Celia,” Shane says, turning up her face for a light kiss on her lips. “A buddy did that one with his tattoo kit below deck.”

But she’s back at it then.

Her finger traces along his arm, pushing up his cuffed sleeve to just above his elbow. “I was with you for this one.” In the shadows, her finger traces the letters.

“Bub,” Shane whispers. “For Shiloh.”

Celia nods. Beyond them, a slow song starts on the jukebox. Glasses clink; chairs scrape; voices hum. “And this?” Celia’s voice comes to him, her finger dragging over three overlapping loops near his wrist.

“The Trinity knot. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in one.”

She keeps at it as waitresses breeze past, as more patrons arrive, as Patrick serves up drafts at the bar.

All the while, Celia leans close. Her fingers move as if through a maze—following the inked swirls on his arms. She traces the outlined bison; the shape of waves; a horseshoe.

“That one’s come through for me in a pinch. Sometimes on dirty days at sea? All I have is luck.”

She keeps going. Some Celia just traces; some she asks about.

Her finger stops on his left forearm. “A broken arrow?”

Shane nods. “Symbolizing peace. Settling a feud.” Shane hesitates. “Got that one a couple of months ago. Right before I showed up here for Lauren’s invitation. Had some hope, I guess.”

“To fix things with your brother?”

Shane nods .

And Celia just takes it in, then pushes his cuffed sleeve up higher. “And this one? I only see part of it, but I remember you telling me about it.”

Shane glances down at some words visible below the shirt fabric. “Psalm 29:3. The voice of the Lord is upon the waters: the God of glory thundereth: the Lord is upon many waters. ”

“You told me it’s where you find God. On the sea.”

“That I do,” Shane says. “But I’m liking where I find angels, too.” He lightly presses his mouth to the side of her head. “Right here, baby.”

***

Jason holds Maris in his arms. A bluesy number plays on the jukebox.

The slow beat has them sway on the dance floor, shuffle some.

Murmur quiet nothings. Veer around a few other couples.

Jason feels Maris’ body against his. He runs a hand down her long sleeve’s black lace fabric.

It’s delicate. Intricate. His touch is light as he takes her hand and folds it against his chest.

Jason tells her then, briefly, about what he learned from both Shane and Celia this morning.

How during her few days in Stony Point, Heather had left Shane a letter for Celia.

A letter Celia couldn’t justify opening, tossing it in Shane’s fireplace instead.

How sometimes—no matter how sad—things can’t work between people.

“Well…” Maris reasons, hitching her head to their booth. “They’re certainly trying to prove otherwise.”

“I don’t know how they do it,” Jason says. “Shane and Celia.”

“Do what? ”

“See each other in bits and pieces like that.”

Maris shifts and loops her hands around Jason’s neck. She also glances toward their shadowed booth. But she says nothing.

“For me,” Jason quietly goes on, getting her to watch him now, “I reached a point where it’s all or nothing. I couldn’t be with you in bits and pieces. Like we tried this summer.”

“When we dated?” Maris asks, her fingers toying with his hair, his neck.

Jason nods as the slow song plays on. As a guitar seemingly weeps. As wire brushes sweep a drum. “Dating you? In those bits and pieces? Just about did me in, sweetheart.”

“Jason,” Maris whispers with a sad smile.

Still, they dance. His hands hold her waist now. Feel her hips sway, her body in sync with his. He glances once more at Celia and Shane. “I don’t want to be intruding on them,” he quietly tells Maris.

“Spin me over that way then,” she says, hitching her head but never taking her dark eyes off his.

So Jason does. Holding her close, he slowly spins her and leads her to the edge of the small dance floor. And maybe he likes it better here, in the shadows.

Where no one really watches.

It’s just the two of them.

Bodies close.

Words whispered.

Touches stolen.

Alone with Maris.

** *

Before returning to their booth, they stop at the bar and order something to eat.

A few sandwiches, French fries on the side.

Finally, they rejoin Celia and Shane in the booth.

While they settle in and wait for their food, the candle in its red globe flickers on the table.

Shane’s filling them in, too, on a talk he had with his captain earlier in the day.

“Be back at it Monday,” he says, right as Patrick delivers their tray of food. “Lobstering the high seas.”

“So it’s nice being here tonight like this—with everyone else gone now,” Celia admits. “Grabbing a few hours while we can,” she tells Jason and Maris.

“I get it,” Jason answers. “Long-distance isn’t easy.”

“How long you think the two of you can keep up the charade?” Patrick asks, leaning over to set down various sandwich dishes—buffalo chicken panini; a turkey club wrap; a tuna melt.

Shane reaches for the panini. “I’d have given it up tonight if I could’ve.”

“But I won’t let him,” Celia says, taking a half of the tuna melt. “Not yet.”

Patrick pauses with distributing the food. “What’s holding you back, Celia?”

She gives a small laugh. “Life,” she finally admits. “Some complications.”

Patrick nods, then sets down their sides and a handful of napkins. “Or maybe some doubts about this tough guy?”

“No.” Celia leaves a kiss on Shane’s cheek. “Not at all.”

“Well…” Patrick says. He also raps his knuckles on the table, flips his empty tray beneath an arm and starts to back away. “I’ll be watching to see when the jig is up.”