Carolina Home (6 page)

With a shrug, he drove to the Fish House.

When he got there, luxury cars and SUVs with out-of-state plates crowded the parking lot. Matt whistled Fezzik from the back of the pickup and gestured for Allison to precede them up the new wooden steps to the outdoor eating area overlooking the bay.

The afternoon sun flooded the marina, yellow and hot, sparkling on the water. Gulls wheeled and dipped and cried against the blue. The deck was shaded by long green awnings, protected from the birds by almost invisible wires strung above the railing.

A fresh breeze fluttered the napkins on the tables. Beach music—
Hey, he-ey, baby
—sounded from the speakers, floating over the flap of the canvas, the lap of the water.

“Okay if we sit out here?” he asked Allison. “They don’t like dogs in the bar.”

“This is perfect,” she responded promptly. “I love the view.”

He did, too. Against the backdrop of sea and sky, she looked long stemmed, pink cheeked, gently curved. Like one of Tess’s tulips. He wanted to lean over and sniff her neck, her ankles, and everywhere in between.

Since he had slightly more finesse than Fezzik, he refrained.

“Welcome to the Fish House.” A dark-haired waitress with a mermaid tattoo twining around her arm bustled over. Cynthie Lodge, recovering from asshole husband number one and on the lookout for number two. “Hey, Matt. Draft?”

“Thanks, Cynthie. Carolina Pale Ale.” He looked at Allison. “Two?”

She was young enough to like those fruity drinks that masked the taste of alcohol. Classy enough to order wine.

“Beer is fine, thank you.”

“I’ll have to see some ID,” Cynthie said, flashing a look at Matt. A
she’s-too-young-for-you, she’s-not-one-of-us
kind of look.

Allison flushed as she dug among the books and papers in her bag for her wallet.

“Do you come here often?” she asked when Cynthie had left with their order.

Matt rubbed Fezzik’s head under the table. Only a beer, he reminded himself. Only an hour on the way home. The dog sighed and settled at his feet. “I used to. Back when it was a real fish house.”

“Excuse me?”

He should have kept his mouth shut.
Keep it light, keep it simple.
“When I started with my grandda, fifteen, twenty years ago, there must have been a hundred boats bringing their catch here. Now it’s mostly vacation boats and armchair fishermen.”

He waited for her eyes to glaze over.

She leaned forward, interested. Or giving a damn good impression, anyway. “Armchair fishermen?”

He shifted uncomfortably. But since he’d already waded in, he might as well plow ahead. “They want to fish, but they really want to be comfortable. Flat screen TVs in the boat lounge, full-size showers. Boats like the old
Sea Lady
, running
charters May through September, commercial fishing in the off-season, are going the way of the dinosaurs.”

He felt like a dinosaur himself droning on about the old days.

“A vanishing way of life,” she observed softly. “No wonder you want your son to follow in your footsteps.”

Surprised, Matt met her gaze. “I don’t.”

“But…Joshua said he was going to be a fishing boat captain.”

Matt wasn’t sure what he’d expected from her, but her warm interest, her determination to understand, stirred him in ways he wasn’t ready to think about.

“If that’s what he wants. I want him to go to college first. Let him get his feet wet in something besides bilge water.”

She blinked. “Have you told him that?”

“He knows.”

They didn’t talk a lot. But Josh had to understand that much.

Cynthie returned with their beers. Matt watched Allison take a small sip before setting her wet glass down precisely in the center of her napkin, every gesture smooth. Careful. The same way she picked her words, he reckoned.

What was the matter with him, that her neat, controlled movements made him want to see her ruffled?

She licked the foam from her upper lip. “Perhaps you should talk to him anyway.”

So that’s what this was all about. Matt shook his head, amused by his own disappointment. Allison Carter wasn’t putting the moves on him. She was following up on his conversation with Josh.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

No point in explaining that his brother’s sudden appearance, kid in tow, had shoved every other topic off the table.
Last night Matt had been too busy drumming the birds and the bees into Josh’s head to talk about his schoolwork.

