Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,19
onto me.”
Pushing him, I snorted. “I’ve been onto your game since we were six.”
He slammed the car door. “Come on. Let’s go where we used to hang out when we were kids.” He took my elbow and guided me through traffic toward a cement staircase leading to the waterfront.
“What? Where?” I enjoyed the way his hand warmed my elbow too much to pull it away, despite the fact that Landon’s face popped into my head. He would still be at the job site for a while; I had plenty of time. Didn’t I?
We snaked our way down the cement steps, through a parking lot, and across a busy road, jumping out of the path of cabs as we strolled down Alaskan Way. We approached the familiar wood building on Pier 54, with the gold lettering on the side of the building reading, Ye Old Curiosity Shop. My stomach gurgled.
I halted in the middle of a crosswalk. “No way. I’m not going in there.”
When we were kids, we begged relentlessly to be taken to the Curiosity Shop. Fake vomit, voodoo dolls, mummies, skeletons, and shrunken heads greeted you within its walls. There was something about seeing Siamese twin calves in a glass box and a mummified two-headed calf that made me want to lose my lunch. It was one of the weirdest stores I’d ever seen, and remained so even though I walked past an erotic bakery on the way to the bus stop every day.
Gabe pulled my hand. “Come on, you’re in the middle of the street. Don’t tell me you’re still scared of this place.”
“There’s a mummy with a dislocated jaw. It’s disgusting,” I whined.
He started singing as we approached the heavy wooden doors. “Violet’s a chicken, Violet’s a chicken…”
“I am not a chicken.”
“Fine.” He smiled, and gazed at the waterfront. “How about some lunch?”
I followed Gabe’s line of sight and let out a whoop of joy. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
We walked to the Chowder Shack, where Nora and Guthrie had taken us as kids for chowder and fresh clams. Knowing my favorites, Gabe ordered our meals, then picked a table overlooking the water where the ferry boats all sat on the waters of the Puget Sound. The cries of gulls circled over our heads, begging for some of our French fries, while we unwrapped our newspaper-ensconced meals. Everything about that sight—the water, the crowds milling about, the cooks deep-frying fish a few feet away—brought me back to my childhood growing up with the Parker family. When I watched Gabe squirting fresh lemon over his salmon and fries, his lips pursed in concentration, I felt a rush of nostalgia.
There was something about sitting on the pier eating greasy seafood wrapped in newspaper with Gabe that made me believe that if I jumped off the dock, I would take flight. Over the years, Gabe and I lost sight of where we began. Two goofy kids who could make each other laugh so hard that we were sick. That was it.
I snatched up my lemon wedge and squeezed it in Gabe’s face.
He spun in my direction. “What…the…hell?”
I blinked innocently. “What?”
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Vi.”
Leaning in close to his face, my eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’ll finish it, Parker. Don’t you worry about that.” As soon as I finished the sentence, I smashed the lemon wedge on the top of his head.
His frown melted into a familiar wicked smirk. “Oh, it’s on.” His own lemon wedge came down on the sleeve of my sweater with a smack, soaking the wool.
My mouth dropped open with false horror, and Gabe watched me with wide eyes, anticipating the rush of curse words I would surely throw at him. But instead of getting mad, I decided revenge was on the menu, so I reached into my cup of soda and tossed a small handful of ice at his chest.
Gabe didn’t say a word. He just smirked, glancing over his shoulders at the other customers, who were stuffing their faces with deep-fried Pacific seafood, oblivious to our behavior. He calmly tore open a ketchup packet and positioned it precariously above my feet. “Want to call a truce, Vi?”
“Watch it.” I pointed a warning finger at him. “These are my favorite boots.”
He leaned in close to me. Really close. Our faces were just an inch or two apart, and the smirk on Gabe’s face made the air between us feel thick. “Oh, yeah?” he taunted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”