This Friday in particular, the brewery was mobbed. The picnic tables in the homestead were all packed with customers. The yurt they’d set up near the lighthouse—positioned for a perfect view of the sunset over the bay—overflowed with chattering beer drinkers.
And all the locals seemed to be talking about one thing. The newest scandal Ruthie had unearthed involved one of the Reed girls—some relation to Ralphie—who had given birth to a secret baby years ago. No one knew where that baby had ended up, but everyone had a theory.
Chrissie whirled into the kitchen with her menu pad. “Three more burgers and brews, but can you put blue cheese on one of them?”
“No,” he growled. “That’s the whole point of the special. No changes.”
She put her hands together in a pleading gesture. “But this one’s for Old Crow, and I’m afraid he’ll start crying if he doesn’t get his blue cheese. You know how he’s been since the surgery.”
“Fine.” He slapped a burger onto the grill. “But only for Old Crow.”
“I’ll get the blue cheese,” Ruthie said, hurrying toward the refrigerator. She’d pulled her hair into a knot at the back of her neck, and he noticed a few freckles scattered across her skin. “Hey, Chrissie, do you mind if we switch places for a minute?”
“Why?”
“I want to ask Old Crow something.”
“Sorry, babe, he made me promise to let him eat in peace. He says he doesn’t want to answer any questions about the past. I told him this was a safe space, just like the Olde Salt.”
Instead of looking hurt, Ruthie grinned as she handed Alastair the block of blue cheese. “Ooh, that means he’s hiding something. I knew it. I ran into him on the boardwalk and told him I wanted to ask about the explorers who discovered Lost Harbor, and he clammed up.”
“You’ll have to interview him somewhere else,” Chrissie said firmly. “I promised him. He says he only came here because he loves Alastair’s cooking so much.”
“Okay, then maybe you can do it. I have a short list of questions you can—”
Chrissie backed away, then fled the kitchen.
Ruthie turned to Alastair, who was already shaking his head.
“I’m not going to do your dirty work for you.”
“It’s not dirty work! It’s history. Anthropology.” Grumbling, she went back to carefully chopping mushrooms for the sauté he was serving with the burger special. “I bet if he just started talking, he’d realize it’s fun to share all those old stories. Doesn’t he love telling stories at the bar?”
“Stories are one thing. Secrets are another.”
She stopped chopping and gave him a serious look. “Honestly, I had no idea people had so many secrets in this town. Did you know that Emma Gordon—”
He waved his grilling spatula at her. “Don’t know, don’t want to know.”
“Know what?” Toni popped in from the dining area. “What’d I miss? Three more specials and a salmon burger.”
He plopped three burgers and a salmon patty on the grill. “Ruthie’s getting all of Lost Harbor riled up with her oral history project.”
“Oh, don’t I know it! All the older people are pestering me about it. All the younger people want to know about you.” She pointed her order pad at Alastair.
He frowned over his shoulder at her. “Me?”
“Everyone’s talking about your gorgeous friend from New York. She’s out there reeling in one fisherman after another. Talking you up, too. It’s like you’re a celebrity now.”
Waverly was here? Why? “She’s not my friend.”
“Really? The way she talks, she’s known you forever. She says you’re practically family.”
Scowling at the grill, he gritted his teeth. He hated feeling trapped like this. If only Waverly would just go back to New York and leave him be. Maybe he should just give her all that money and be done with it. Her presence in town brought back too many bad emotions—resentment, hurt, suspicion about the crash. Everything he was trying to move on from.
Bash, who also helped out on Fridays, stepped into the kitchen. “Hey, where you do want these?” He held six cases of coconut milk, three under each arm. As a professional fighter, he had muscles that came in handy for all kinds of things.
Alastair directed Bash toward the back room they used as a pantry. Bash disappeared with the cases as Toni blew a kiss after him.
At first, the sight of Bash Rivers used to give Alastair a twinge of jealousy, but he’d long since put that behind him. Now any jealousy he felt was because Bash was so rooted in the community here. His best friend was Tristan, Toni’s brother, and he’d grown up with Maya, Jessica, Nate Prudhoe…so many of his favorite people in Lost Harbor. To Alastair, the richness and depth of Bash’s connections here were something to envy.
He had nothing like that. Instead, he had Waverly Berenson practically stalking him.
Damn Waverly. She was probably planning to stick around and ruin his peace until he agreed to her demands. And smile and play innocent the whole time.
Toni called out from the corner where the barrels of freshly brewed ale were stashed. “Hey, can someone give me a hand with this Spruce Tip Ale? It’s selling like crazy tonight.”
After a nod from Alastair, Ruthie dropped her chopping knife and joined her.
“You’d better tell me more about this project of yours,” Toni told Ruthie as she selected the next barrel. “I zoned out during the staff meeting, sorry.”
“Oh, it started with Mrs. Desroches, and now it turns out everyone has old stories they want to unload. Well, not everyone. Old Crow’s holding out on me. So is Sally Buchanan.”
“I sure wouldn’t want my old dirt getting dug up when I’m that age,” Toni grunted.
The two of them muscled the barrel onto a dolly. As she focused on keeping the barrel from slipping off, Ruthie’s glasses slid down her nose and her tongue peeked through her lips. Like a kitten. Flat-out endearing.
Toni, on the other hand, was all sleek, lithe grace, like a panther in her black ninja bartender clothes.
So why was Alastair watching Ruthie more than Toni? After his brief interest in Toni, he’d vowed to never again fall for someone with a longstanding crush on someone else.
Which put Ruthie out of consideration, even if they weren’t such good friends. Even though the birthday dinner hadn’t gone as planned, she was still fixated on winning Ralphie’s attention. It was either a crush or an infatuation, but either way, it shut out anyone else.
With the barrel loaded onto the dolly, Toni brushed the dust off her hands. “Promise me you’ll be done with oral histories by the time I’m eighty.”
“I can’t make a promise like that,” Ruthie said seriously. “I have an obligation to my craft.” After a long deadpan moment, she added, “Got you.”
With a laugh, Toni offered her a hand for a high five. “Yeah, you did. You got me good. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I’ve been working on my casual deadpan banter, thanks.”
Toni pushed the dolly across the room, while Ruthie held it steady. Together they wheeled it through the swinging door.