Page 12 of Fire Harbor

She sputtered with laughter. “I’ve been a vegetarian since I went to work for our new fledgling school district at a starting salary that doesn’t provide for too many luxuries. And since my student loan looks like the national debt, I stay home a lot. Plus, have you seen the price of meat lately?”

“You don’t eat out much?”

“No, not really. I bring my lunch most days and eat my sandwich sitting somewhere along the pier.”

“Ah. That explains the Snoopy lunch box I saw in your basket. What kind of sandwich is vegetarian?”

“Now I know you’re kidding. I’m vegetarian, not vegan, there’s a difference. I eat eggs and drink milk. So there are all kinds of sandwich possibilities besides avocado or bean sprouts. There’s grilled cheese, egg salad, fried egg sandwiches—those are the best—but I also make a mean veggie slider with roasted red peppers, artichokes, and mozzarella.”

“And you grow all this yourself?” He’d only seen her working in the flower garden out front. But now he realized somewhere in the backyard had to be a very large vegetable garden. He tried peering through the bank of windows, but it was too dark to make out anything. “I’m not sure I’ve ever dated anyone who’s a vegetarian. My last girlfriend—”

“That would be Jessica.”

When he looked panic-stricken, she added, “It is a small town.”

“Then why do I never hear anything about who you’re dating?”

“Hmmm. Probably because I don’t date much. The last time—although I wouldn’t call it a date exactly—was a Halloween party in San Sebastian. A friend from college talked me into going. Full disclosure, I’m not a big fan of the bar scene or getting wasted or spending money on funny-sounding cocktails that cost eight bucks a pop.”

“Good to know. So who owned the lunch box?”

“My dad. It’s from 1965. There are a lot of things in this house that get recycled from generation to generation. For example, I made my Halloween costume out of one of my grandmother’s dresses from the 1930s. Used her sewing machine, too. It’s ancient but it got the job done. And there’s a box in the basement with old Coca-Cola bottles from the 1920s, the kind you return to the store. My mother also left a bunch of old clothes when she took off that I use for rags. Speaking of parents, how is your mother? Cooper Richmond came into the library yesterday and told me your mother had heart surgery a week ago. I had no idea.”

“She did. Sort of. They put in a stent. She’s doing fine.”

“I’m glad she’s recovering. Isn’t Cooper your best friend?”

“Pretty much. When I first met him, he was a globe-trotting photojournalist. We lived in the same Sausalito condo complex. That must’ve been almost thirteen years ago. After he settled down here with Eastlyn Parker—hard to believe he owns a toy store now—he talked me into leaving the Bay Area. I was never going to be able to buy a house in Sausalito anyway, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to check out a new town. I wandered down here one weekend and fell in love with the place. My mother followed five years later after my dad passed away.”

Lake couldn’t imagine losing her father. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“That first year without him was tough on Mom. But the move down here helped. In fact, it helped both of us. I’m a homeowner now. And lucky for me, the area needed paramedics.”

“And still do,” Lake added as she popped dinner rolls into the oven. “I usually don’t keep wine on hand, but I have a bottle that Hannah gave me for Christmas. We could have that with our pasta if you want.”

“Sure. Are you saving it for a special occasion, though? You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“Starting to regret your decision to come for dinner?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that you’ve worked all day. I like watching you move around the kitchen.”

“You do?”

At her reaction to that, a sense of reassurance enveloped him. He found himself captivated by her every gesture. He was about to move closer when Scout bumped his legs and he almost fell over.

“Scout, go to your bed. Now, Scout,” Lake directed, snapping her fingers. “Go on. Go to your bed.”

The dog trotted off toward the connecting sunroom with her head down and her tail between her legs.

Linus looked toward the dogs and realized Farley was stretched out next to Jack. “I’ll be damned. I’ve never seen him so calm. What’s in that food?”

“I don’t think the company’s recipe includes tranquilizers if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I guess not. Could he like the food that much?”

“Maybe it satisfies him in a way that his normal food doesn’t. I don’t know. All I know is that Jack really settled down after he started to eat better food.”

The timer on the oven dinged. “Time to take out the rolls. You sit. I’ll bring everything over.”

---