Page 40 of Forget Me Not

I should say no. I’m not going to.

But I fucking should.

“What’s a sweet crab?”

She grins, a devious smirk in her eyes. “The best thing you’ll ever taste.”

I’m a fucking idiot.

I’ll admit, agreeing to come out to eat with Nova wasn’t my smartest choice. Especially when I’m trying to get her out of my head.

Sitting across from her in the little rundown pizza shop almost feels normal, like we’ve been here a million times.

As it turns out, sweet crabs are the love child of a donut and an elephant ear, in the shape of a crab and smothered in whatever fruit, syrup, or ice cream you want. Nova orders two while we wait for our pizza in the town’s only pizza place.

From the outside, you would think this place was just another ramshackle house that used to be one of the grandest on the island. From the inside, it’s everything you’d picture when you think of a house-turned-pizzeria.

The front half of the main floor is all open and not a single chair is empty. People stare at me, but I ignore them. I’m used to people in town looking at me. I’m an outsider. It comes with moving around and I’ve grown accustomed to people’s prying eyes in the last decade I’ve been traveling.

Nova, on the other hand, stares back at an elderly couple with as much intimidation as a rabid bunny rabbit until they avert their gazes.

How they aren’t quaking in fear, I’ll never know.

“People are so rude,” she grumbles, tearing off a chunk from a strawberries and cream sweet crab. Ask me what my mind goes to when she gets some of the cream on her lip.

I can tell you, it’s nothing platonic.

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I grab a bite of the one in front of me. Blueberry banana.

“This island has a thing for blueberries,” I murmur, shoving the bite in my mouth. She watches for my reaction, so I throw her a bone. “It’s good.”

Nova beams brighter than I’ve ever seen her. “See, I told you they were the best thing you’d ever taste.”

“I can think of something that is much sweeter.”

Her eyes zero in on me, calculating. Then, when she seems to understand what I’m getting at, her face turns the same shade as the bright red paint on the walls.

Told you it’s fucking addicting.

“Are you always this crude?” she asks, cocking her head and taking a bite of our blueberry sweet crab.

“Are you always this shy?”

I know for a fact, she’s not.

“I’m not shy,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m just not used to someone—”

“Telling the truth?”

Something flashes across her gaze before it’s quickly replaced with a blank slate. I fucking hate it.

“So, where are you going after Port Nova?” she asks, quickly changing the subject. It’s probably for the better. I won’t pry any answers out of her in a crowded room full of people.

“Alaska. In September.”

“That’s only six weeks away.”

“I know. Why do you think I want the boat fixed? I’ve got traps to clean up before I go.”

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