Page 33 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

Lainey

“ M orning, sunshine.” Tate greets me on the back porch with a grin as he hands me a steaming mug of coffee. I accept it happily, my arm falling out of the quilt I’m wrapped up in. I mindlessly run my finger over the chip on the edge and stare out at the abnormally calm water.

Light is beginning to peek through the clouds, rays of pink stretching down to wake up the earth.

Tate takes a seat on the swing beside me, pulling one leg under him to mirror my position.

He’s wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a well-worn, threadbare gray T-shirt.

He’s also wearing those tortoiseshell glasses, one lock of hair falling perfectly into the middle of his forehead, and the stubble that seems to only grace his face when he’s wearing those glasses.

GQ couldn’t perfect the look if they tried.

“Couldn’t hang through the entire movie, huh?” He nudges my arm with his elbow, and I laugh.

“I was so tired,” I say through another yawn.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Thanks for throwing this quilt over me last night before heading to your room, though.

” I had woken up this morning on Tate’s couch, perfectly bundled in the quilt I’m using now, to the smell of coffee filtering through from the kitchen.

“You’ll have to tell me how the movie ended. ”

Tate cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t know how You’ve Got Mail ends?”

I giggle and take another sip of my coffee. “Of course I know how it ends,” I say. I steal another glance at him and notice his t-shirt is from UCLA. He catches me staring and sets his coffee on the side of the swing.

“From an intramural basketball game,” he explains.

“Ahh,” I mumble. We swing together in silence for a few minutes before I look at him again. “You haven’t told me much about your time in college,” I say.

He shrugs. “There’s not really much to say. I lived in a little apartment off-campus with my best friend, Jordan. Wait until you meet him. He’s something else,” he laughs as he shakes his head.

He’s thinking of me meeting his friends?

He picks his coffee back up and drains the last sip. “Anyway, yeah. That’s about it. I met Liv there, and well…you see how that ended.”

I cringe and he pulls me into his chest.

“You always smell like sunshine, vanilla, and the ocean,” he muffles.

“You have ever since we were kids.” I want to smile, grateful that he’s taken note after all these years, but something pings inside my chest when he says, “I wish we could go back in time and get a redo. I would do a lot differently.”

I pull back and look directly into his eyes. “I don’t.”

His brows draw together, and a frown forms on his perfect lips that I had the pleasure of kissing last night.

“I mean, yeah, if I could go back, I would be much more supportive of your decision to chase your dreams. I wouldn't have been such a brat about it. But also, I think we are who we are because of the choices we made without each other, too, you know?”

He considers this by drawing one corner of his mouth in. “Yeah, I guess so. It doesn’t stop me from being selfish and wanting you to myself for all that extra time, though.”

“We could always make the most of what time we have now?” I suggest.

“Lainey Adams, I would love nothing more.”

At his confession, warmth spreads across my chest like that first sip of whiskey, oozing into every limb until I feel drunk with happiness.

“We could start today?” I suggest. “Maybe go to the beach? Or we could finish You’ve Got Mail ?”

Tate’s face brightens for a beat before he deflates. “I would love to, but something came up and I really need to take care of it.”

“Okay,” I say. “Like what? Can you postpone it?”

“No,” Tate says, tapping his fingers along his thigh, staring at the ground, then the water, anything but me. “I’ve got one last meeting with the contractors.”

“Okay,” I say. “Maybe later then?”

“Later, yeah, for sure.” Tate gets up and holds out his coffee cup, his demeanor suddenly changed to something that has me uneasy.

Is he hiding something from me? Maybe I’m expecting too much too soon from him.

We haven’t even defined our situation yet, so of course he wouldn’t need to tell me his every plan.

Tate’s phone buzzes along the railing and he flips it over and studies it.

“Well, what do you know,” he mumbles. “Emma’s son just emailed me back.” He flashes the phone in my direction, and I take a minute to read his reply.

Good morning Mr. Matthews,

I have to admit, I’m intrigued by your initial email.

My mother, Emma, has only spoken a few times of her summer in Widow’s Wharf, but when she does, she does so fondly.

I’ve reached out to her before replying to you to confirm she’s interested in visiting with your grandfather, and she says she would love to make the trip.

Is there a day that works better for you?

Give me a few days notice so I can clear my schedule, if you don’t mind.

I look forward to meeting you.

Graham

“Wow,” I say. “So it’s actually happening, then?”

Tate nods. “I think it is. I can’t wait to tell Grandpa. When do you think we should do it? Maybe Saturday?”

“Yeah, Saturday would be good,” I say.

“I need more coffee. Do you?”

I glance into my bare coffee cup but shake my head. “I think I’m going to head home. I have a few things I need to take care of today, too,” I say, thinking of the fish I still need to deliver to the exterminator for his help on Tate’s cottage.

“You sure?” he asks. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“I thought you had a meeting with your contractors?” I frown.

“Yeah,” I do, he scrambles. “It’s not for a couple hours though.”

I study his face for any sign that something is going on. Surely I’m reading too much into this, right?

“That’s okay.” I stand and the quilt drops to the ground, revealing another old T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts Tate found in the drawers of the cottage the night before after accidentally spilling my drink all over myself from laughing so hard at something he said.

