Page 6 of Sea La Vie (The Outer Banks #1)

Lainey

“ Y ou’re back early,” Eden says as she hands me a mug. I take a sip, and close my eyes in delight. Pure heaven. I’m Eden’s unofficial taste tester before anything goes on the menu, and this definitely deserves a spot.

“It’s good, right?” She smiles. “It’s a Mocha Macchiato.”

“It’s great,” I tell her and take another sip. “And yeah, I got lucky and caught a few early this morning. Paul beat me out there, but whatever. I caught enough.”

Eden eyes me warily. She pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and leans against the counter.

Today, she’s wearing cut off denim shorts, combat boots, and a tank top with a flannel tied around her waist. It’s not what I would’ve picked as summer attire for myself but somehow, she rocks it.

“ Enough fish?” She knows taking over dad’s fishing vessel hasn’t exactly been easy and has offered me a part time job on more than one occasion.

While it’s tempting to spend my days surrounded by the smell of paperbacks and coffee, I don’t want to give up my family’s legacy.

I just need to make it through a couple more months.

“Enough for now,” I tell her, giving her a one-shouldered shrug. “If I would’ve woken up thirty minutes earlier, I would’ve beaten Paul. I’m so mad at myself.”

“Paul isn’t that bad,” Eden says.

I roll my eyes. “Just because you think he’s hot, doesn’t mean he isn’t our arch nemesis.”

Eden smirks. “You have to admit, he’s pretty hot.”

“He’s my dad’s age, Eden. Gross.” I fake a gag and Eden lets out a sardonic laugh.

“I really worry about you going out there by yourself,” she says as she pushes a long brown strand of hair behind her ear. “If Henry would pull his head out of his—” before she can continue, a fifty pound rocket shoots into my legs.

“Aunt Lainey!” Sam cries. “Look at my pet worm!” Before I have time to protest, his sticky fingers are reaching into his pocket and pulling out a limp earthworm.

“Sam, gross! Take it outside right now!” Eden commands. When Sam stays planted, Eden points toward the door. “Out!”

Sam hangs his head and shuffles out the front door, Eden’s eyes never leaving him. I watch as Sam walks outside, looks around, and shoves the worm back in his pocket. When he comes back in, Eden points back to the door, and Sam’s shoulders sink as he turns around and goes back outside.

“Kids,” she mutters with a shake of her head. She adjusts the flannel tied around her waist and peers through the windows again.

The bell above the door jingles right as the sun shines perfectly in my face, temporarily blinding me from anything above shoulder height.

A man walks in with jeans stretched perfectly around muscular thighs and a black Henley pulled tight over broad shoulders.

When he turns around at one of the bookshelves, the sun dips behind a cloud, and I blink hard to regain my bearings.

“Eden,” I whisper, my heart a thundering mess in my chest, clearly choosing to betray me and my strict command of steering clear of the guy pulling books off the shelves and scanning them. “Do you remember Tate?”

Eden dries a mug then sets it on the counter. “ The Tate? Tate Matthews?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “He’s back in town.”

Eden’s eyebrows shoot up as he ambles up to the counter with a book under his arm.

“Morning, Lainey.”

“Morning.” Eden raises her eyebrows in amusement at my one word answer.

Tate was so much fun when we were kids, always up for an adventure.

Every year on May thirty-first, he’d show up with his sister, ready to spend the summer with his grandpa.

When they left at the end of every August, I wasn’t the only one who was bummed—Henry and Huck were always sad, too.

Memories from the last time I saw him come together in my mind as he scans the chalkboard menu behind the counter. The treehouse. The storm. His parents.

Then, my mind drifts to the night of our fight…the night everything changed. I had pushed those memories as far away as I could and locked them up tight. A twelve year friendship, gone in the matter of minutes, because of a stupid fight.

When I saw him last night for the first time, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes.

A large part of me wanted to throw my arms around his shoulders—much larger and broader now as a man—and show him all around town.

I wanted to take him to Pirate Island and show him that our old treehouse was still standing.

I wanted to sit down and catch up and talk until the early morning hours under the stars on the beach like we used to.

And, as much as I hated to admit it, I wanted to get a glimpse of those new biceps he’s sporting now.

Tate was always a cute kid, and he turned into an even cuter teenager.

But now, there aren’t appropriate words for how attractive he is.

His shoulders take up most of a doorframe and taper down into a narrow waist, and I just know there are rock solid abs under that shirt.

His biceps bulge, even when he’s not trying, and if that wasn’t enough, his eyes…

oh gosh his eyes. They’re so dark it’s hard to tell the irises from his pupils, and so mysterious that it’s hard to look away.

Add in his dazzling smile behind full lips, and I caught myself thinking about him a lot after I went home last night.

But the smaller, more reasonable part of me, remembered that he never once tried to reach out after our fight. Not a phone call. Not even a letter. And as silly as it is, it still hurts. We had spent every summer for years together and then…nothing.

He also screams “city” now. Not my type at all; not that I know what my type is, exactly. In a town this tiny, I’m not the most experienced in dating. But I know a clean-cut city boy who can’t change his tire isn’t it—right? Not that I’m thinking of Tate that way.

He chuckles. “Nice to see you, too. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I don’t. My best friend owns the place.” Eden gazes from him to me then smirks.

“You two know each other? Tell me more.” Eden asks, playing dumb.

She moved in with her grandma here when she was in highschool after bouncing around between family members over the years after her mom ran off.

She’s a couple years younger than me, and the same age as Henry.

When we learned she was pregnant with Sam, we immediately brought her into the family, and she and I became fast friends.

Eden also happened to move here right when Tate went away to UCLA, and she was the sturdiest shoulder to lean on during my heartbreak.

