Changing Tides, page 8
Rachel’s head jerked back to him. “I . . . What?”
“I’m kidding.” He reached and touched her arm in a teasing manner, and they both laughed.
When he moved his hand, her skin tingled from the touch.
“Sometimes, when Boggs is in a mood, he’ll pick them up and inspect them, but that’s it. You take a look, approve of the stock, then check the invoice and sign it, and I’m on my way.” He reached inside his coat to an inner pocket, revealing the insulated flannel beneath, and plucked out a small rectangle of paper and handed it to her.
Rachel glanced it over, taking in the looping scrawl of Joe’s handwriting, which was surprisingly neat for a man, before she pulled the pen out of the pocket of her apron and scrawled her signature on the bottom of it and handed it back.
“That’s it?”
Joe nodded. “That’s it. I can take these into the kitchen. I know where he keeps them.”
“That would be great.” Rachel stood there a moment longer, partly because she enjoyed the fresh sea air and partly because she hated for their conversation to end. “So what now?” she asked, glancing up at him from under her lashes. “Do you continue hopping to other restaurants in Bayshore, delivering fresh food to all?”
When his dimples popped in answer, Rachel noted the right one was more prominent.
“Not today. I usually go to one vendor a day. Then I clean up the boat and put equipment away, and I prep it for the following morning, then I head home.”
“Is it your boat?” she asked, feeling slightly foolish. She had no idea how it worked to be a fisherman, at least not a small boat fisherman. Her knowledge of the industry extended to what she saw on television with large crews that went out on bigger boats, mostly in the busiest seasons—spring, summer, and fall—depending on what they sought, only to return weeks later with a boat full of fish or crab or scallops.
“It’s mine, yeah. Hastings Seafood was my dad’s company.” Joe removed his ball cap and scratched his head, ruffling his dark hair before he put it back on. “Well, if you could call it a company back then. In the beginning, it was a really small operation, mostly just selling direct to tourists in the summer. But we’ve expanded since then, though it is still just the one boat.”
Hastings Seafood. The name rang a bell, and a memory niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t place it.
“What about you?” he asked with a smile. “How is The Sea Oat treating you?”
“It’s okay.” Rachel bit her lip at the diplomatic answer, then laughed. “Actually, it’s been rough.”
“Really? I would never have known.” When his lips twitched, Rachel swatted at him, and he laughed softly.
“What gave it away?”
He rubbed a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “It might have been the Chanel dress and heels.”
Rachel groaned, but smiled at herself. “My feet hurt so bad. I must’ve looked like I had no clue what I was doing.”
“I thought it was kind of cute.”
Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest. Suddenly, balancing on stilts while waiting tables was wholly worth it.
Angling her head away from him so he couldn’t see her blush, she said, “My inexperience didn’t stop there. I actually got myself fired.”
“Well, you must’ve done something right if Boggs took you back.”
“Actually, I have no idea why he took me back,” she said, sounding as perplexed as she felt. “It remains a mystery, but I’m grateful for the chance, regardless.” She watched him in her periphery as she added, “I really need a job, and nowhere else along the coast is hiring, so,” she spread her arms toward the diner, “this is it.”
Joe nodded, but he said nothing.
It was no secret her family was in some sort of financial blight. The gossip circles had been buzzing about it for months. The only thing no one knew for certain was why. But Joe showed none of the typical signs of someone who wanted to dig for information. It was both refreshing and surprising at once.
“You’re not going to ask me why I need the job so badly?”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared above her head, out at the docks. “I reckon it’s none of my business.”
Rachel snorted. “If only the rest of Bayshore felt that way.”
When Joe flashed her a crooked smile, her heart flew into overdrive.
“I figure if a Beaumont wants to work a waitressing job, then that’s their prerogative. Who am I to question it? Your reasons are none of my business.”
“Ah.” Rachel exhaled. “So, you do know who I am. I was wondering,” she said, unsure of whether that made her feel better or worse.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I suppose they do.”
“And, hey, it’s not every day, you get served lunch by the mayor’s daughter.”
“Ha! Ex-mayor; his term just ended. Now maybe we can all live our lives out from under the microscope.”
He eyed her closely, and she wondered what he was thinking. Paranoid, she glanced around the marina to the docked boats, out into the sparkling water and back. Her ears and nose had long since grown so cold they were almost numb, but she hated to leave him.
“Must be nice working for yourself,” she said, eying one of the boats.
He crossed his arms and followed her gaze. “It has its advantages. Most of all, though, it’s being out there”—he nodded to the water—“that I love most.”
Rachel was a people person, always had been. Though she lived alone, generally, she didn’t like solitude. It was why she had so many friends and social circles in high school. Cassie and Andi may have been her best friends, but she had a wide birth of friendships and acquaintances she spent her time with. Most people on the outside looking in probably saw it as simply a product of her popularity, but for her, it was more than that. She liked the constant companionship. It was part of the reason she rarely stayed at home and, up until now, enjoyed a heavy social calendar, even if it was mostly occupied by the social elite of Bayshore.
“Is it lonely?” she asked, her voice soft.
