Yet there it was.
Go figure.
As another powerful temptation to turn around swept over her, she huffed out a breath.
Enough.
She’d gone to his boat to make a pitch for a donation. Period. The next step—if there was one—was his.
Keeping her eyes aimed straight ahead, she continued toward her car—until the distracting aroma of grilling fish tickled her nostrils.
Salivary glands kicking in, she surveyed the small waterside park abutting the river at the far end of Dockside Drive. The serving window was open on the taco truck that was a permanent fixture beside it on the wharf, and Charley Lopez was leaning on the counter, deep in conversation with a customer.
She hesitated.
It was early for dinner . . . but after that disconcerting encounter with Steven Roark, Charley’s tasty tacos might help calm her.
And she wouldn’t have to cook tonight either.
Sold.
She switched direction and approached the window with the owner’s name emblazoned above in colorful letters against a white background.
As she drew near, the customer picked up his order, lifted a hand in farewell to Charley, and strolled away.
“Ah. If it isn’t my favorite teacher.” Charley’s lips curved up as she approached, a fan of lines radiating from the corners of his eyes.
“I bet you say that to all the teachers.” She smiled back at the man with the weathered, latte-toned skin who was wearing a Ducks cap over his long, gray ponytail.
Strange how easy it was to chat with Charley despite the childhood shyness she’d never been able to shake.
“I have many favorites—all for different reasons.”
“Smooth answer.”
“But sincere.” He grinned at her. “Did you stop by to say hello, or are you in the mood for tacos?”
“Tacos. I caught the aroma as I was walking back from the wharf and couldn’t resist.”
“My best advertising. That, and word of mouth.” He pulled two fillets out of a cooler and set them on the grill. “What took you to the wharf?”
She gave him a quick recap of her visit. “But I’m afraid my sales skills aren’t as polished as yours. He didn’t commit to a donation.”
“Could be he wants to mull over how best to contribute.” Charley tossed a handful of diced onions and red peppers on the griddle and began chopping a chipotle.
“I don’t think so. I got the impression he wasn’t receptive to the cause.”
“Is that right?” He finished with the chipotle. “That surprises me. He seems like a nice fellow.”
“You know him?” Holly kept her tone casual. Curious as she was about the charter fisherman, that didn’t mean she wanted anyone to know she was curious.
“Don’t you?”
“No. Should I?”
“Maybe not. From what I can tell, Steven keeps to himself.” Charley pulled a lime out of the cooler and began cutting it into wedges. “I don’t see you very often either.”
“It’s not a reflection of your cooking, trust me. I’ve just been busy learning the ropes on my new job and settling in. Church is about the only place I socialize.”
Sad but true.
While she’d successfully demonstrated her independence since moving from Eugene in January, so far she was batting zero on her resolution to spice up her social life.
“I expect Steven’s busy too. That may be one of the reasons he keeps a low profile. Of course, people also tend to do that if they have a lot on their mind . . . or they’re insecure.” He gave her a fast scan and went back to cooking.
She squinted at his back. Was the latter part of that comment meant for her?
No.
What a ridiculous notion.
She and Charley had no more than a passing acquaintance. He knew nothing of her history.
Besides, her self-confidence was growing by the day.
“Why do you think he has a lot on his mind?” Best to shine the spotlight back where it belonged.
Charley laid three corn tortillas on the grill and shook his special spice onto the fish and veggies. “Call it intuition. In any case, I expect he could use a few friends. Don’t you think so, Floyd?” He aimed the question over her shoulder.
Holly swiveled around. There was a fair amount of activity on the other side of Dockside Drive, where storefronts with colorful awnings and containers waiting to be filled with spring flowers lined the street. But no one was anywhere close to her.
Who was Charley—
A loud squawk erupted at her feet, and she jumped back.
Two gulls stood less than a yard away. One inspected her as his companion made a cackling noise that sounded like a laugh.
Charley leaned over the window. “Hey, Gladys. I didn’t know you were here too.”
Holly took a calming breath as amusement displaced fright. “You’re acquainted with these gulls?” The town sage was living up to his reputation as an eccentric artist/taco chef.
“We’re old friends. Right, you two?”
Gladys cackled again, and Charley chuckled as he straightened up and began assembling her tacos.
“You have unusual friends.” Holly pulled out her wallet, keeping tabs on the twosome that was a bit too close for comfort.
Kind of like the pair on the sidewalk that had refused to budge as she walked away from the wharf.
Was it possible they’d followed her here and—
Rolling her eyes, she cut off that fanciful line of thought.
As if seagulls had agendas.
“Friends come in all shapes and sizes, and from all manner of backgrounds.” Charley began wrapping the tacos in white paper. “Lots of people write off potential friends who seem too different at first glance. The trick is taking a second look—and checking out their heart as well as their face.”
Holly counted out her money. “That sounds reasonable in theory.”
“Works in practice too. Doesn’t it, Floyd?”
In response, the gulls rose into the air with a screech and flutter of wings, then flew off in the direction of Steven’s boat.
Or more likely, toward the harbor in general—the readiest source of a meal, thanks to the fishing crafts anchored in the sheltered waters between the pair of islands on the right and the breakwater on the left.
But they stopped and circled in the vicinity of his boat.
Odd.
Judging by his thoughtful expression as she turned back to pay for her order, Charley had reached the same conclusion. “Curious.” He continued to watch the feathered duo.
“How so?”
He flashed his white teeth. “Floyd and Gladys usually hang around here until I toss them a handout—unless another mission takes priority.” Without giving her a chance to question him further, he passed over her order. “Enjoy.”
“Always.” She handed him the bills.
“Let me get your change.”
She waved away the offer. “The amount’s too small to worry about. But you wouldn’t have to make change if you took credit cards.” She tapped the cash-only sign taped to the serving window.
“Why muddle up a simple transaction with computers and encryption and cloud technology? People today have a tendency to make things more complicated than they have to be. When I think of a cloud, that’s what I want to picture.” He swept a hand toward the heavens, where fluffy white billows and blue sky were appearing through the mist.