Stephanie Doyle - The Way Back

She stared at it and tried to ignore the rest of the plate which was teaming with crisp golden French fries.

She was starving. It smelled delicious. These women were evil.

The door to the café opened and Gabby glanced up to see Jamison enter. Zhanna turned and gave him a silly half smile.

He walked to her and clucked a finger beneath her chin in greeting. “Hello, brat.”

“Hello, my favorite customer.” The tone was sarcastic but friendly. These two knew each other well. Not a surprise given Zhanna’s loyalty to him. Once again thoughts of how Jamison might have seduced the young woman filtered through Gabby’s mind. But watching them, she did have to admit there were no sexual sparks between them. More like easy friendship.

“Gabriella.”

“Jamison.” Great. The one person who knew she could barely run for ten minutes spotted her behind a plate of artery-clogging—and very delicious-smelling—food. She felt her cheeks flame up and she blurted, “I didn’t order this.”

He laughed. “Then why did Zhanna bring it to you?”

Gabby figured ratting out his friend probably wasn’t a smart idea.

“Ah, I see,” he said, grasping the situation. “And what did you order?”

“A salad with dressing on the side. I ordered it…on the side.”

He nodded. Then gave Zhanna a slightly disapproving glare. “Having a little fun with the new person in town?”

“She wants to write about you,” Zhanna said sulkily.

“I know. How was the burger done?”

“Medium.”

Jamison lifted the plate and set it on the table in the empty booth behind her. “Bring her the salad, Zee.”

“Oy. Always the forgiving one.” With a huff she went into the kitchen.

Gabby could feel him settle down directly behind her. He wasted no time digging into her burger.

“Thank you.”

Around a mouthful of meat, he mumbled she was welcome.

“You should know if you hadn’t come in I probably would have eaten it. I don’t have much willpower.”

He didn’t comment.

She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to confess to him, but it was important she not seem hypocritical. At least with herself. She wasn’t perfect. There was no point pretending she was. If he knew that about her, it might make it easier for him to trust her.

Adel emerged from the kitchen a minute later. The salad was big and brimming with vegetables. The dressing was in a cup on the side.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

It seemed her relationship with Jamison’s dog was the best one Gabby had cultivated so far.

The café remained empty except for the two of them in the booths and Tom at the counter who was definitely taking a very long time to chose his meal. Despite the impatient way she’d treated Gabby, Zhanna did not seem to mind his indecisiveness.

As Gabby picked through lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes she could hear Jamison’s fork hitting the plate and imagined him diving into those decadent fries. It seemed awkward to have him behind her. But he hadn’t asked to join her and she didn’t want him to think if she invited him, she was doing so only to get information from him.

She wasn’t out for the story tonight. A little company, however, would be nice.

Picking up her plate and dressing, she moved booths and sat across from him before he could object. He raised his eyebrows to let her know she’d been a bit daring, but before he could speak she did.

“Relax, I’m not going to grill you for facts about your life.”

“I wouldn’t give them to you if you did.”

She ignored that. “It seems stupid the two of us eating alone.”

“I eat alone most nights.”

So did she. Most meals in fact. She preferred it that way. Or at least she thought she did. It had been the idea of him being there, only a foot away from her, but still separate that had bothered her. Two days of trespassing, two days of being left in his dust, yet Gabby was beginning to feel a connection. Sort of.

“Can’t we have a normal conversation?”

“We could. If you were a normal woman and not a writer. But then, if you were a normal woman, this might be a date and we both know you wouldn’t consent to that.”

Just the word date made her nervous. “It can’t be a date if neither person asked the other to be with them.”

“Right. You didn’t ask. You barged. Kind of like you did when you came to my house, then again on my beach. You know you what you are,” he said shaking a fry in her direction. “You’re a barger.”

“That’s not a word. But I have a solution. Tonight I’m not a writer or a date. Let’s call me a tourist.”

“And what am I?”

“You’re the local. You tell me what it’s like to live on an island.”

He pulled another fry from the pile and chewed while he contemplated her suggestion. Because she’d already told him she was weak-willed, she didn’t feel guilty at all about snatching one of his fries for herself.

It was delicious. Maybe a little more salt.

“Please, feel free,” he said as she sprinkled some salt on one corner of his plate.

“You want a cucumber in exchange?

“Is that a joke?”

“Right. So, tell me what it’s like here.”

“It’s quiet. What you would expect. A few small businesses, but most of the folks here are fishermen. Lobstermen to be exact.”

“Lobster. That’s right. This is Maine.” It was odd. Suddenly Gabby felt like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

He scowled at her. “You don’t know where you are?”

“I know where I am,” she snapped. “I guess it just occurred to me where the place was. I’ve been more focused on the journey. By way of Philadelphia.”

“So what happened?”

She wasn’t sure what he meant and her face must have shown that.

“You. Here. The big story. Something sent you on your way. Turned you back into a newbie.”

She shifted in her seat. Telling him the story wasn’t as easy as it had been telling the women. “I got fired.”

“And you’re here to start your life over. I knew it.”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head and pushed away the plate. He’d devoured the burger and between the two of them they’d eaten every fry. Gabby took another stab at a tomato to counterbalance the fat.

“I’m nobody’s do-over.”

“I didn’t say that. Look, at first I thought this was going to be a simple retrieval assignment for my boss. But I realize there is something more here. Something bigger. I don’t want to write anyone’s story. I want to write yours.”

“You’ll need to get used to the disappointment. Since I didn’t order the burger I figure dinner is on you.”

Vaguely, Gabby wondered how she might sneak it into her expense report. Although she didn’t imagine McKay would mind her buying their meal ticket dinner. “Done. But you need to leave the tip.”

“Why?”

“They won’t take my money.”

He slid out of the booth and dropped a five dollar bill on the table. “You better get used to that, too. Folks around here won’t take kindly to what you’re doing.”

“What are they going to do? Kick me off the island?” She thought she’d made a joke. But he didn’t smile.

“They might.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHAT’S THIS?” GABRIELLA held out the neatly typed piece of paper to Susan the next day so she could see it clearly. “I found it under my room door this morning.”

“Yes, dear. It’s your bill.”

“But isn’t that typically something you give to someone at the end of their stay?”

Susan smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure you’ve seen all our little island has had to offer. Surely you have all the material you need for your book. Your fiction book.”