His gaze found hers and something passed through his eyes she couldn’t decipher.
For a moment, she wondered if she’d gotten too personal. After all, she hardly knew him. But when she opened her mouth to apologize, he answered, “Sometimes.”
They stood that way for a long moment, gazing into each other’s eyes while Rachel’s heart slammed against her ribs. Until out of nowhere, a voice called out. “Hey, Rach. You done?”
Rachel cleared her throat and glanced back behind her, waving in acknowledgement at Mandy, who was standing on the corner block outside the restaurant.
“I guess I better go,” Rachel said, dropping her hand.
Then Rachel moved around Joe and headed for the back entrance of the restaurant where she hurried inside. The bustle of the kitchen instantly greeted her. Miguel hollered about an order, while Mandy whipped past, a tray of food balanced in one hand, a carafe of coffee in the other. Rachel glanced longingly to the closed door behind her one last time, knowing Joe would be headed inside at any moment with his catch, and suddenly, she thought, maybe this job wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter Ten
Rachel arrived back at Andi’s house exhausted but feeling good about her day. She’d worked two whole days with minimal mishaps—no spilled trays of food, no coffee waterfalls or confrontations, and very few mistakes. Even Mr. Boggs seemed impressed at the complete three-sixty since Monday. And as a reward—or maybe it was just a perk of working in the food industry—he sent her home with a pint of his infamous clam chowder.
Rachel’s stomach growled as she entered the kitchen, but she wanted to clean up and relax a bit before she ate. Maybe she’d put on a movie and veg-out in her room with a bowl of the hot soup. It would be the first time she’d be able to relax since the night of the engagement party when her world was flipped upside down.
Kicking off her shoes, she hung up her coat in the small closet near the kitchen door as her mind drifted, once again, to Joe. She couldn’t help the nagging feeling she knew him from somewhere before, and though Bayshore was such a small town, she couldn’t place him.
But those eyes. Surely, she’d remember those eyes.
Andi flew into the kitchen, head down, and headed for the door when she saw Rachel and paused. Pulling her earbuds out, she arched a brow and asked, “So . . . How was it?”
“Well, another day of success. I didn’t get fired, and I didn’t spill a thing.”
Andi grinned. “That’s great.”
An image of Joe, hair blowing in the salty sea air flickered through her head. “Hey, did you know a Joe Hastings from Bayshore High?”
Andi frowned. “Joe Hastings . . .” she repeated. “What’s he look like?”
“Tan, tall, broad shoulders and lean muscle, at least from what I can tell. He’s got dark hair, spun with bits of gold from the sun. And he has these eyes . . . these smoke-blue eyes . . .”
Andi’s smile widened and she shot Rachel a knowing look to which Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’m not . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve seen him a few times at the diner. Turns out, he’s a fisherman.”
“Does he work with Jimmy or Tom’s crew?”
“No. He works alone, or at least, I think he does. If he has help, it’s not much. I get the feeling he runs a small operation with his own boat.”
“Well, I don’t think he was in our class. At least, I don’t remember a Joe.”
“Yeah, me neither.” Rachel frowned. It’s not like they had a large graduating class, but there was a reason she remembered him. She was sure of it. “Hey, do you have your old yearbooks here?” she asked.
“Yeah. They’re in my old bedroom in the top of the closet. Feel free to have a look,” she said, heading toward the coffee pot. “Ford’s coming over to read my latest chapter since I’m stuck, and then we’re going over wedding stuff, so we’ll be pretty well occupied for the night.”
“Great, thanks.” Rachel headed toward the fridge and placed her quart of soup inside, then headed for the stairs, calling out behind her. “Oh, and don’t worry about me for dinner. Apparently, working with food has its advantages.”
“Nice.” Andi smiled, but as she sat down to her laptop, Rachel could tell she was already distracted.
Rachel took the stairs two at a time, making her way to Andi’s old bedroom at the end of the hall. When she stepped inside, a wave of nostalgia crashed through her. How many days had she spent after school huddled in this very room with her two best friends? As she glanced around her, she realized not much had changed in the time that had passed. The celebrity teen posters no longer hung beside her bed and instead, had been replaced with tasteful photographs of the ocean. But the walls were still painted the same pale lavender. Pictures of her, Cassie, and Andi from high school were tacked to the memory board above the desk, and the same gray quilt covered the bed.
The days spent there in this space was a simpler time. A time when her family still had money and stability. Her father had yet to become mayor, and Rachel never questioned her place in the world. She knew exactly where she fit in and what her life would look like in the coming months and years, unlike now, where she had no clue what the future might hold. She didn’t know how she was going to pay for food, let alone the lifestyle she was accustomed to, and as she leaned over Andi’s desk, touching one of the photographs, she wished she could go back. Because life was easier when she was taken care of. And for that alone, she felt like a fraud. There she was, not even a week into trying to support herself and find her way through this mess, and all she wanted was her old life of convenience back.
With a sigh, she turned away from the photo, headed toward Andi’s closet and slid the door open, finding the yearbooks right where Andi said they’d be on the top shelf near a stack of linens.
