“I’ll text you later.” He leans down to kiss her, but Bea turns her head, and his lips brush her cheek instead. Hurt flashes across his face.
She is hurting him. She hates that she is hurting him, but she can’t seem to stop.
She can’t get out of the Daily Grind fast enough. Miss Maryanne and Miss Lydia aren’t sitting out front anymore, thank goodness. But instead of heading home or to Carl’s Pharmacy, Bea makes a left turn and heads down to the marina, pulling off her cardigan as she goes. Her footsteps speed up, and her pulse slows down as she gets closer, as she hears the lapping of waves against the wooden pilings. She takes a deep breath—inhales the scent of briny river water and fish and salt and mud—and then lets it go.
It’s a sunny Friday evening in mid-June, and lots of familiar boats are missing from their slips, but there’s a houseboat she hasn’t seen before. She makes her way down the adjacent dock to get a better look at it. The boat is a little floating blue bungalow, maybe thirty feet long. It looks newly painted, not too weathered yet, with white trim around the windows and roof. There’s a porch on the front with two blue plastic Adirondack chairs. Bea peers curiously through the windows along the dock. Beneath the first window is a gray futon, and along the opposite wall, she spots a built-in wooden table with benches on either side. Beneath the next window is a double bed with a rumpled plaid duvet. She wonders what’s on the other side of the bedroom wall—a tiny kitchen? A little bathroom with a marine toilet and shower?
Maybe it belongs to the family from the coffee shop. It seems awfully small for four people, but the futon might fold out. How amazing would it be to live on a houseboat? All the minimalism and efficiency of a tiny house—Bea is secretly obsessed with Tiny House Hunters—but with the added bonus of living on the water.
She plops down at the end of the dock, slipping off her black flats so that her bare feet dangle over the water. She leans her shoulder against the wooden piling—making sure that she’s not inadvertently adding bird crap to the coffee stain—and sighs. Above her, gulls wheel and scream. The sun bakes the crown of her head. She wishes she could sit here forever. Or better yet, climb onboard that houseboat and drift away from everything. Erik. Georgetown. She pictures herself in the middle of the river and then the middle of the Chesapeake Bay, alone in the blue expanse of water and waves and sky, and she feels light as the meringue on a lemon meringue pie.
A staccato clicking interrupts her daydream. Bea startles and looks over her shoulder.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” It’s the hipster from the coffee shop. The guy she literally ran into. He’s wearing a fancy camera draped around his neck.
“I was startled,” she corrects. “You didn’t scare me.”
He grins as he recognizes her. “Coffee girl. I thought that was you. Sorry, I usually ask before I take someone’s picture, but that was a great shot.”
“Of me?” Bea stands and steps back into her shoes.
“Yeah. You looked…pensive. Sad.”
“I’m not sad.” It’s reflexive.
“All right.” He shrugs. “Maybe more pensive. Thoughtful, you know? If I’d asked to take your picture, you’d have just smiled.”
“If I said yes,” she mutters. The guy grins again, a little cocky, like of course she would have said yes. Bea bets that most girls do say yes to him. “I’m not sad. And I know what pensive means. I’m going to Georgetown.”
“Yeah?” He looks amused, and Bea flushes. Why does she always have to try to prove how smart she is? “Well, whatever you were thinking, I got some great pictures. The red hair and the white shirt against the blue water. And those freckles. Your freckles are great.”
Bea puts a hand to her cheek. She’s always liked her freckles.
Still. Her shoulders are tight again, when a minute ago, she felt so dreamy and relaxed. He ruined that. This is supposed to be her place. Her refuge right in the middle of town. “You should have asked first.”
He squints at her. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll delete them if you want.”
She was expecting more of an argument. Something about his easy apology drains the fight right out of her.
“You don’t have to delete them. Maybe I am a little sad,” she admits. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right.” He peers down at her. He’s really tall. Of course, she’s really short. Five two. “You have a boat down here?”
Bea shakes her head. “I wish. I love the water. There’s something about the sound of waves… It’s so calming. Centering, you know?” Lately, sitting down here at the marina is the only thing that makes her less anxious.
“I feel the same way.” He points at the blue houseboat. “That’s why I bought the Stella Anne.”
Bea’s eyes go wide with surprise. “Wait. That’s your boat?”
He grins and steps down onto its deck. “Yeah. I bought it dirt cheap last summer, and my buddy Jefferson and I gutted it. Took out pretty much everything but the engine. New paint job, new wood flooring, new kitchen, new furniture. Want to come aboard?”
Bea does want to, but she hesitates. “No offense, but I don’t even know your name. You could be a serial killer.”
He reaches out a hand. “Gabriel Stewart Beauford. Gabe.” He’s got a firm grip.
“Bea Garrett.”
“Nice to meet you, Bea. I’m in town for the summer helping fix up my grandmother’s house. It’s the purple Victorian over on Azalea Avenue.”
Bea knows exactly which house he means. “Miss Amelia’s old place?”
His handsome face lights up. “You knew Memaw?”
Bea laughs. Remington Hollow is so small. “Everybody knew Miss Amelia! She was my parents’ second-grade teacher.”
“That’s her. Man, she was great. I didn’t get to see her much the last couple of years, but she came down to Nashville every Christmas. She passed back in March, and my uncle’s fixing the place up so he and my moms can sell it. He’s a carpenter, but it needs a shit ton—excuse me—a whole lot of work, so I came up to help out.”
Sweet old Miss Amelia’s grandson can’t be a serial killer, can he? Bea is tempted to check out the houseboat. Really, really tempted. But then she checks her rose-gold watch—a graduation present from Erik—and realizes that it really is time for her to get home.
“I have to go, actually. Family dinner.” She looks with envious eyes at the Stella Anne.
Gabe gives her another easy grin. “Rain check? I hang out here pretty much every night after we finish up at the house. Come on by sometime.”