She slid from behind the wheel but lingered by the car as Charley handed over an order to a family group.
The instant the coast was clear, she hurried toward the stand.
His face lit up as she approached. “Well, look who decided to pay me a visit.”
“Until you brought me lunch earlier this week, I’d forgotten how much I used to crave your tacos after I went back to LA.”
“And here I thought my winning personality had lured you back.” He grinned, opened a cooler behind him, and removed a few fish fillets.
“That too. What fish are you cooking today?”
“Grouper.” He set the fillets on the grill and began chopping cilantro. “I’m still thinking about those blackberry truffles you gave me on Tuesday. They were magnifíco.” He gathered the fingers of his free hand and kissed them. “Your talent extends beyond the screen.”
“Thank you. Making chocolate is fun.”
“And acting isn’t?”
“Um . . . yeah. Of course it’s fun.”
Or it had been, once upon a time. Before all the craziness began to suck the joy out of performing. Before everyone wanted a piece of her. Before fame became a carrot that enticed her to do things she later lamented.
Before someone died.
Her stomach clenched.
The truth was, acting had been the most fun back in college, on a small stage with a live audience, before money and power trips and publicity stunts were involved. When she did it out of love.
But perhaps that was true of any passion.
Charley pulled out three corn tortillas and set them on the grill. Flipped the fish. “You seem sad, my friend.”
His comment was more invitation than statement. If she wanted to talk, he’d listen.
Yet what was there to say—except admit the terrifying possibility that the dream she’d fought so hard to achieve may have been the wrong one?
And she wasn’t anywhere near ready to do that.
“More like confused.” She forced up the corners of her lips and tapped the “Cash Only” sign taped on the window. “I see you haven’t yet entered the electronic age. No one pays with actual money anymore, you know.”
“More’s the pity.” He cut up a lime and diced a wedge of red onion, throwing the latter onto a griddle as he spoke. “People have much greater appreciation for what they buy if they shell out hard cash—and it also helps them stay out of debt. Not that an order of tacos would break the bank.”
She pulled out her wallet. “Your tacos would be a bargain at any price.”
“Thank you. Are you going to eat here on the wharf?”
“That’s my plan.” She handed over a bill and motioned toward the empty bench. “That has my name on it.”
“Best seat in the house—and Floyd and Gladys will keep you company.” He began assembling the tacos as two gulls landed with a flutter of wings a few yards away.
Katherine peered at them. Did one have a nick on its beak? Impossible to tell from this distance. Charley either had much keener vision than she did or he was guessing.
Didn’t matter. They’d probably fly off in a minute anyway.
“Thanks for the tacos.” She took the brown bag he held out.
“Enjoy.”
“Goes without saying.” She pocketed the change he gave her.
“Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. These are addictive—in a healthy way.”
She strode toward the bench, past the gulls.
Huh.
Her step slowed.
One of them did have a dark spot on top of its head—and was that a chip on its beak?
She leaned closer to examine it.
Yeah, it was.
But . . . how could Charley have spotted those distinguishing characteristics from yards away?
Gauging the distance over her shoulder, she furrowed her brow. No one had vision that keen—did they?
Charley, however, was a man of many talents—so who knew?
She continued toward the bench . . . and the two gulls traipsed after her. Apparently she’d been adopted by the taco chef’s avian friends.
As she settled onto the seat and opened the bag, the two birds cuddled up on the ground a few feet away. One of them cackled.
It sounded almost like a laugh.
How silly was that? Seagulls didn’t laugh.
But they were cute . . . and they were company.
Not as much company as her neighbor would have been—but they didn’t ask any questions either.
Meaning this little threesome was a whole lot safer than a twosome with a certain coffee shop owner.
Was that Kat sitting on one of the benches by the harbor?
Zach pulled up short a few yards from Charley’s stand, his attention riveted on the woman with two seagulls at her feet.
She was angled away, and the hair falling over her cheek hid her features . . . but it looked like her.
“Afternoon, Zach.”
At Charley’s greeting, he continued toward the stand. “Hi, Charley.”
“This must be the day for my Blackberry Beach neighbors to want tacos for lunch.”
He stopped at the counter and gave the man his full attention. “Is that Kat?”
“None other.”
So the mystery lady had emerged from her cave.
“How long has she been there?”
“Oh, five minutes, I’d say. I saw you coming and got your order rolling.” He pivoted to remove the fish fillets from the grill and began assembling and wrapping the tacos. “You could join her. There’s room on the bench.”
“I don’t know.” He studied her again. “She likes her privacy.”
“Privacy has its pluses—but too much solitude can get lonely.”
She leaned down to share a bite of her taco with one of the two birds.
“She doesn’t have to be lonely. Hope Harbor is a welcoming place.”
“Maybe that’s why she came into town today. For company.” Charley finished bagging the order and set it on the counter, along with a bottle of water.
Zach dug out his wallet and handed over a few bills. “She won’t meet anyone sitting by herself on the wharf.”
“Unless someone takes the initiative and approaches her.”
“If you’re implying that someone could be me—we’re already acquainted.” He picked up the bag. “And she hasn’t been any too eager to get better acquainted.”
“No?” Charley swiped the immaculate counter with a rag. “When I dropped off an order of tacos at her house earlier this week, I got the impression she’d stopped in at your place.”
“You went to her house?” Zach squinted at the man.
“Why not? After you told me we were neighbors, I thought it would be a sociable gesture.”
“And she mentioned me?”
“Not directly. But she offered me a couple of blackberry truffles and said they were left over from a batch she made as a thank-you gift. If she hasn’t ventured out much, who else could they be for but her neighbor?”
That felt like a stretch of logic—but what did it matter? The truth was, the temptation to join her was strong, with or without Charley’s prodding.
And what could it hurt to mosey over there and say hello? She’d either brush him off or invite him to join her.