A cell phone rang in Allison’s bag. She ignored it. “Joshua told me he works at your parents’ inn. I think it’s wonderful that your family is so”—
ring, ring
before the call went to voice mail—“close. But it might help Joshua focus academically if he did something else after school.”

“Like his homework,” Matt said dryly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of an extracurricular activity. What are his interests?”

“Girls. Food.” The boy was sixteen, at the mercy of his hormones and appetite. “Basketball. Fishing.”

She smiled and arched her eyebrows. “That’s hardly enough to impress a college admissions committee.”

Probably not. It sure as hell hadn’t impressed Joshua’s mother. Not in the long run.

Water under the bridge, Matt reminded himself.

Allison’s phone rang again.

He glanced at her bag. “You need to get that?” he asked politely.

“What? Oh, no. Just let me…There.” She reached into a side pocket; fumbled with the phone. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I’m trying to help.”

“I appreciate that.” He did. She was a nice girl.
Woman
, he corrected himself. He hated to be the one to scrape the gloss off all that shiny new idealism. He took a swig of beer. “What I’m trying to say is you’re still new here. You can’t tackle everything in the first couple of weeks. You might want to take some time, get to know the situation, before you start making changes. Or judgments.”

She lifted her chin. “I can’t understand the situation if no one will talk to me.”

She didn’t give up. Hard not to admire that.

“We’re on an island,” he said. “Everybody knows everybody’s
business. Make it through the first winter, ride out the next hurricane, and you’ll hear more secrets than you’d ever want to know.”

Her brow pleated in frustration. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit on my hands until winter is over and your son’s flunked out of school?”

M
ATT
F
LETCHER LEANED
back in his chair regarding her, an unreadable glint in his eyes. “You’re really set on this.”

Her heart beat faster. Was he finally taking her seriously? “Yes.”

“How long have you been a teacher?”

Classic student diversionary tactic, answering a question with another question.

Allison shook her head. “You don’t want to hear about me.”

“I might.” He surveyed her over his beer glass. “My son’s in your class. It might be a good idea to get to know you before…”

“You make any judgments?” she offered.

His mouth quirked. “Something like that.”

Her nerves sparked. She felt breathless. It had been a long time since she’d let herself respond to that look in a man’s eyes.

Too long.

Attraction thrummed between them, palpable, almost visible. She glanced at the tables around them. No one she recognized was looking their way, but she’d met so many people in the past month that names and faces were beginning to blur. As a teacher, she had to be careful.

She cleared her throat. “I spent the past two years in the Mississippi Delta with Teach for America.”

“That’s quite a commitment.”

She flushed. “Yes, it was.”

The biggest commitment of her life. Because if she’d failed, if she’d quit, she wouldn’t only be letting herself down, or her parents. She’d be letting down her kids.

“I enjoyed it,” she said.

“Why leave?”

She was not getting into a discussion of the emotional boundaries, the physical distance, she was negotiating with her parents. She shrugged. “I guess I’m looking for something…”

“More.”

“Different. The Delta never felt truly like home to me.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not easy for a community to trust outsiders.”

Were they still talking about her years in the Delta?

“Reagan used to say that the scariest words in the English language are ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’” Her smile flickered. “But that’s why I went down there. I wanted—I want—to make a difference in people’s lives.”

She winced. Great. Now she sounded like a Miss America wannabe. All she needed to ensure he never, ever took her seriously was to throw in a sash and a reference to world peace.

She folded her napkin, determined to get this conversation back on track. “About Joshua…”

“I’ll talk to him. I can’t promise better than that until I hear what he has to say.”

“That’s fair.”

He shrugged. “He’s sixteen. I can’t promise he’ll listen.”

“But you’re willing to listen to him.” She leaned earnestly across the table. “He’s lucky. Not every child can count on his parents’ support.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

“Well, I…Of course as a teacher I see all kinds of…”

“Or didn’t your parents ever get called to spring you from the principal’s office?”

