Maritime Caper (Coastal Fury Book 12), Matt Lincoln [good books to read for beginners TXT] 📗

“Yes, tonight, that would be excellent,” I said, smiling at her.

“I’ll go call them right now,” she said cheerily, grinning back at me with what looked to be dentures.

“Thank you!” I called after her as she rushed back to the kitchen, and presumably the phone.

I buried my face in my phone, searching through my messages to see if there was anything new from Holm or Diane, or even Nina, the FBI agent who may or may not be working on the Holland case.

There was nothing. Somehow that only made my shoulders tense even further.

I sent a quick message to Diane, updating her on what had happened at the museum and assuring her that I had everything under control. She didn’t respond right away, which was unusual for her, so of course, I got even more nervous and messaged Holm.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“Going through all kinds of stuff,” he shot back quickly. “Diane’s been on the phone with the FBI for like three hours straight. Last I talked to her, she was just getting off the phone with you.”

“What’s she talking to them about?” I texted furiously, my thumbs slipping over the keys.

“Last night,” was all he said.

I sent him three question marks all in a row to follow up.

“I’ll let you know the second I know anything, okay? I swear, you’re needier than my ex,” he shot back, and that was the end of that, as Tessa was now coming back down the stairwell.

“Hey,” she said, smiling brightly at me and holding up the list of restaurants and attractions that Paulina had given us the night before. “There’s this neat little seafood place right on the bay. Might be a nice place to eat since most of downtown is closed after the shooting, anyway.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” I said, forcing a smile since my mind was still back in Miami, and we headed out the door, arm in arm.

“You’re overthinking again, aren’t you?” she asked as I pulled our rental car out of the bed-and-breakfast’s narrow driveway.

“I am,” I admitted with a low laugh, following as she pointed me in the right direction toward the restaurant. “But then again, aren’t I always?”

“That’s true enough,” she laughed, and the sound echoed pleasantly throughout the car.

I smiled for real then and rolled down our front windows so that the sea-scented air could waft in around us, instantly relaxing me and removing some tension from between my shoulder blades.

We drove along the coast for a few minutes and then pulled into a small parking lot. The lot led to a small series of stores that were on a lifted wooden building stretching out over the water. There were a few people lounging on a sandy beach off to the left of the building and a few patrons of the restaurant sitting outside on the deck, but other than that, the place was empty. The gift shop and the flower shop next to the restaurant both appeared closed.

“A little early to be closing up shop, isn’t it?” Tessa asked, arching an eyebrow at the closed sign on the door as we passed the gift shop.

“The police said the town’s pretty jumpy,” I pointed out. “This isn’t New York City or Miami. Shootings aren’t exactly a regular occurrence around here, especially in public places. People aren’t sure what to do with themselves. It’s probably the brave ones who used to live in big cities or the clueless ones who haven’t heard about the shooting yet, who are out and about today.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Tessa shrugged. “Though if everybody stopped every time there was a shooting in New York, no one would ever go anywhere.”

“My point exactly,” I said, holding the door to the restaurant open for her.

We were quickly seated by a waiter in a white shirt and black tie on the deck overlooking the water. The waves rolled up, and the deck jutted out such that I almost felt like I was actually at sea.

“So,” Tessa said when the waiter had left us with our water glasses, propping her elbows up on the wooden table and resting her chin on the backs of her hands. “What are you thinking?”

“What am I thinking?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows at her. “I think this was all a terrible mistake, and I should send you straight home before your uncle has my head for putting you in so much danger.”

“Oh, are you really on about this again?” Tessa scoffed, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms to the table with a thud. “I’m here. We’re in this together. End of discussion.”

“Alright, alright,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat. “But you know that I had to at least try one more time.”

“You are worried about my uncle, aren’t you?” she asked, wagging her eyebrows at me playfully as the waiter returned to deposit a basket of breadsticks on our table and give us our menus.

“Yes,” I admitted sheepishly with a clear of my throat. “But I’m even more worried about you.”

I met her eyes over my menu, and she did the same, with a wry smile plastered across her face.

“I can take care of myself, Ethan Marston,” she assured me. “Though I do enjoy being taken care of every once in a while.”

She shot me a wink, and I was suddenly very focused on the list of soups.

I took a sip from my water and perused the menu. In the end, I ordered a nice clam chowder, and Tessa ordered some kind of lobster salad. It looked good when the waiter brought it, but I was glad to have a hot meal after the day I’d had.

And it wasn’t over yet.

“I’m surprised you didn’t order the clam chowder yourself, being from New England and all,” I grinned at her as I took my first bite. It was delicious.

“Oh, that would be far too dangerous,” Tessa said, rolling her eyes.