Page 10 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

“You’re a saint, Lainey Adams. Thank you.”

“You might not want to thank me yet. If Huck made it, you’re safe.

He’s a coffee snob and spends a good bit of his morning measuring out beans and water and grams and who knows what.

If Dad made it though, plan on thinning it out with some creamer.

Or…better yet, throw it in one of the potted plants when he’s not looking. ”

“I would never waste coffee of any kind. Well, except Lucille’s,” Tate teases.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” he says, marveling at the soft white exterior of the old Keeper’s quarters of the Widow’s Wharf lighthouse that used to sit a few yards away.

“Other than…where is the lighthouse?” he asks, scanning the yard.

“The top fell off during Hurricane Sandy. It was going to be too much to restore so they decided to tear it all down. Not enough tourism,” I explain.

Tate clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Where do all the kids go now to—” I clamp a hand over Tate’s mouth. “Shh,” I say, my eyes wide. “Dad never knew about any of that. He still doesn’t know about any of that.”

The door swings open by dad himself, as if summoned.

Tate’s a good size, with his broad shoulders and tall stature, but Dad seems to swallow him standing there in the door frame, his burly beard hiding his kind face.

The beard didn’t come until after mom died; a way to hide his feelings from the world, in my opinion.

“Sure I do,” he says. “Where else would Henry have gotten Eden pregnant?”

My eyes grow wide and Henry appears behind Dad, silently sliding a thumb across his neck. “Die with the lie,” he mouths.

“Shut up, Henry,” Eden says from behind me. “The whole town knows after you bragged about it to the entire football team the following weekend. Sam, honey, please put down the caterpillar,” she says, her voice dripping with exasperation.

Sam grabs Midge with his free hand, slides past both me and Tate then crawls through Dad’s legs into the house, before Eden can stop him.

“Well hello, Tate,” she says. “Welcome to Saturday breakfast where secrets are spilled, and it’s entirely too early for a glass of wine.

Good morning, Archer.” She pats both Tate and I on the back then slides between us and wraps an arm around dad’s middle.

Eden’s been the only one other than me who’s ever felt comfortable enough around dad to do something as simple as hug him.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find where Sam has stashed that poor dead caterpillar. ”

Dad’s bearded face turns up in a smile so quickly it’s gone before the next blink. He backs out of the doorway enough to allow Eden to pass through.

“If you want to turn around now, I completely understand,” I offer.

Tate glances between Dad and me, and then back at dad, before shaking his head. “Coffee, Lainey. I need coffee,” Tate whines under his breath. “Although I don’t remember your dad being so terrifying.”

“That’s because he was never home,” I whisper.

“Who are you?” Dad asks, nodding his chin in Tate’s direction. Tate shrinks a few inches, and I suppress a giggle.

“Good morning, Dad,” I say, standing on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “This is Tate. He used to vacation here years ago. Do you remember the Matthews’? Their cottage is on the edge of town, close to the pier.”

Dad narrows his eyes. “Ahh, yeah. How could I forget you?” he grumbles.

“Nice to see you again, Archer,” Tate says through a thick swallow. Dad nods, and Tate’s discomfort is so palpable, it’s starting to rub off on me. Finally, dad backs away from the door fully, waving us through.

“Did I do something wrong?” Tate whispers as we walk into the kitchen. His eyes land on the black coffee pot on the counter and he points to it. “Can I?” he pleads.

I reach into the cabinet above, pull out an old Widow’s Wharf High School mug, and pour him a cup. Tate holds it with both hands and drinks before letting out a little sigh, causing something to stir in the pit of my stomach again. It has to be hunger pains. That’s all.

“No,” I tell him. “That’s just Dad.” What I don’t tell Tate is that the night of our big fight, my dad found me crying into my pillow and dragged me downstairs to bake brownies and listen to Stevie Nicks on the record player with him.

He may not have known how to comfort me like my mom would’ve, but he did a pretty great job in his own way.

Tate takes another sip, another sigh slipping from his lips. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed. He breathes in deeply through his nose before lifting the cup to his lips again.

“How many cups have you normally had by now?” I ask, pouring a cup of my own.

Tate glances at the clock on the wall. “At least three,” he says with a shrug.

My eyes shoot up.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says. “I get to the office at seven every morning. You'd drink coffee like a fish, too, if you had to figure out where millions of dollars went for fancy pants clients nine hours a day.”

“Tate! We heard you were back in town. How have you been?” Huck asks, walking into the kitchen. He reaches over me for his own mug then turns around to face Tate.

“Hey, Huck,” Tate says. “Long time no see! How are you?”

“Is Cara here too?” Huck asks, peeking around Tate’s shoulder, completely ignoring his question.

Tate laughs. “No, she’s a travel nurse. She’s at a hospital in Atlanta right now.”

Huck’s normally ever present smile turns downward in disappointment. “I thought the whole gang would be reunited.”

Henry joins us in the kitchen and reaches for the now-empty coffee pot. He grunts then silently starts to remake a cup. “Good to see you, Tate,” he says softly, his normally ever present scowl turned upward, in complete contrast to Huck.

Eden walks in, glances at the empty coffee pot, then who’s holding it. “Oh no, you’re not making the coffee,” she says with a scowl. She reaches for it, and Henry rolls his eyes before storming to the other side of the kitchen. Tate glances at me with raised eyebrows.

Before I have a chance to explain their hatred for each other, Dad circles back into the kitchen and pulls a pan from the oven. The smell of warm, buttery biscuits fills the tiny kitchen, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me how hungry I am.

