Page 11 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

Lainey

“ S o the octopus actually stuck to him?” Eden giggles as she wipes down the espresso maker, then slides me her newest creation. I take a sip and savor every second of it.

Since breakfast ended in a dumpster fire the other morning, I’m just now getting the chance to tell Eden about Tate’s encounter with the octopus.

“Is that cinnamon and honey? Delicious,” a soft moan of ecstasy escapes me. “And almost. I pulled it off before it stuck to him, but it was still gnarly.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust and Eden does the same. “You should make this one a permanent item on the menu. It might be my new favorite.”

“Here, take one to Tate.” She slides one more across the counter before I can protest. “You need to lighten up on him.”

“What do you mean?” I scoff. “I’m nice to him. I changed his tire. I invited him to our family breakfast. I’m helping him with the cottage when I can. What more should I do for the guy?”

Eden shoots me the same pointed look she gives Sam when he’s in trouble. “You acted like the thought of him as a boyfriend was absolutely disgusting the other morning at breakfast. You should’ve seen the way he deflated when he realized you had no interest whatsoever.”

“He’s basically a tourist now, Eden. He doesn’t vacation here every summer like he used to. We are two completely different people than we were as teenagers. We have a history and it didn’t end so great.” I shrug and add, “Also, he’s not my type.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun,” she says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “No way. He’s always so smiley…and happy.”

“Gosh, you’re right,” Eden says, brows drawn together. “We better call the cops.”

“Eden! He rolled into this sleepy town in his ridiculously over the top car, expensive suit, and Italian loafers, acting like he never left and broke my heart to begin with. He doesn’t fit here. And don’t you think it’s weird that he came back randomly after staying away for so many years?”

Eden shrugs. “You don’t need to know everything about the man to—”

“Stop right there. No more,” I say, biting back a smile. “Not interested. Period.”

Then why are his dark, hickory-colored eyes and bright smile the last thing I thought about before finally falling asleep last night? “He’s just so…I don’t know,” I saw with a flip of my hand.

“Tall, dark, and handsome? I could see why that bothers you,” Eden says, taking a sip of the coffee she made for me. “This is good,” she mumbles, more to herself than me.

“Then go get him, tiger. He’s all yours,” I say and jump off the bar stool.

“No way. I tried relationships once. Your brother ruined me for life.” Eden shudders, and Sam runs around the corner, effectively putting an end to our conversation.

Eden and Henry were high school sweethearts, inseparable and in love.

We all thought they’d get married and live a long happy life, even after the surprise of being pregnant with Sam.

Until, one day, they called it quits. Eden won’t tell me what happened, and neither will Henry.

All I know is my sweet, shy, soft-spoken brother left on a full ride to USC’s football team for summer training, came back after he found out Eden was pregnant, and now Eden can’t stand his guts.

“Aunt Lainey! Can I go surfing with you this morning?” Sam asks, shoving what’s left of a blueberry muffin into his tiny mouth. “Please?” He begs through muffled crumbs and wipes his sticky fingers down the front of his shirt. “I’ve been practicing with Dad!”

“Not today, Peanut,” Eden says, swooping him into her arms and peppering kisses along his chubby cheeks. Sam squeals in delight. “Aunt Lainey is going to help her friend this morning.” She winks at me and shuffles Sam into the back, no doubt to get him cleaned up from his breakfast.

I roll my eyes and grab my bag off the counter, and after some deliberation, the coffee Eden made, then head for the Tate’s.

“The contractor did a great job,” I say, nodding at the patched ceiling in Tate’s bedroom.

“I’m happy with how it turned out,” he says. “I just wish I would’ve hired him to rip up this nasty carpet, too.”

“At least you got the raccoon situation under control,” I smirk. Midge noses around the room, no doubt sniffing out any lingering trace of the ‘coon.

Tate laughs. “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t know everyone in a hundred mile radius of this town.”

I had called Riley, a boy I went to school with who went to work for a pest control and exterminator business right after graduation. After I explained the situation to him and promised him a dozen red snapper, he moved things around to make Tate’s cottage a priority.

“I don’t mind switching jobs,” I offer. “You paint the cabinets and I’ll rip it up.”

Tate shakes his head. “I don’t have the patience for painting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t have the patience for painting but you’re an accountant?”

“Totally different,” he says.

