Page 20 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
An amused grin spreads across Adam’s face, and I briefly consider lying, using my original cover as a journalist for the reason I’m here.
But before I can spit out my fib about researching crab fishing, Adam says, “I didn’t recognize you at first under that scarf and hood, but you were at The Frosty Otter a couple nights ago, weren’t you?”
“What? No.” I peel off my glove and fidget with it. “That was probably someone else.”
Adam just keeps grinning. “It’s a small town during the off-season, Helene. You’re the only one in Ryba Harbor right now who doesn’t live here year-round.” He pushes a pink box of donuts across the desk to me, like atonement for finding me out.
I hesitate to take one. You know I’m in an anxious state of mindwhen I look at a glazed donut and think,Is this some sort of trap?instead of grabbing it immediately. But I’m on Sebastien’s turf, and given how our last two encounters turned out, no one can blame me for being a little cautious.
“They’re not poisonous,” Adam says, laughing. He grabs a donut hole and pops it into his mouth. “Anyway, as I was saying, I remember you from The Frosty Otter. You walked by me, straight to Seabass, I mean, Sebastien. Right before he decided to bolt. What did you do to my usually unflappable captain, Helene?”
My cheeks flush hot, even though my teeth are still chattering from the cold. I don’t know what to say; I didn’t expect any of theAlacrity’s crew to recognize me. And I’mdefinitelynot about to explain that I momentarily thought Sebastien was a character I wrote, come to life in the real world.
I take the coward’s way out and cram the glazed donut into my mouth.
Adam laughs again, but not meanly, more like a concession of defeat. “All right, whatever’s between you two, I’ll let you keep it a secret. If you can shake him up like that, I’m all for it. He needs a woman in his life to challenge him.”
“Uh-uh.” I swallow the mouthful of donut as fast as I can so I can defend myself. “I don’t have a thing for Sebastien. You’re reading me wrong.”
“Am I?” Adam studies me from across the desk.
“Absolutely. A thousand percent.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
Adam looks at me a little longer, then smiles and shakes his head. “It’s just that, when Sebastien mentioned you this morning—”
“He mentioned me?” I lean too eagerly over the desk and immediately loathe myself for it. I’m supposed to hate Sebastien. I shouldn’t care if he’s thinking about me or talking about me or making voodoo dolls of me and hammering pins into them.
My too-fervent interest isn’t lost on Adam, though, and he just raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say that my actions are enough proof on their own.
Leave it to Sebastien to have infuriatingly smug friends.
I exhale. Loudly. “Okay, I’m going to go now. Thanks for the donut.” I reach for the door.
“Helene, wait. He left these for you. Said you might stop by.” Adam digs in the top desk drawer and holds outThe Craft of Novel Writingto me, as well as the other two books I’d intended to buy.
I frown at them. “H-how did he know I’d come here?”
Adam shrugs. “Like I said, whatever’s going on between the two of you, I’ll let you keep that secret. All I know is Seabass looked pretty beat up this morning. He might seem tough on the outside, but that’s a dog that’s been kicked too many times in his life. Makes him skittish. Be gentle with him, okay, Helene?”
“I—”
“And if you want to see him, theAlacrityought to be pulling back up to the docks about now. They went to get bait, but my nephew forgot something in his truck, so they’re stopping back here for just a few minutes before they head to sea.”
Adam puts the books in my hands and nods encouragement, his previous mirth gone. “Sebastien’s a good man. Don’t break his heart.”
—
Part of me wants toleave now that I haveThe Craft of Novel Writingback, but part of me is curious about what Adam said. So I head down to the docks again, promising myself I’m just going to peek at Sebastien to prove that Adam’s wrong about him being a good guy. Maybe I’ll catch him yelling at his crew, being a tyrant of a captain. One quick look, and then I’ll be done with him.
TheAlacrityis in one of the berths that was previously empty. It’s a tank of a ship—I suppose it has to be, in order to withstand the winter storms on the ocean—but the hull is painted a tranquil cerulean like the tropical waters of Hawaii. Not what I expected of a crab boat.
I stand in the shadow of a nearby storage shed so the crew can’t see me. A lot’s going on on theAlacrity—rigging and nets moving around, men jogging back and forth to secure the enormous crab traps, other stuff I can’t understand.
But then a solitary tenor cuts through the frantic shouting,singing the opening notes of what sounds like a sea shanty. The man to whom the voice belongs comes into view.