“Are you all going to just stand here all day or eat the breakfast I’ve been cooking all morning?” He plops the pan of biscuits on the counter to cool, and it takes all my restraint not to grab one right then.

Eden strolls across the kitchen and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m making you more coffee, Archer, so you have enough energy to keep up with your wild grandson, and then I’ll be right in.

” Dad’s blush creeps up from behind his beard, another sign that his tough exterior only extends so far.

That, and the oven mitts he’s wearing—you can’t be scary while wearing oven mitts.

I catch Henry rolling his eyes, before walking to the big, farmhouse kitchen table by the window. He crosses his arms, then mutters something under his breath with a huff.

“Are they always like this?” Tate whispers glancing toward Eden and Henry. He has to lean down a good five inches to whisper in my ear, and his breath against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.

“Pretty much,” I answer, pulling out the mismatched dining chair beside Henry and Tate follows. Within a few minutes, we’re all seated around the table.

“What an incredible view,” Tate says in between bites, gesturing behind Huck and Dad.

Through the window is the lawn where mom kept her flower beds that I try to keep maintained.

I smile, the view of them in front of the bay beyond is truly breathtaking.

The Morning Glories are in full bloom right now, their purple hues vibrant against their dark centers and the blue backdrop beyond them.

Dad looks over at me, and I make out a smile under his thick beard.

He’s always been proud of mom’s flower beds.

He built them the year they got married and moved into this house.

After I was old enough, mom and I would spend hours out among the blooms, pruning and trimming.

I soaked up her extensive knowledge of flowers as much as we soaked up the sun while gardening together.

“It wasn’t too bad of a place to grow up,” Huck says, his signature dimples popping through his smile. All of the Adams kids have at least one. Huck was just lucky enough to be blessed with two. “So Tate, Lainey said you’re restoring your family’s old cottage?”

Tate nods, then swallows a mouthful of biscuits. “Lainey took me to the hardware store yesterday for some supplies. A contractor is coming out to take a look at it too.”

“That’s great,” Huck says. “How’s your grandpa?”

Tate gives a one shouldered shrug. “He’s doing okay.” I watch Tate’s jaw flex, a sign he’s upset about the early-onset dementia.

“I like your boyfriend, Aunt Lainey,” Sam interrupts, little bits of scrambled egg falling from his full mouth back to his plate.

I feel my face flush, and before I can correct him, Eden says, “Swallow before you talk, Sam. Gross,” and wipes at his mouth with her napkin. I can tell she’s trying hard not to smile, proud of her little man for the chaos he’s surely started.

I’m afraid to even glance in Tate’s direction.

Is he as embarrassed as I am? Why is this even embarrassing at all?

It shouldn’t be. We’re definitely not dating and there’s never been any insinuation that we’re heading down that road.

We’re two adults, of dating age, and Sam made a simple mistake.

I take a drink of my orange juice in hopes of it cooling my flushed face.

“We’re definitely not dating,” I finally say to fill the quiet room.

“Tate’s an accountant from Charlotte and I’m a fisherwoman from the Outer Banks; those two worlds aren’t even remotely compatible.

” I let out a nervous laugh, and when no one joins in, my laugh turns into an awkward cough.

I catch Huck glance at Tate, and a grimace flashes across his face. Was that the wrong thing to say?

“Lainey doesn’t date, Sam,” Dad says. “She’s too scared after what happened between your mom and dad. Whatever happened,” he mumbles.

I choke on my orange juice and glance at Eden. Her face is set in a grim line and she’s wiping furiously at a ketchup stain on Sam’s shirt, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“What exactly happened between you two? It’s been years,” Dad says. “Don’t you think that’s long enough to play this silly game of pretending like you’re mad at each other? Sam’s what, seven now?”

“Actually, I’m seven and a half,” Sam pipes up, proudly.

“Getting it all out there this morning, aren’t we Dad?” Huck chuckles, clearly enjoying everyone’s discomfort.

Henry’s jaw ticks and finally, he pushes back from the table. “I don’t even know why she comes to these family breakfasts,” he mutters. “Do you want to go outside, Sam? We can take the canoe over to Pirate Island.”

Eden rolls her eyes and pushes back from the table, too. Sam leaps from his seat, and lunges toward his dad.

“I need to get going too, Dad,” Huck says, glancing down at his watch. “I’ve gotta get the diner open. I’m sure Lucille’s already standing outside ready to tell me I’m running late.” He pushes back from the table and walks to the front door, leaving me with Dad and Tate.

Dad looks at the remaining two pieces of bacon longingly before finally grabbing them and adding them to his plate. “What are your plans for the day, Lainey?”

I glance at Tate out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he still wants me to help him at the cottage after the disaster we called our family breakfast. “You’re not doing anything are you? You don’t mind clearing these dishes while I fiddle around outside?”

“I can wait,” Tate says with a nod. If dad hears him allude to us having plans, he ignores them.

“Thanks, kid,” my dad says before his lumberjack frame ambles from the kitchen. Seconds later, I hear the door to the backyard shut.

“Give me a few minutes to clean up,” I say. “You can go ahead and get started if you want. and I’ll join you later.”

Tate glances around the mountain of dishes on the table and the pots and pans strewn around the kitchen. “I can stay and help,” he offers.

I shake my head. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll be done with these in no time. Go ahead and go to the cottage and I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”

Tate sighs, but I motion him to the door anyway.

“Thank you, Lainey.” I raise an eyebrow. “For bringing me to your family breakfast and for coffee. I’ll see you in a little bit.” He turns and walks to the front door, and I watch him go, hating myself for enjoying the view.