The image made her smile. She shook her head, more used to asking questions than answering them. “Oh, no. I was the good daughter,” she said, proud of her ability to speak lightly. “I was too busy throwing myself into activities to rebel. Cross-country, choir, tennis, student council…”

“Let me guess. Oldest child?”

“Now who’s speaking from experience?” she asked and was absurdly pleased when he laughed. “No, I have an older brother.” Whom she never talked about. Her smile faded. “I learned from watching Miles that it was generally easier to meet my parents’ expectations than to rebel.”

“That would depend on what they expected, wouldn’t it?”

She looked at Matt with surprise and respect. “Yes, it would. It did. They despaired of me in college. I kept changing majors, trying new things, hoping to discover something I could be passionate about, something I was good at. And when I did, of course, it turned out to be something completely different from what my parents wanted for me.” She swallowed. “They still think teaching is something unpleasant I’ll get over eventually. Like the flu.”

Matt started to say something. Tossed back his beer instead.

“What?”

He set down his empty glass. “You didn’t run off and join the circus. Or a cult. You didn’t get busted or pregnant. You’re a teacher, for God’s sake. Seems to me your parents should be proud of you.”

She hadn’t expected him to take her side. Ridiculous that his sticking up for her choices—even after the fact—could make her flush with pleasure. “Well,” she said, trying to be fair. “They were very disappointed in my brother. I suppose they count on me to provide them with bragging rights.”

“And grandchildren,” Matt said dryly.

She laughed. “Those, too. They really always just wanted to see me excel.”

“And what did you want?”

“What every child wants, I suppose.”

To be accepted. Loved.

Matt nodded. “To get away.”

Allison blinked. Not the answer she was expecting from him.
More personal experience?

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked.

“Maybe. Once. But I always knew I’d be back.” He turned his head to look out over the water, beautiful in profile, his eyes the same deep blue as the sea. “I’m a Marine brat. We moved around a lot, living in military housing. Spent some time with my mom’s folks in Chicago while my dad was overseas. He’d bring us here on vacations sometimes to visit my grandfather. This island was the first place, the only place, that felt like home to me. Guess you could say it’s in my blood.”

A wave of wistfulness hit her. She’d never felt that kind of connection anywhere with anyone. Maybe that’s what she’d come to Dare Island to find.

A place to belong.

And maybe the alcohol on an empty stomach was making her stupid.

“How old were you when you moved here?”

“Fifteen.”

“Almost Joshua’s age,” she observed.

He smiled wryly. “A long time ago.”

He was hardly ancient. Midthirties? Not that she was speculating about his age. Exactly.

“You said I should get to know the island. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

He regarded her for a long moment, while her heart pounded and the Shirelles sang “Mama Said” over the speakers.

Heat rose in her cheeks. The curse of the born blonde.

Matt smiled slowly. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

Before she could respond, their waitress reappeared. “Another beer?” she asked Matt.

He looked at Allison.

“Not for me,” she said.

“Just the check, thanks, Cynthie.”

“Sure. If you want anything, anything at all…” She scrawled on her pad and smiled. “You know where to find me.”

“All set?” Matt asked.

Allison collected her bag and her thoughts. “Yes. I’ve got that.” She reached for the bill.

And saw that the waitress had written her phone number beside the total.

“No.” He put his hand on the check.

“You can have her number,” Allison said when she was sure the waitress had moved out of earshot. “But I invited you. I pay.”

“Not when you’re with me.”

“This isn’t a date. Dating rules don’t apply.”

“Guy Rules,” Matt said. Standing, he anchored some bills under the saltshaker.

“The guys I know go Dutch.”

He met her gaze, that lazy smile in his eyes. “Maybe you know the wrong guys.”

He looked so good, solid and strong in the sunlight, that her breath evaporated.

Too much sun, she thought dizzily, and pushed back her chair.

“Well.” She took a deep breath and stuck out her hand. “Thank you. I appreciate your time and the beer.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“It’s not that far,” she said. “I can walk.”

“Sure you can,” he said patiently. “But I brought you here. I’ll take you home.”