still exists in that way.
I consciously know why I chose to walk into that bar and find her. I also can’t say I would do it any different. Aside from maybe telling her before I fucked her, but those details, I don’t know, maybe it played out this way for a reason?
Atlas smiles so big it stretches across his entire face. “I could really use a root beer.”
I wink at him. “I like the way you think.”
Surf Fishing - The practice of fishing in the ocean while standing on the beach, and casting out into the surf.
“I need to head to Costco.”
“Get cheese bagels,” Presley tells Avie. “We’re out.”
I watch their interactions, trying to dissect their glances and tone. It seems okay, right? Civil?
Avie nods, writing it down on a scrap piece of paper. He eyes me. “Anything else?”
“I think we’re running low on paper towels and hand soap in the bathrooms.”
He writes both down. “Hey, Kent?”
Presley sighs beside me, hanging her head. “He needs to get his name right.”
We laugh as Kylo comes around the corner, knowing he’s who Avie is referring to. “Yeah?”
“Come with me. I’m gonna need you to carry shit.”
Kylo’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? Isn’t there someone more qualified for that?”
Avie grunts, pushing away from the bartop. “I don’t have anyone else. We all have shit to do.” Passing by him, he slaps the note pad to his chest. “Go check the supply room and see if we’re low on anything.” Kylo’s eyes widen. “Dylan, go with him.”
Dylan winks at Kylo. “Hello, friend.”
Avie stops walking and stares at Kylo, and then Dylan. “No more fucking in this place. If you’re inside these doors, you’re celibate.”
Mal, who’s cleaning off tables and getting ready for us to open, rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. You gonna put that on the sign out front too?”
“I might!” Avie yells over his shoulder, just before disappearing into his office.
Presley looks over at me, her bright blue eyes soft. “I’ve decided I’m better off without him.”
I smile at her. “I can’t blame you.”
Within an hour of opening, the bar is filled with regulars and a few tourists in town for the start of the clam-digging season. It’s nearing noon when the front door chirps. I don’t have to turn from my place behind the bar to know who comes in.
Atlas runs toward the bar, hops up on the stool, and grins. His face lights up, his dimples deepening. “I’ll take a root beer, darlin’.”
I laugh. He’s taking after Fletcher more every day. Smiling, I slide a coaster his way before I lift my eyes to Lincoln. He looks so much like the night he entered my life, but then again, so different. He’s bringing a kid into the bar.
Atlas doesn’t stay seated long. He’s recently discovered he’s really good at pool and likes to hustle the tourists into five-dollar bets.
“You brought the kid,” I say, my head swimming with chaotic thoughts.
He smirks, shrugging, and watching me curiously. “Did it work?”
I click my tongue to the roof of my mouth and cross my arms over my chest. “That’s low.”
Lincoln’s face falls, along with his eyes. He looks at my lips, my chest, and a familiar pain hits me. “I’m desperate,” he admits. The word desperate sends a familiar tingle through my entire body with the way it’s delivered. It’s raw and gritty, just like him. I can’t deny my feelings are still very much real for him. He’s given me two weeks, and though I appreciate it, those two weeks have also given me time to think about everything I need to work through myself.
“I’m leaving for a couple months,” he admits when I pour him a whiskey, his eyes on Atlas now hustling Everett. He just bet him free nachos that he could eat a full-size order.
“If you don’t clear the whole plate, you owe the price of the nachos and the ten dollars you hustled me for last week,” Everett tells him, handing over the tray.
Atlas grins, digging in. “Deal.”
With a smile, I watch Lincoln’s face, trying to decipher his mood. “Where’s Atlas going to be?”
“Here. With my dad.” His eyes lift to mine. “And hopefully, you.”
I smile. “I’d like that.”
He drops his stare to his glass and murmurs, “And where does that leave us?”
I sigh, unsure what I should say. Drawing in a breath, I shrug. “I don’t know, Lincoln. I think I just need time to work through it all.”
He touches my hand, and I look down at the