She reached up and pulled them down, taking them to Andi’s bed where she shuffled the books until she found the one from their freshman year and flipped it open. Starting with their class, she flipped through the pages, taking in the familiar faces of her youth with a new wash of memories.
Several pages in, Carter stared back at her—his skin smooth, jaw slightly rounder and softer. “Class President” was written in bold below his picture, and Rachel remembered the way he wore that title like he did everything else—with a cocky entitlement—and she wondered what she ever saw in him. But he was different around her, and at one time, they used to talk about their future, one they had planned to spend together.
Quickly flipping the page, she shook the memory off, unwilling to take a jaunt down memory lane. But when she got to the final page, and there was still no sign of Joe, she started skimming the sophomore class. Five minutes later, she found him.
He was a junior when they were freshmen, which would explain why she hadn’t immediately placed him. But as she stared at the boy in the photo, so different from the man she spoke with today—the blemished skin, glasses, and slightly crooked smile—a vision of him walking the halls of Bayshore High trickled through her mind’s eye.
He strode quickly, head hung low, shoulders hunched as he headed toward his locker. Several boys walked by, knocking into the bookbag on his back, and when a book flew out, they snickered.
“You smell fish, Carter?”
“Nah, that’s just Joey,” the boy said with a twist of the lips.
Rachel glanced up from the yearbook and closed her eyes. She remembered—him, Hastings Seafood, and his father’s little ramshackle stand on the side of the road.
How could she forget? That’s why when she first heard his name, it was so familiar.
She returned to the yearbook and brushed a finger over the photo, half expecting it to come to life as another memory hit her.
She’d been at the beach with Andi, Cassie, and a group of friends from school. It was just before supper and she promised her parents she’d be home for dinner with the Flemings. At the time, she and Carter had just started dating, so the relationship was fresh and new, and she was excited at the prospect of spending the evening together, even if it was with their parents.
They left their stretch of the beach and stopped at the drugstore for something cold to drink before Rachel passed back through town to drop Cassie off at her house.
She lived slightly further inland, and though Cassie’s mother was a physician’s assistant, making ends meet in a beach town as a single parent was no small feat. Unlike the giant houses on the shoreline, most of the homes on the mainland were small and humble in comparison. These inner neighborhoods made up the heart of Bayshore’s residential population, whereas families like Andi’s and Rachel’s that lived in waterfront homes were far rarer, making the divide at Bayshore High even more apparent. There were the wealthy socialites. And then there were kids from the blue-collar families.
They drove slowly down the road, past a small, dirty yellow house. Most of the homes on the South end of Bayshore were greatly in need of repair. Weather-beaten from the local climate and storms past, many of them needed the siding replaced. Scattered in the yard were remnants of living on the coast. Old bicycles long since rusted through. Seashells and driftwood. Fishing nets with holes and crab pots littered the driveways.
As they passed through a back street, a large wooden sign that read “Fresh Fish,” painted in peeling blue paint came into view. A boy stood behind a makeshift stand next to the sign, which held three large, white coolers and another, smaller one that touted, “Fresh Shrimp by the Pound.”
The car in front of theirs slowed and the boy at the stand glanced up at the prospect of a customer, his eyes wary below the dirty red brim of his baseball cap. He wore a t-shirt with ripped jeans—in the days before holes in your pants became popular.
“Why are we stopping?” Andi asked beside her, throwing her hands up.
Rachel frowned as the car came nearly to a stop. The driver’s window slid down and a boy Rachel recognized as one of their friends from the beach—a friend of Carter’s—yelled, “Hey, Fish Boy!”
The boy in the baseball cap said nothing at the insult. Instead, he just stood there, shoulders stiff, gaze vacillating between their classmate and his feet.
“I want a refund,” the kid continued, then he threw something at him out the window. By the look of it, Rachel guessed it was a dead fish. Then they drove off, tires spinning on the pavement, burning rubber while their laughter echoed in the thick afternoon air.
“Disgusting,” Cassie said from the backseat.
“Why do they have to be such jerks?” Andi scowled.
But Rachel said nothing. She was too busy watching the boy behind the stand while her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
“Rach?” Andi called out. “You can go now.”
Jerking her head back to the road, Rachel shook off the swell of sympathy rising in her chest and stepped on the gas.
Chapter Eleven
After lying around in her room for a while, thinking of Joe—the boy in the red cap—Rachel fell asleep, exhausted from the day on her feet. It wasn’t until her stomach grumbled that she roused.
Blinking her eyes open, she stared at the ceiling. The light outside her window had faded. Only a sliver remained, which meant it was dinner time.
Rolling over, Rachel rose to her feet and headed downstairs toward the kitchen where she found Andi and Ford, hunched over the table with what looked to be hundreds of invitations spread out before them while Andi talked about fonts.
Rachel quietly headed toward the fridge, careful not to interrupt, but when she couldn’t find her soup, she turned toward them. “Hey, Andi, did you happen to move the soup?”
Andi glanced back at her toward the open fridge with a frown, then to Ford, who paused, his spoon mid-air. Steam rose from the bowl in front of him and his expression twisted into one of regret.
“You ate her soup?” Andi glared at him.
He lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say something?”
