The Summer Girls (25 page)

Devlin was at the bar as usual, having a beer with shots. He didn’t usually hit the shots in the early afternoon and she was a little worried about him. When her last customer left, she cleared the table, then grabbed a moment to sit at the bar with a Coke and catch her breath.

“Hey, how are you doing?” she asked him, leaning closer.

He shrugged. “Been better.” He turned and smiled lazily at her. “Seein’ you makes it better.”

His eyes were already glazed. She didn’t want to pry and knew from experience with her father that it was best not to say anything. It was better to just be around as a pal. She pulled out her tips and began counting her day’s take.

“Good day, eh?” Devlin asked.

“Decent, but I’d make more on the night shift.”

“Why don’t you ask Brian to change your shift?”

“I did,” Carson replied. “But the other girls have seniority. He’ll give me a slot when one opens up.”

“Ashley doesn’t want it?”

“No. She wants her nights free to be with her boyfriend.”

“As a woman should,” Devlin said, taking a sip from his beer.

Carson swung her head to look at him, annoyed but also wondering if his bad humor had to do with his ex-wife. She felt a bit sorry for him, sitting there staring morosely into his beer. She could tell by the condensation on the glass that it was icy cold and licked her lips.

“Man, that beer looks good,” she murmured.

“Want one?” Devlin asked.

Carson did, very much. She shook her head no.

“Hey, what’s up?” Ashley asked, sidling up beside Carson at the bar.

Carson saw the silent question pulsing in Ashley’s eyes. She had told Ashley about her plan to stop drinking for a week.

“Nothing. Just hanging, having a
Coke
,” she replied, picking up her plastic cup and bringing it to her mouth.

“I’ll have a Coke, too,” Ashley said in camaraderie. She poured one from the fountain and they clicked plastic cups. She looked up and Carson could see something had caught her attention. “Oh my Lord,” Ashley said, moving close to Carson’s ear to whisper. “Look who just walked in.”

Carson turned her head to see Blake closing the door behind him. He was wearing his uniform of an old T-shirt and khaki shorts over long, deeply tanned legs. She noticed that his tan was darker and his hair was so long his curls hung low over his head. He looked up and caught Carson’s gaze. She swiftly turned her head away.

“So . . . what’s happened to Mr. Predictable? He’s taking a table in my section.” Ashley nudged Carson in her ribs. “Maybe not so predictable anymore.”

“Don’t call him that,” Carson said. “His name is Blake.”

“Okay then,” Ashley replied saucily. “I’ve got to go see
Blake
.”

Carson sat looking down at her Coke with a frown. She hated to admit to herself that Blake’s taking a seat in Ashley’s section bothered her. Enormously.

“What’s the matter?” Devlin asked, leaning hard against her. His breath smelled of beer.

“Oh, nothing. My feet hurt.”

Devlin looked across the long bar. Brian’s back was toward them.

“Here,” he said, sliding a shot glass toward her, moving his shoulder as though to hide it. “This’ll help take the pain away. Works for me.”

Carson looked at the golden liquor in the shot glass and felt an almost uncontrollable desire to chug it down. She could almost feel the burn. She took a breath and shook her head. Hell, she had to last longer than this. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, go ahead,” Devlin said, leaning in close to speak in a soft, secretive voice. “I won’t tell.”

Carson slid the shot glass back. “No, thanks.”

Devlin slowly pushed the shot glass back to her, smiling like it was some kind of game. “Go on, Brian’s not looking.”

“It’s not that,” Carson said pointedly. “I’m not drinking. Period.”

“Huh?” Devlin said, screwing up his face in confusion. “Since when? Go on, honey, have a drink. Looks like you really want one.” He pushed the drink closer to Carson with more force than necessary, some of the brown contents spilling over. Carson jerked out of the way and in response, Devlin moved to slip an arm around her shoulders.

“I said no,” she snapped, pushing back the shot glass so hard it fell over and spilled across the bar.

“Hey,” Devlin sputtered.

Carson tried to shove his arm off her shoulder but Devlin was wobbly and held tight so as not to fall off his stool. “What the hell?” Devlin said, his seduction morphing into something darker, sadder. “Whaddya do that for?”