I shrug and pick up a paintbrush. “Suit yourself.” I head to the kitchen and assess what I’m working with.

The cabinets really aren’t in terrible shape, but a fresh coat of white paint would really help brighten things up in here.

Tate heaves and grunts in the room opposite me until he gets a good start on rolling up the carpet.

A couple of hours later, I have the majority of the cabinets painted, and Tate’s got the carpet ripped up and hauled outside. Even Midge chipped in and chewed up an old baseboard that didn’t need to be replaced until now.

“Hey, Lainey, look at this,” he says, after coming in from the bedroom.

I turn around and find Tate, dusting off a piece of paper. “When I rolled up the carpet in the bedroom, I found a soft spot in the floorboards. I pulled it back to see how bad it was and found this in between the joists,” he says as he unfolds it. “It looks old.”

I peer over his shoulder and read the faded ink.

Meet me tomorrow at the top of the lighthouse when the sun and the sky meet, and we’ll leave it all behind. -E

“It doesn’t spell their names out?” I ask.

“No,” Tate says. “It’s almost like whoever wrote it didn’t want to get caught.”

“Do you think it could’ve been a renter?”

Tate shakes his head. “It looks too old, plus didn’t you say the lighthouse got demolished during the last hurricane?” I nod. “I wonder if Grandpa would know.”

“Maybe you could ask him about it,” I suggest.

“Maybe,” Tate agrees. “If he remembers…” The corner of his mouth pulls in and his eyebrows draw together. “I went to see him yesterday and it took him a few minutes to remember who I was.” The corner of Tate’s mouth tugs down, and he folds the note back up. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

I walk over and place a hand on Tate’s forearm. “Tate, I think your grandpa understands that you went across the country for college, then started working full time in a completely different city,” I say gently.

“I thought calling him and sending him postcards and letters would be enough, but when I saw him yesterday, all alone in his room at the nursing home, I realized it wasn’t.”

I give his arm a light squeeze. “Go see him again,” I urge. “Ask him about the note. Talk to him. He’ll love it.”

“Will you come with me?” he asks. “You were here when I found the note. It feels like you should be there when he explains it.”

Tate’s grandfather is in a nursing home a few towns over, at least an hour away. “We can take him dinner,” Tate suggests. “You should be back off the water by dinner, right?”

He looks so eager and hopeful, his eyes wide as his hands fiddle with the note. I’m hit with a flashback of us as kids, him giving me the same look as I tried to talk him into something that was probably dangerous and unsafe.

“I’ll go with you,” I promise.

He grins before walking over to the thermostat. “Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?”

“It’s hot in here,” I confirm.

Tate groans, “The AC is out.” He looks around the cottage then glances at me. “We should probably call it a day. I’m sorry I kept you so long, anyway.”

“I’m happy to help,” I say. A few days ago, one of the twin motors on the boat went out, and it’s currently in the repair shop.

I’ve always been taught to never go out with one motor, so until it’s fixed, we’re even further in the red for the season.

I wipe at the sweat dripping off me and push up the sleeves of my tee.

“Do you want to go surfing?” I offer. “I could really use a cool down.”

Tate’s face instantly lights up. “I’d love that.”

It’s a calm day on the beach, an oddity for this stretch of sand. Tiny waves lap onto the shore and kiss my toes with the pleasantly warm water. The smell of Tate’s sunscreen permeates the air, and I can’t help but smile when I notice he hasn’t managed to rub it in completely on his face.

“What are you staring at?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” I say, averting my gaze. “I was just wondering if you had extra to spare. I forgot mine at home.”

“Sure,” he says and tosses me the tube. I’m fumbling with it, trying to get the last bit out on my back when I feel him take it from my hand. “Here. Let me help,” he says. “If that’s okay?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” I say, with a thick swallow. I’m already burnt from my last surfing trip, and any more sun in the same spot is going to have me crying and dancing around under the water in the shower tonight. Plus, this is only weird if I make it weird. Right?

Tate squirts some sunscreen into his palm then lays his hands gently on my skin.

Strong hands glide over my shoulders and massage into them long enough for me to let out a tiny sigh.

His hands are so warm and soft, and I catch myself wondering what they’d feel like cradling my face as he gives my shoulder an awkward pat and throws the tube onto his towel.

“All done. Let’s do this,” he says and scans the water with one hand over his brow.