“I’ll uh, just wash these before I give them back to you. ”

I walk inside and drop my coffee cup into the sink.

“Let me know if you are free before Saturday,” I say.

He walks me to the door and holds my hand while I slip on my sandals.

The quick peck he gives me goodbye turns into something more passionate quickly, and within seconds I’m breathless and sure that what I’ve imagined is only that, my imagination.

He gives me one last kiss goodbye, and when I’m halfway down his drive, I turn around to see him grinning in the doorway still.

“What are you wearing?” Eden asks as I slide onto an empty stool. I open the paper I had grabbed off the ground on the way in and scan the headlines. Nothing new or exciting, until a fishing tournament catches my eye.

“Hello?” Eden asks. She sets a warm chocolate croissant down in front of me. “Taste this, would you? I made them this morning but I’m worried I didn’t use enough butter.”

I take a bite of the flakey pastry and a little moan escapes from me. “Heavenly,” I say through the muffled layers.

“Good,” she says. She turns around to finish her opening duties, and I quickly rip out the fishing tournament ad and shove it into my pocket. “Back to the outfit,” she says. “Explain. And maybe quickly, because I open in thirty minutes, and I’m not sure anyone needs to see you in that.”

I frown and glance down at my outfit. “It’s not that bad is it?”

Eden squints her eyes and nods. “You’re wearing a black, ‘Hoosiers Class of 84’ T-shirt and green shorts that are about three sizes too big for you, and I know you always have the wild, crazy hair thing going on but even this is a bit extreme for you.

” She reaches out and tucks a stray strand behind my ear. “Do you even know a Hoosier?”

“I don’t even know what a Hoosier is,” I admit.

“Don’t change the subject. Spill.” Eden leans back against the counter, crossing her arms at her chest.

Heat creeps up my neck, a dead giveaway. “They’re not mine.” I admit.

“Are they Tate’s?!” she screams and leans across the counter, her nose practically touching mine. “Tell me they’re Tate’s.”

“Technically…no,” I say.

“Oh,” she frowns and backs up.

“They happened to come from his house, though,” I mumble. “Honestly, it’s probably left over from a renter…which is actually super gross if you think about it.”

She leans against the counter casually. “Do tell.”

“I went over to see his cottage after the renovations, we started watching a movie, and I fell asleep on his couch.”

She rolls her eyes. “So much for living vicariously through you,” she mutters.

“This morning, we drank our coffee and watched the sunrise, then I headed here. He said he had a meeting with his contractor.” I debate if I want to tell her about the weird way he was acting and decide against it. She would, without a doubt, say it was all in my head, which is probably true.

I take another bite of my croissant and Eden brings a box from the back, beginning to unpack a new shipment of books. I pick up a few and study them. “Gardening?” I ask. “That’s an interesting pick.”

Eden stills, then grabs the book from my hands.

“Leave your opinions on my book selection to yourself, okay?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief, and there's a small smile on her lips.

Eden is fabulous at matching books to people, so she must have someone in mind for them.

Probably Lucille trying out a new hobby.

She swipes the rest of them back into the box and sets it on the end of the counter.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?”

“Getting out of these clothes and taking a shower.” I hop off the stool and walk toward the door. I turn around, grinning wickedly. “Tell Sam that Aunt Lainey says hi, and she’s looking at puppies for him.”

Eden glares, then points toward the door. “Goodbye.”

After showering, I pick up my borrowed clothes from the bathroom floor and feel the crunch of the ad I forgot I had stuck in my pocket. I pull it out and study it. The tournament starts tomorrow out of Haven’s Harbor, a few towns away, on the southern end of the Outer Banks.

Biting my lip, I consider my options. I could call the number listed at the bottom and ask if there are any last minute spots open, or I could miss out on a chance to win the twenty thousand dollar grand prize.

I’d be fishing either way, I reason, and twenty thousand dollars would do so much for this business.

I think of the motors on the back of the boat, one that has already been in the shop, the other in desperate need of a tune up, and the busted windshield.

This would be enough to repair all of that and still have money left over.

Tate's voice fills my mind from our conversation about going out on the water alone. But what’s one more time? I’ve been doing this for so long now and have never had an issue before, even if I am down a motor.

I slide my phone off the counter and type in the number with shaky hands. It rings a few times before an older gentleman answers the phone.

“I’m calling to see if there are any spots left in the tournament tomorrow? I’d like to enter my boat.”

“Someone dropped out this morning,” he answers, his voice gruff like so many of the weathered fishermen of the area. “The spot is yours if you want it.”

“Yes,” I say, before giving myself time to back out. “I’ll take it.”

“Be here at five tomorrow morning and get registered. You’ll head out at six and have until six tomorrow evening to catch as many fish as you can. The most fish wins.”

“Perfect,” I say and thank him before hanging up. I do some quick thinking on how long it will take me to get to Haven’s Harbor. If I leave now, I should have enough time to grab a quick dinner before docking up for the night, and be ready to go at five.

Midge noses the door open and plops on her butt. She looks up at me and tilts her head as if she was eavesdropping on my conversation.

“No one has to know,” I tell her. “If I win, we’ll just deposit the check and be good to go. If I lose, I lose. No big deal.”

Midge whines and tilts her head the other way, and I roll my eyes. “Not you too.”