Nate turns. “I think she’s trying to tell me something. I better go find out if Bridgette is okay.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you.” I hurry to the closet and grab my outerwear. I slip into my coat and put my boots on at the back door. Nate wraps his hand around my waist, and we follow Ellen to the barn. We get there and find Jack and Martha kneeling next to Bridgette.
“What’s going on?” Nate asks, real panic in his voice.
The second Bridgette hears Nate’s voice, she climbs to her feet and lets loose a loud moo.
“I can’t believe it,” Jack says, pushing to his feet and brushing hay from his jeans.
“What?” I ask, running my hand along Bridgette’s back.
“We thought she was sick, but I think she was just lovesick,” Martha exclaims, pressing her hands to her face.
I laugh, and Nate shakes his head. “I haven’t been around much. Sorry girl,” he says, and she gives him a big sloppy kiss. “My God, Bridgette, haven’t we talked about this,” he says playfully, his affection for the blind cow evident, and we all chuckle. Honestly, I was doomed from the beginning.
There was no way I couldn’t fall for him.
I stand back and take a few breaths, working double-time to pull myself together. We all stay in the barn until Bridgette gets her nightly loving, then we head outside, and Jack locks up.
Nate and I say goodnight and make our way back to the B&B. “Poor Bridgette,” I say. “She’s going to be devastated when you leave here next month.”
He goes quiet for a minute, opens his mouth, and closes it again.
“Bridgette might think it’s a love affair, but don’t worry,” I say, needing to put his worries to rest. “For me, it’s just sex. A hookup until the end of the season.”
Chapter Twenty
Nate
As November bleeds into December, and the lobster fishing season is about to come to an end, we all gather around the tables at the Shore Club for their world-famous lobster supper—a good place for us all to be hanging with the B&B’s first viewing.
I glance around the room, and a sign on the wall informs me that the club has been open for eighty-two years now, the last of the greatest dance halls and home to the original lobster supper. It’s tradition toward the end of the season for all those who work at Hooked to get together. Management, fishermen, men and women from the processing plant, as well as their families, have all gathered. Conversations range from the weather, to the successful season, to what comes next.
What comes next for me is to get the owner to finally sell the cottage. Oliver said the place had recently changed hands, and he was able to track down the new owner through her application to the Heritage Society, which met for their December meeting yesterday. He’s sent an email with a huge offer, one, he said, there is no way she’ll refuse. My father will likely lose his mind that I’d gone so high, but I know what I’m doing. Everyone has a price, and we just have to find hers.
Kira takes a sip of her wine and leans toward me. “Did you know that Mariah Carey and Mira Sorvino ate here when they were in Nova Scotia filming the movie Wisegirls. And in 1983, Prince Charles and Lady Diana dined here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, long before my time, but Gram has the plastic lobster bib that Diana wore. I haven’t come across it yet at the B&B, might even be in her safety deposit box, but I think it would be a great keepsake.”
Just then, the server comes by with plastic bibs for us all and ties them around our neck.
“Selfie,” Kira says, and pulls out her phone. She takes one of us, and the waitress approaches.
“I can get a group shot if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” Kira hands over her phone, and the server snaps a few pictures of the crew at our table—Izzy, Jason, Sam, Cody, Albert, Faith, Amber, and Julie, one of Amber’s friends, Jenny from the Grand Banker, and