Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,49

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“Not all I want,” Chuck said.

Oh, boy. I had a feeling the conversation over dinner was going to get awkward quickly. If I drank alcohol, this is when it would have come in handy. But I didn’t, so fried seafood would have to do for comfort.

Chuck cleared his throat, then smiled. “We might even be early enough to get the senior citizen special. I’m not sure the last time I ate before six.”

“And it’s five, Houston time. So, this is essentially a late lunch for you.”

“We’ll call it linner. Not quite lunch, not yet dinner.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I said, thankful that we’d fallen into the easy banter that had defined our relationship. Friendly banter. Not flirty banter. Was that clear to Chuck? Or did he think I was flirting?

I pulled at the collar of my shirt. Was the AC broken again? I checked the thermostat, but it was still working.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

On the way to the restaurant with me behind the wheel of Nana’s jeep, Chuck went back to hating on Alec. It made him seem petty and jealous, two attributes I never associated with Chuck.

“The man’s clearly not very bright. Or, maybe missing some social cues?” Shaking his head, Chuck said, “And he clearly has an overly inflated opinion about himself. And his opinions on everything else.”

Now, that I agreed with. But I didn’t say that. I didn’t so much as hum a quiet agreement.

“I really didn’t think he’d shut up about what you should do with the house. Does he know you’re not planning to stay?”

I gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I still have a lot of decisions to make.”

“So, you might stay here?” Chuck turned in his seat to face me, but I kept my eyes on the road. I could hear the shock in his voice without even looking over at him.

“There aren’t jobs here,” I said, feeling like I was hedging around his question. “But I don’t know what my next step is.”

“You always have a home in Houston.”

More than once, Chuck had suggested I move into his three-story townhome in the historic Heights area. I loved his house. And at the time, I’d thought I loved Chuck, so I hadn’t been sure why I hesitated. But I hadn’t ever been tempted about moving in with him. I definitely wasn’t now.

As though he sensed my discomfort, he went back to Alec. “Does he know that you’re not staying?”

I couldn’t help but notice the way Chuck avoided saying Alec’s name. Kind of like the way Alec called him Charles all afternoon. “No, he doesn’t.”

“You should probably tell him, so he doesn’t spend so much time trying to help you fix up a place you aren’t keeping. He’s wasting his time.”

I got the impression that Chuck wanted to believe Alec was wasting his time on more than just the house stuff. I thought about reassuring him that Alec was definitely not interested in me like that, but I didn’t have the energy.

I probably should tell Alec. I mean, it wasn’t like I ever told him that I was going to be living there. But I’m pretty sure that’s what he thought.

Chuck was still complaining about Alec as we pulled into the parking lot of my third favorite seafood place On Island. I didn’t want to taint my top two with memories of Chuck in them. But this one was decent enough.

“It’s rare I meet someone I dislike almost on sight,” Chuck was saying. “There was just something about him.”

“I felt the same way when I met him,” I said.

The words sounded much meaner than I meant them to, even if they were true. I still didn’t know how I felt about Alec, but I didn’t harbor the same animosity towards him I did at the beginning of the day. He wasn’t just an insufferable grouch who wanted to see my house plans fail. I got the distinct impression when he was going on about the house that he did want to help me.

Then there were the weird territorial vibes going on between him and Chuck. And I was still reeling over the fact that Alec had painted the picture I purchased that morning. Could someone capable of creating such beauty be so terrible? The jury was still out on that one.

He did stay all afternoon when I gave him a silent plea for help. A silent plea that he somehow understood,