Mia Ross - Rocky Coast Romance

“Aw, lay off, Jack,” one of his crew members chided. “Cooper ain’t like most college boys. He’s done his time out on the water.”

Bree turned to Cooper with undisguised astonishment. “You worked a fishing boat?”

“My uncle was a lobsterman. I worked with him in the summers when I got old enough.”

“Tough job,” she commented, then turned back to the crews. “I lived in Boston for a while, so I’ve got real respect for how hard you all work.”

“Boston.” One of the younger hands spat into the water. “Their winter’s got nothin’ on ours. In the spring we gotta chop a path through the ice just to get to the fish.”

Grinning, Bree jotted a note on her pad. While the others chimed in with their own tales, the interview devolved into general boasting. Then she did the worst thing possible.

“Can I get some pictures of you guys?”

Shouting agreement, they pushed and shoved to be in front. Finally Jack hollered for them all to knock it off and waded into the mix to sort them by height. While they got organized, Bree glanced over at Cooper and gave him a little wink, which told him she knew exactly what she was doing. Who’d have thought their very intense visitor had a playful streak? Cooper mused with a grin. She had these rough-and-tumble men right where she wanted them, playing up to her, falling all over themselves to give her unusual personal details for her article.

And photos? What man didn’t want a pretty woman taking his picture, telling him it just might wind up on the internet?

“Grab that camera, lawyer boy!” Jack called out. “We want a picture with the little lady.”

Shaking his head, Cooper grinned and took the 35mm from her. Then he waited while they did rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to stand next to her. As he focused in, he marveled at how quickly she’d gotten them all eating out of the palm of her hand.

If she was like this with men in general, he pitied the one who actually fell in love with her someday. The poor guy wouldn’t stand a chance.

* * *

Once she and Cooper had chosen their lobsters, Bree followed him up the metal gangplank, away from the commercial docks humming with activity. It was pretty warm, and the smell of fresh fish and seaweed permeated the salt-laden breeze.

Oh, her mother would love that one, she thought, scribbling it down. It was poetic and earthy at the same time, just like Mom. With seagulls circling overhead, the bustling port looked busy enough to support five towns.

Until she noticed the other side.

The far end of the U-shaped dock was completely empty. No boats, no people, even the access gate had been welded shut. Some of the wooden deck boards were missing, and algae covered the lower areas of everything that remained.

“How long has it been that way?” she asked, motioning toward the abandoned section.

“Five years, give or take. It got to be so expensive to maintain, the town council voted to close it down and save the money.”

It looked lonely and unwanted, tangible proof of the decline Cooper had described to her earlier. Now she understood his eagerness to entice tourists into the area. He didn’t want the rest of his hometown to end up like this.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow wrinkling with concern.

She’d been in lots of places that had seen better days, but she’d always managed to keep her professional distance. For some reason this old fishing village was different, and she’d need to put in more effort to remain objective. “Fine. Just hungry.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re here.”

Angling her away from the depressing scene, he motioned her ahead of him through a glass door etched with the Holiday Harbor logo and The Crow’s Nest beneath it in flowing script.

“Nice touch, using the same artwork.” Noting the familiar design from his shirt, she tapped it on her way through. “Visitors pick up on things like that.”

“That’s the general idea. Hi, Frances.”

“Cooper. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

“Neither did I. Do you have a table on the deck?”

“For you? Always,” she gushed, giving Bree a suspicious once-over. “And who is this?”

“I’m sorry. Bree Farrell, Frances Cook. Bree came up from Richmond to do an article on Holiday Harbor.”

“Cooper!” a man yelled, hurrying over to clap him on the shoulder. Tie askew, he was wearing a button-down and suit jacket with a Vote for Derek! button done up in red, white and blue. Turning to Bree, he offered his hand. “Derek Timms. Cooper and I grew up here and then went to Yale Law together. Since he’s practicing here, I just opened my own firm in Oakbridge. I don’t know how this goofball does it, but he always manages to show up with the prettiest girl in the place.”

“She’s not my date, you moron. She’s a reporter.” He flipped the outrageous button with his finger. “And she can’t vote for you, so just can the speech.”

“What are you running for?” Bree asked.

“Mayor.” When she flashed Cooper a baffled look, Derek laughed. “Cooper may be allergic to power, but I’m not. We see things the same way, so except for the fact that I’m a much better dresser, the town probably won’t even notice the difference.”

Cooper chuckled in apparent agreement. “Just as long as you keep those greedy developers outta here, I’ll be happy.”

After a quick salute, Derek said, “Otter can’t make it for golf next Friday, so we’ve got a spot. Whattya say?”

“Otter?” Bree echoed with a grin. “Is he a really good swimmer or something?”

“Or something,” Cooper answered with a grin of his own before focusing on his friend. “Where are you guys playing?”

“Deer Run, the new club over in Oakbridge. Longest course within a hundred miles. You can try out that fancy new driver your mom got you for your birthday.”

The two men began discussing various aspects of the new course, leaving Bree at the mercy of Frances. Wonderful.

“A real-live reporter, all the way up here. How about that?” the young woman commented through a frigid smile. “What do you think of our little town?”

“I haven’t seen much, but the people I’ve met so far are fantastic.” She added a little bite to her tone to let her know she might be able to fool a nice guy like Cooper, but Bree had her number.

“Sorry about that,” Cooper apologized to Bree as Derek headed back to his table. “But it’s impossible to get a tee time at that new club.”

For the hostess’s benefit, Bree smiled. “No problem.”

Frances escorted them to a secluded table on the deck overlooking the bay. Because he was pulling out Bree’s chair, he didn’t notice the longing look Frances tossed back over her shoulder as she left. Bree could hardly blame her. Even in Richmond Cooper would be considered quite the catch. With so little competition up here, he must look like a prince.

Once they were settled, he crossed his arms on the table. “The crews really warmed up to you, didn’t they?”

Taking a sip of her water, she replied, “They were awesome. And very entertaining. It’s easy to see how much they love this place.”

He cocked his head with a knowing look. “But you don’t share their opinion.”

She didn’t, but Bree wisely refrained from admitting it outright. “I just got here, so I haven’t formed an opinion yet.”

“How ’bout a gut feel? I won’t hold you to it or anything, just curious.”

She’d learned the hard way not to voice her impressions, first or otherwise. But his genuine kindness had put some of those usual fears to rest, and she instinctively knew she could trust him. “I love the lighthouse. It’s really beautiful out there.”