Carson had seen this switch happen before and it triggered disgust more than any sympathy. “I said
no,
” she said, wriggling from his grip. “Now let go of me,” Carson ground out.

Suddenly Blake was there. He pushed Devlin back so hard he slid from his bar stool. “The lady said no.”

Devlin sat in a daze for a second before he pulled himself up in a rush of drunken fury and propelled himself forward against Blake, pushing him hard. Blake staggered back a few steps, then held his ground and pushed Devlin away. Devlin tottered, then held steady, his chest heaving and his fists balled at his thighs.

“Dev, stop it,” Carson shouted, jumping from her stool.

Brian rushed forward to step between the men. “That’s enough. Take it outside.”

“I’ve got no beef with this guy,” Devlin said to Brian, appeasing him. “He butted his nose in our business.”

“Yeah, I saw that business,” Brian said, his face flushed. “If this guy hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve. You’ve had enough for today, buddy. Go on home.”

Devlin looked at Brian and the steam seemed to seep out of him. His face fell and he took a step toward Carson. Blake took a step in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Devlin said to Carson. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Carson said dismissively. “Go on home.”

Brian took hold of Devlin’s shoulder. “I’m driving you home, okay, buddy? Let’s go.” He gave a parting look over his shoulder that told the staff he’d be back.

Ashley looked to Blake, who stood with his hands on his hips, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks, uh . . .”

“Blake,” he replied, and offered a quick smile. “No thanks necessary.”

“Sure they are. How about I get you a drink? A beer, maybe? On the house,” Ashley offered.

“No, thanks.” Blake glanced briefly at Carson. “I better go.”

“Wait,” Carson called out.

Blake paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled tentatively.

“No big deal.” Blake turned and walked out the door.

Carson met Ashley’s gaze. Ashley raised her eyebrows and wagged her hand to indicate she should follow him. Exhaling a plume of air, she trotted after him out the door, where he was untying the leash of a large yellow Labrador sitting under the shade of the picnic table. The dog looked up at her as she approached and gave a short huff, of welcome or warning, she wasn’t sure. Blake swung his head around. For a second, two sets of dark soulful eyes stared up at her.

“Blake, I wanted to talk to you a minute, if you don’t mind.”

Blake rose, the leash hanging loosely in his hand. “Sure.”

“What happened in there . . . It wasn’t what it looked like. Devlin was just drunk. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek as he paused. “He looked like he was manhandling you and, well, I couldn’t just sit by and watch.”

“It was nice of you to defend me. Chivalrous.”

Blake looked down at the dog and didn’t reply.

“This your dog?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said, patting the dog. “Meet Hobbs. My good buddy.”

Carson reached out and petted the massive block head of the Lab. He was a friendly dog, as most Labs were, but he was one of the biggest she’d ever seen. “Are you sure he doesn’t have some mastiff in him?” she asked, laughing as the dog’s long tongue licked her hand.

“Maybe somewhere back in his lineage. He’s a big boy, though. He doesn’t like to be cooped up, so I take him along with me whenever I can. Time was I could bring him inside the restaurant, but the rules have changed, so he sits out here and waits.”

“He won’t run away?”

“Him? Nah. He’s a people watcher. And he doesn’t stray far from the water.”

Carson spotted the steel dish filled with water in the shade. It was customary for many of the restaurants on the island.

Now that the pleasantries were finished, Carson wanted to get to the business at hand. “Do you want to talk here?”

“How about we get some coffee?”

“Hold on a minute. My shift is almost over. I just have to check with Ashley.”

A few minutes later she returned with her purse. “Ashley’s covering for me. The place is pretty quiet now. So, where do you want to go?”

They walked along Middle Street to a small coffee and ice cream shop. The beans were roasted on the premises. Hobbs lay down again in the shade and waited as they took
a place in the long line of adults and children looking for a summer fix of sugar or caffeine. Carson could pick out the locals in shabby cutoffs, T-shirts, and sandals from the better-dressed visitors. Glancing at Blake as he stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels and studying the enormous chalkboard with all the offerings listed, it occurred to her that he fit right in. Blake was the kind of man who didn’t worry about such things as new styles or trends. He wouldn’t have known a famous brand if it hit him over the head. She smiled.
Thank God,
she thought.

