Page 58 of The Havenport Collection

“Where did you learn to cook? Did you take classes? Where? I can’t even microwave popcorn.” She grabbed her smartphone and started scrolling. “Is there a cooking school nearby?”

I stared at her, completely intrigued and yet confused by this woman. “Not that I know of. I learned mainly from my mom and then by watching YouTube videos.”

“Huh.” She seemed impressed.

“I was in the navy for eight years. A lot of those years were spent at sea where the food options were terrible. When I got out, I vowed to learn to cook really well so I would never have to eat rubbery chicken or boxed macaroni and cheese again.”

“You were in the navy?” She tapped her chin, as if assessing me. I sat up a little straighter. “I can see that. You have excellent posture, and your house is really neat. Did you enjoy serving?”

“I did. When I enlisted I was an eighteen-year-old dumbass, and when I got out I was a twenty-six-year-old man. It wasn’t easy, but I am grateful for that time and the opportunity to serve my country.”

She grasped my hand across the table. “Thank you for your service. I admire the commitment you made.”

She was so earnest it made me smile. My skin burned where her graceful hand covered my large, callused one. “Thanks. Both my dad and grandfather served in the navy, so it’s kind of a family tradition.”

She took a sip of scotch and leaned forward on her elbows, causing that fancy sweatshirt to slide even farther off her shoulder. “So you are a military man, an excellent cook, and what else? Tell me more about you, Declan.”

“There is not much to tell. You know Ginger. I have lived in Havenport most of my life. After the navy, I joined my family’s fishing business. I am a fourth generation fisherman. Our company, Quinn Fisheries, is headquartered here in Havenport.”

“That’s so interesting. So you work with your family?”

“Not really. Both of my brothers are in different lines of work. I worked with my dad for years, but he technically retired two years ago. He is still the CEO and works there, just not as much as he used to. I am currently COO, but I run the day-to-day operations.”

“So you are not a fisherman?”

“I am, but I’m not. I am frustrated by my role because I like being out on the water, and I like my crews.

I hate paperwork and useless meetings and holding clients’ hands.

” What I didn’t say was that I hated dealing with people.

The ocean, while dangerous, unpredictable, and sometimes downright hostile, was much easier for me to manage.

“And I love working with my dad, but we have different ideas about the future of the business.” I didn’t want to get into it with this gorgeous stranger, but I was growing more and more frustrated at work.

Every year things got harder, and we needed to do more to adapt and evolve as a business.

My father, of course, thought this was crazy and we should just stay the course he had set twenty years ago.

She nodded and remarked, “So you’re really an executive?”

She had hit the nail on the head. “Yes. It’s what I do. But it’s not who I am. I am a fisherman. Being out on the water, celebrating the beauty of nature—that’s what I truly love.” I paused, I hated talking about myself. “You haven’t told me anything about yourself.”

She leaned back, her body language changing. “There isn’t much to tell. I was…I am a lawyer.”

“Wow.” I could tell she was educated and refined, but I hadn’t guessed lawyer, especially for someone so young.

“I’m an associate at Burns & Glenn. It’s a massive global law firm.” She paused. “I was, I guess.” She looked down at her plate. “I do mergers and acquisitions mainly, and some general corporate work, debt and securities, that type of thing.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was certainly impressed.

“I live in Boston. I was raised in the area and that’s about it.” She dropped her hands into her lap. Clearly she didn’t like to talk about herself either.

“I don’t believe you. What do you do for fun?” I asked, trying to tease a smile out of her.

She laughed out loud. Not a dainty cute laugh but a big honking laugh. I had no idea what was so funny. “Not much. Unfortunately my career doesn’t allow much time for fun.” She said this matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. “I like to plan vacations.”

“That’s cool.”

“I don’t actually take them. I just plan them. Every time I try to go on vacation I end up having to cancel because of work. But I really enjoy the planning—reading reviews, looking at photos online, scoping out activities and restaurants. That kind of thing.”

I nodded, not really sure what to say to that. “What is your dream destination?”

She sighed and played with her fork. “Iceland. A few years ago, a group of associates I was friendly with were planning this big trip to Iceland after a case we worked on wrapped up. We all booked our tickets, and I read every possible book and website about Iceland. I was fascinated. I wanted to hike a glacier, see the Northern Lights, and swim in the geothermal springs. I planned the shit out of that trip.”

“What happened?”

Her face fell. “I ended up getting staffed on an emergency bankruptcy filing and had to cancel. The others went and had a blast.”

“You will get there someday.”

“I hope so. Because I already know everything I want to do there.”

She must really love her work. I wondered what had happened, why she was here and not kicking ass in a boardroom somewhere. She seemed sad, and not just about the cancelled trip to Iceland. I tried to lighten the mood. “So you are a corporate lawyer who lives in Boston and can’t cook.”

“Yup. And trust me, I really can’t cook. That’s why I am so grateful for your hospitality.”

I smiled at her, and then a crashing sound distracted me. Ginger had flipped over her food bowl. There was kibble all over the floor.

“Ginger,” I shouted. But my darling dog sat, with her perfect poodle posture, and stared at me.

“What’s wrong?” Astrid asked, curiously staring at Ginger.

“Ignore her,” I said. “She’s just mad because I didn’t give her any barbecue.”

Astrid snorted. It was cute. “So she knocked over her own food. Nice job, girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t encourage her. She’s already super spoiled. She would totally eat at the table with a knife and fork if I let her.”

But Astrid was ignoring me, already picking some meat off her plate to offer to Ginger, who slowly strolled over and gently took it from her hand.

When she finished, she sat at attention, staring at me for more. Ginger never begged—we both knew it was beneath her. Instead she would sit and stare at me until I gave her what she wanted.

“In her defense,” Astrid said, laughing wildly, “it is really good barbecue.”

“Fine.” I sighed. I started cutting some meat off the ribs to give to Ginger.

Astrid beamed at me, delighted that I was kowtowing to Ginger’s demands. “You are a really good dog dad.”

I looked up and found myself staring into her gorgeous blue eyes. “What can I say? I love strong women.”

Astrid insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes while I vacuumed up the spilled dog food. “I can’t cook for shit, but I am a halfway decent cleaner,” she told me, while scrubbing the cornbread pan.

I believed her. She approached every task carefully and thoughtfully. She considered where each dish should go in the dishwasher to maximize space and easily fit everything in. Was it weird that I was attracted to her superior spatial awareness?

“Can I walk you home?” I asked hopefully.

She pinned me with one of her serious looks. “Across the street? That hardly seems necessary.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “It’s late and it’s cold. And my mother raised me right.”

She carefully folded the dish towel and placed it on the countertop, taking her time and avoiding my question. “Fine. You can walk me home. But only if Ginger comes too.”

Ginger perked right up and trotted over to the door, excited for a late night walk.

It took all of two minutes to reach her front door. She carefully unlocked the door to the small cottage and turned around. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And the company wasn’t half bad either.” She smirked.

Kiss her. Kiss her. Grab her and kiss her. My brain was spinning as we stood on the tiny porch. I needed a game plan, and I had nothing. Was this a date? Was she interested? Before I could get my head out of my ass, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and walked through the open door.

Ginger gave me a look. “I know, girl,” I said, walking back toward my house. “I like her too.”