I roll my eyes. “He got himself in the ditch last night, and I had to change his tire because he didn’t know how.”

“I know how to change a tire,” he mutters, cheeks flushing. “I mean…I could’ve figured it out if I would’ve had enough cell phone service to get YouTube to load.”

“Rough stretch of road for cell phone service,” Eden sympathizes with a soft smile.

“I see you ditched the suit,” I say, stealing one last glance at his muscled shoulders.

“Yep,” he says. “Thankfully I found this in my gym bag. I walked down to Sid’s this morning and got it out of my trunk. Where could I grab a few things?”

I notice he hasn’t explained why he didn’t have a bag with him and why he seemingly left the city in such a hurry. I point across the street. “That’s your best bet unless you want to take a day trip to Morehead City.”

Tate’s gaze follows my finger, and he squints against the sun until he makes out the thrift store. He nods, then turns back to the counter. “Thanks. Can I get a Red Eye?”

He doesn’t even grimace at the suggestion of wearing used clothes.

His suit was so perfectly tailored to his body and was definitely not from the JCPenny clearance rack, so the thought of Tate being okay with thrift store clothes is a little shocking.

Although, what other options does he have?

It’s not like we have any department stores, let alone a Walmart, in this town.

I’d really like to ask him what had made him so pressed to leave town in such a hurry that he didn't even grab a toothbrush, but I decide I don’t care. Or, at least that’s what I tell myself.

“Any news from Sid yet?” I ask, instead.

“Yeah. It’s not looking so great. Apparently no one in any of the surrounding towns carries any extra parts for an Audi so he had to order it,” he says.

“I never would’ve guessed,” I say, sarcasm edging its way into my voice.

“It’s okay,” he assures me with a shrug. “I forgot how much I love it here. I don’t mind staying. Even Lucille is starting to grow on me.”

“Lucille? Really?” Eden shudders. “I’ve lived here for years, and I still flip my sign to ‘closed’ anytime that old biddy walks by.”

“No, but I keep telling myself she’s not so bad so I can sleep with both eyes closed,” he admits.

“How long are you planning on staying there?” I ask. Okay, so maybe I do care about his plans, but only a little bit.

“Just until I can get the cottage liveable. Hopefully not too long.”

“And then what?” Eden asks sliding Tate’s order to him. He takes a drink before answering.

“I told my mom I’d take care of the repairs and then put it up for sale.

” He wipes at the froth that’s gathered on his top lip, and my stomach betrays me, twisting at how adorable his little milk mustache is—definitely not at the news of him leaving again.

I should’ve known better to think he’d ever stay.

He’s gone on to bigger and better things in the city.

Why would he ever want to stay in a quiet place like this when he doesn’t even have friends here? Not anymore at least.

“What should I do around here to keep me busy in between repairs?” he asks.

“What do you like to do?” I ask. I don’t have the heart to tell him the repairs are going to take a good chunk of his time, but then again, he couldn’t even change a tire so I have a feeling most of his repairs are going to end up hired out.

“Golf, try new restaurants, shop,” he answers.

I giggle. “Well you're in luck.”

His dark eyes sparkle, and he cocks his head to the side, all ears.

“There’s still the putt putt course in town.

It hasn’t been updated since the eighties when everyone thought this place would be a tourist attraction, but it should do the job for you.

As for restaurants, I’m sure you saw Shuckin’ Hucks when you came into town.

And for shopping, the general store is open today from ten until seven.

It also doubles as the post office, so all your bases should be covered.

” I roll my lips together, trying to hold in my laughter.

Tate eyes me, a slight frown forming on his lips. “You do remember I lived here every summer for twelve years, right? You’re acting like I can’t make it a month in this town.”

“I don’t think you can make it another hour,” I snap back. Guys in this town don’t wear suits and wreck their sports cars because of rogue squirrels. Surely he can read between the lines.

“That’s kind of rude,” he answers, then eyes me skeptically. “You don’t even know me anymore.” A pang of sadness stabs at my chest that this is what things have come to.

I recoil at his comment, willing the hurt to not cross my face, and fold my arms across my chest.

Eden’s eyes ping pong back and forth between the two of us, then she reluctantly pulls away to help a customer.

“Touché.” Ultimately, he’s right. I have no clue what his story is these days, and it bothers me how many chapters of him I’d like to read.

He considers me for a moment, surveying me from head to toe. Goosebumps prickle my skin at his narrowed gaze. He crosses his arms defiantly, mirroring me, and the fabric of his Henley stretches tighter across his shoulders to reveal even more ripples of muscle.

His face softens when he realizes what he’s said. “It’s still me, Lainey. I’m sorry. I’m still the same old Tate.”

“A lot changes in ten years,” I say, looking past him to the door, the ceiling, anywhere but his eyes.

“I’m sorry for how things ended,” he says.

When I don’t look at him, he reaches a hand out and lays it on my forearm.

I’ve missed his touch so much, and when he removes it, it hurts just as much as the sting in my chest. For a brief moment, I’m wondering what’s better—to know what love feels like but have it ripped away from you, or to never know it all.

“Let’s forget about it,” I mutter.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks. “I need your help with the cottage. I don’t know anyone here anymore, so I’m not sure who to contact. Plus, what am I supposed to do when I’m not at the cottage? Sit at Lucille’s and watch Dateline with her? Please don’t make me do that.”

I give him a half smile at that. Yes, we can be friends!

, my heart screams. But I can’t get myself to say it out loud.

I may have instigated the fight that led to us not talking for ten years—I’ll admit that—but he’s the one who left us like a shattered puzzle, never trying to piece it back together. But still…I’ve missed him.

“Meet me at the docks tomorrow morning at four a.m.,” I sigh. If he really wants to give this a second chance, I need him to prove it.