Page 49 of Deep Tide

Like the Island Beanery, the Hut had a wooden deck that looked out over the dunes. Unlike the Beanery, it had a liquor license. A small bar sat beneath a brown thatched roof. The place was busy as always, but she spied an empty table.

“Do they have table service?” Sean asked as they stepped onto the deck.

“Nope.”

“Why don’t you snag that free table and I’ll get the drinks?”

Leyla didn’t want him paying again.

“Why don’t you snag the table and I’ll get the drinks?”

The side of his mouth ticked up. “Because I don’t know what I want yet.”

She gazed up at him. He seemed amused that she’d stepped right into this trap.

“All right.” She reached for her wallet. “I’d like a mojito, please. Dark rum.”

“Got it.”

He headed for the bar before she could offer him money. Sighing, she turned and wended her way through the crowd to claim the empty table before someone could pounce. It was the best spot out here, with an L-shaped bench tucked into the corner of the deck overlooking the beach. The table consisted of a wooden whiskey barrel.

Nerves fluttered inside her as she sat down and looked across the dunes. Clumps of tourists congregated on the sand and couples walked hand in hand along the water’s edge. It was a clear night, and stars were already appearing in the purple sky.

What was she doing here?

She and Sean had butted heads and then patched things up, and she could have left everything right there, with his apology as the defining moment of their brief relationship.

But now she’d invited him out for drinks, essentially hitting reset. She was giving him the do-over he wanted, and she had no idea why. She didn’t date tourists. It was her rule. He wasn’t a tourist, but he was still a transient. He lived on the East Coast, for God’s sake, and she had no idea why she would want to get involved in anything when he would obviously be leaving town soon. She didn’t. She needed to keep this to drinks, full stop, and then get back to the work she had waiting for her at home.

Sean appeared at the table with a highball glass and a bottle of Corona.

“Dirty mojito,” he said, setting the glass in front of her.

“Thank you.”

He sat down and watched as she picked up her drink.

“She used Bacardí Black,” he said, poking his lime into the bottle.

“That’s perfect.” She took a cold sip. It was tart and minty.

He sipped his beer and set it beside her glass. “This place is popular,” he said, looking around.

“The locals like it. It’s not as trendy as the other places on the beach. You been to any yet?”

He smiled. “No.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I’ve been a little sidetracked.”

With work, he meant. Again, she wondered what sort of investigation had brought him all the way down here from Washington. His unwillingness to talk about it had only piqued her curiosity.

She looked out at the beach.

“How did it go today?” he asked.

She took another sip, thinking of how to describe it. “Basically, it was horrible. The church was packed. I’ve never been to a funeral with so many young people.”

He watched her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Did you meet Amelia’s parents?”

“Briefly. They were inundated with people.”

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