“Hey,” Blake said, bending closer. His eyes were as dark as espresso. “You see anything you like?”

Carson regrouped and took a glance at the chalkboard. “I’ll have a chai with skim milk, please.”

They didn’t talk while in line. Carson felt uncharacteristically nervous around him. She pressed her hand against her stomach while she steadied her breath, regaining her composure. At last their turn came and Blake gave the order. Steaming cups in hand, they glanced around the small room. Two couples with their laptops looked like they were determined to roost for hours. The other tables were filled with families and chattering or whining children.

“Let’s sit outside with Hobbs,” Blake said.

Outside, the tables were filled as well.

“There’s the park down the block,” he suggested. “Hobbs loves it there.”

It was a lovely June afternoon, neither too hot nor too humid. As they walked past quaint restaurants, a few real estate firms, and a massage clinic, Carson noted that he slipped around to the street side of the sidewalk. Someone
had taught him manners, she realized. Mamaw would approve. Hobbs was a gentleman, too. He didn’t jerk on the leash or sniff people as they walked by. He stayed by Blake’s side, content to be out and about. On the corner they stopped to gaze at the beautiful paintings in the window of the Sandpiper Gallery. She thought of Mamaw’s beach house and how she’d filled it with local art.

Nearing the firehouse, they crossed the street and entered the park. Flowers were blooming and the leaves in the trees were thick and lush, offering bountiful shade. Blake led her to a quiet bench situated under the protection of a magnificent live oak. He brushed away bits of leaves and dirt so she could sit. Hobbs lay at his feet with a grunt of contentment.

“It’s nice here,” Carson said, admiring the peaceful setting as she pried off the lid of her cup. The spicy scent of the chai was heady. “I don’t think I’ve been here for years. I used to play tennis in the courts over there.”

“I come here often,” Blake told her. He lifted his coffee to his mouth and took a sip. “I live just up the block. I have an apartment in the old officers’ quarters.”

“I love that building,” Carson replied, seeing in her mind’s eye the long, white wood building with full porches. They had once been used for the officers when the military had a base on Sullivan’s Island. They’d since been converted to residential apartments.

“I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” he offered.

Carson’s lips twitched at the thinly veiled invitation. She glanced at the man at her side. He was in profile as he drank from his coffee. If she’d snapped his picture at this moment
and put it in a magazine, he wouldn’t have been considered model handsome. Her experienced eye could pick out his flaws: his nose was too strong, eyes too deep, there were early crow’s-feet on his sun-weathered face, and he was badly in need of a good haircut.

Then he turned his head and smiled. That crooked smile that meant something amused him, probably that he’d caught her staring at him. Again. Her heart flipped in her chest. This was what was so damn intriguing about Blake’s smile. It could be so charming. So disarming. And it was never caustic. That alone was refreshing.

“You know,” she said, “I had a nickname for you before I knew your real name. But I’m not sure it applies anymore.”

He raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.

“Aren’t you even curious what it was?” Carson said, flirtatiously tapping his arm. “If somebody said they had a nickname for me, I’d be shaking them by the shoulders to get it out of them.”

He shrugged. “It’s a name you’ve applied to me, so it’s yours, not mine. You can call me anything you want.”

“Fine. I’m not going to tell you,” she said mockingly.

“Don’t. Your call.”

“I don’t get you sometimes,” she said. “I may have been way off on your nickname. You’re surprising me all the time.”

“Okay, what is it?” he said, clearly more out of empathy than a need to know.

“Forget it,” she said. “That ship has sailed.” She was glad it had. Not only was it incorrect, she thought, but it might have hurt his feelings and she didn’t want to take the chance.

“Do you think I’m some sort of hard-ass?” he asked with mock indignation. “Someone who doesn’t have a sense of humor? I’ve got tons of humor.”

“You do, huh?”

He leaned back against the bench. “Absolutely.”

She watched his lips as he spoke. She’d never noticed but the man had perfect teeth. “You have a lovely smile. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. It lights your face.”

His smile came, slow and seductive. “Are you trying to be nice now?”