Page 35 of Secrets in Calusa Cove

“I’ve got an order for the chief,” the young man said.

“What does he owe you?”

“Already paid,” the kid said. “Tip taken care of, too.” He handed her the bag. “Tell the chief I said thanks.”

“Will do.”

The smell of crunchy fried onion rings filled her nostrils. No one made better fried foods than Massey’s. She should boycott the damn place, considering the way Paul had treated her earlier, but her stomach growled like a grizzly. However, there weren’t many options in this town—a greasy spoon, a place down by the marina that did mostly fresh-caught fish and chips, and another restaurant heading out of town, but their food tasted like cardboard on a good day.

The door to the bathroom opened, and steam poured out, carrying with it the fresh scent of pine, musk, and…she wasn’t sure. A spice of some kind. Whatever it was, it sent her hormones into overdrive.

Wonderful. She was attracted to the wrong kind of men. Even Ken, for as much as she’d believed she’d loved him—and he’d claimed to have loved her—had wanted her to change. He’d wanted her to be less her father’s daughter and more like a normal girl.

Whatever that meant. And it wasn’t ever going to happen.

Their breakup hadn’t been just about what happened that night. It was more complex than that, and their problems had started before her father disappeared.

“You took a shower?” She set the bag on the counter.

“Trust me, I needed it. Not only did I smell like swamp, but if I didn’t, I would’ve been a bigger asshole than I have been.” He pulled out two plates from the cupboard, a couple of napkins, and two knives.

What the hell did she need utensils for?

He sat down beside her at the breakfast counter and went about pulling out his burger. The weirdo cut it in half.

“What are you doing?” She stared at him.

“Eating.” He lifted half his bacon cheeseburger, which didn’t appear to have any secret sauce, only mustard, and took a bite. It wasn’t even a big bite.

“That’s a dumb way to enjoy a burger.” She lifted hers and brought it to her mouth. A massive amount of sauce landed on her bare thigh. Before she could wipe it off with her finger, he snagged a napkin and cleaned it up. “Hey, that was wasteful.” Not that she minded feeling his hands across her leg.

He laughed and continued to munch on his food like a dainty human.

Of course, her co-workers back at the magazine thought she was a slob, which was kind of true, at least when it came to food. “I once took an assignment up in Western, New York.”

“Really?” He jerked his head. “What kind of wildlife were you focusing on there?”

“Birds. American bitterns, Northern harrier hawks, owls, mallards, and blue-winged teal. I also saw a couple of bald eagles in my travels. Got some great images of woodchucks, beavers, and muskrats. But that’s not where I was going with this conversation.” She waved an onion ring. “Rochester isn’t known for much. Kodak, which is basically gone. Cold weather. Snow. And the grossest beer known to man.”

“Genesee Cream Ale.” He lifted his longneck. “Disgusting.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to drink that pisswater. But the one thing that Rochester does well is the?—”

“Garbage plate.” He lowered his chin. “I’m from Rochester. I grew up on those things. It’s kind of the best drunk food ever.” He leaned closer. “Not that I got drunk underage or anything.”

“Now, how can you enjoy a good garbage plate and not eat a cheeseburger with Massey’s special sauce?” She waved her hand over his plate. “And you cut yours in half. What the heck is that all about?”

“I have severe heartburn.” He plopped the last bite in his mouth. “If I don’t slow down the way I eat, especially when I treat myself to fried foods and stuff that stirs up my GERD, I’ll be up all night, in pain, cussing myself out.”

“Is that why there’s all that healthy shit in that fridge?”

He shrugged. “My nana was always worried if I didn’t get killed by a bullet, my diet would get me. So, I promised her before she died that I’d do my best not to let either one happen.”

She wiped her fingers on her napkin. “I have no idea what to think of you.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual. Now, break out that drone. I want to look at it and any pictures or video you took.”

She gave him a mock glare. “You’re bossy, too.”

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