Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

“Honey,nobody needs a man who can’t hurry things up in a pinch. Life’s busy, and a good bottom is even busier.” My friend Ronan tosses his pencil onto his sketchbook and briskly claps his hands together. “Chop chop. Leave your calling card, thank your bottom, and get the fuck out of Dodge.”

“Right?” I grin, running a cloth back and forth across the bar top. “I did not wanna miss that ferry. Imagine staying the night with him. I wouldn’t sit down for a week.”

Ronan snorts with laughter. “Although… you could catch up on sleep while he’s getting to the point.”

“I was already yawning.” I giggle. “I probably had… what do they call it? A micro-sleep?”

Ronan groans sympathetically as he packs away his stuff. “All I can say is he wasn’t the one.”

And Ronan should know.

He’s only had that shiny new engagement ring on his finger for a week, and he still glows with excitement every time he sees it. His fiancé—my coworker, Alph—is a good man and I’m glad for both of them.

But it makes me think, too.

“I’m never gonna get one of those on my finger.”

Ronan gasps. His jaw drops as he looks up at me. “What did you say?”

Oh. I said it out loud, didn’t I?

Fuck.

Everyone thinks I’m happy to just play the field… and for the most part, I am. It’s only now and then that I think stupid stuff like that. My cheeks are burning. “Uh… I never said that.”

“Too late,” Ronan tells me, wagging a stern finger before he shoves his pencil case into his backpack. “I heard it. If you wanna find the one, we’ll help!Everyone on Sunrise can keep their eyes peeled...”

The community might be incredible here, but I don’t want to be their project.

“God forbid,” I groan, and he laughs. “Anyway, I don’t need a perfect man. I’d settle for a good kisser.”

“He wasn’t even a good kisser?” Ronan shoulders his backpack and staggers against the counter. “You’ve been through it, sweetie! How bad?”

“Let’s just say, if I wanted fish lips, I’d just go into the kitchen here and?—”

Honk!

The ferry moored directly outside the restaurant blows its horn, giving people the two-minute warning to get their asses onto the boat.

Ronan bursts out laughing. “Kieran! Well, I’m not ordering the fish and chips this weekend. Okay, gotta go!”

“Scram. Leave me to get a room with my fish,” I grin, waving as he rushes out to the dock.

The door swings shut behind him, and my smile slips away as I sigh.

It was nice to have the company this morning, but now I’m by myself. It’s not quite late enough for lunch, and certainly too early to be five o’clock somewhere.

This is the worst part of the morning shift: the boredom. At best, I get the occasional islander saying hi as they pick up the daily newspaper from the ferry waiting room. They tell me it gets busier in the summer with lost tourists asking for directions.

But I probably won’t be around for that long.

Not in like, a dark sense. I mean I’ve only got a few months until my working holiday visa expires. I wasn’t planning on staying here for this long anyway.

What if I hate the next place I choose? Isn’t it better to stay somewhere that people know me and like me, even if it’s not perfect?

No. No, it’s not. That’s why I’m out here in the first place. I’ve spent enough time making excuses for the places and people around me. I’m not going to accept anything less than what’s right for me anymore.

I’ve been fidgeting with my phone for the last five minutes, picking it up and putting it down as I debate with myself.

Fuck’s sake, Kieran. Just do it.

Before I can second-guess it, I tap out a quick message to my boss.

KIERAN:

Hey, can we have a chat after my shift today?

BERTY:

Sure, Doug and I are at home all day so swing by!

“All day?” I laugh out loud, carefully hovering over the message to give it a thumbs-up reaction. “As if.”

I think I’m a talkative extrovert, but Berty beats me any day of the week. By the time I’m done my shift, he could be anywhere on the island, talking the ear off anyone.

I know he’s going to be sad to lose me. And I’ll be sad to leave. But… the longer I put it off, the harder it will be to leave in the end. So it’s time to move on and find somewhere else to spend my last months in Canada, before I accidentally put down roots here.

If I’m being really honest, that’s why I haven’t found anyone: I’ve been trying not to.

The door opens and I snap back into it so fast it surprises even myself.

Bubbly persona back on, smile back in full force to welcome...

Ohhh.

My jaw drops as I stare at the gorgeous newcomer.

They really compacted a lot of fiery sass into five-foot-three when they made me. The guy who just walked in is about a foot taller, which is exactly the right height to hold me off the ground with my legs wrapped firmly around his waist.

And he’s built like a wall. Just standing here in the doorway, his shoulders seem to fill up the whole frame. His black T-shirt, thin hoodie, and jean can’t hide all the muscles threatening to bulge right out.

His hair is short, perfectly straight and chopped a little longer on top. The natural auburn highlights catch the afternoon light, but I bet they’re even more eye-catching in the summer.

His face is squared off with a sharp angled jaw, neatly-trimmed stubble, and thick furrowed brows. He’s one of those people with a naturally grumpy expression, like he’s trying to keep the world at arm’s length.

I bet a real grin from him would light up the whole room.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat as his dark, stormy green eyes catch mine.

Shit. I’m supposed to be serving him.

“Um. Hiya. Can I get you anything?” I manage to stutter.

Thank fuck I’m too flustered to add, the way I usually would, Anything you want. Anything at all.

“A table?”

His voice is warm, deep, smooth as honey on my ears. He’s got an accent like he’s from around here, but I’ve never seen him before. I know for a fact I’d remember.

Ohhh, fuck.

This guy spells trouble. And I do love getting myself into trouble. Or should I say, getting trouble into me?

“Yeah. A table. Sure. Anywhere you like,” I tell him with a bright smile. He picks a table by the window, but within easy eyeshot of the bar.

Phew. No pretending to wipe down tables to spy on him.

He tosses a thin notepad and a thick yellow envelope onto the table, pulling out the chair to arrange all his limbs into it. It looks kind of ridiculous, “And lunch, if it’s going?”

“I’ll grab you a menu?—”

“No need,” he tells me, just as I’m coming around the end of the bar, menu in hand. “I’m here for the fish and chips.” Then he pauses and looks at me, his brow furrowing even deeper. “If you have it.”

I shouldn’t say it, but that’s never stopped me before.

“Don’t worry. If we don’t have fish, I’ll get my rod out,” I tell him, popping a hip as I lean against the side of the bar.

His brow creeps up. He’s not exactly smiling at me, but the downward curve of his scowl is gone. “Talk about service with a smile.”

“The potatoes might take longer,” I tell him. I’m giving him an easy opening, so I brace myself for the Irish joke… but it doesn’t come.

He just gives me a crooked smile that makes him look devilishly handsome.

He’s the strong, silent type. Of course. I needed more reasons to be wildly distracted.

“Anything to drink?”

“Orange soda would be great.”

He doesn’t look away from me. He’s smiling slightly, like he knows everything I’m thinking, and it’s only making me more flustered.

After I serve his lunch, I retreat behind the bar and hunch over my phone.

Who the hell is this guy?

It’s time to consult the Sunrise Island whisper network.