Page 14 of Island Girl

“High praise.”

“I'm a generous man.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Now go wipe down tables. Happy hour starts in ten.”

Merritt grabbed a towel and headed out to the deck. The sun was lower now, the light softening. A pelican sat on the railing, watching her with one suspicious eye.

“Don't judge me,” she told it. “I'm new.”

The pelican didn't move.

She wiped down the tables, straightened the chairs, and checked that each one had a menu and a little card advertising the drink specials. By the time she finished, the first customers were starting to arrive.

Ed and Margie came in right at five-thirty, just like Justin said they would. They took their usual table by the window, and Merritt brought them their drinks without being asked.

“Whiskey sour for you,” she said, setting the glass in front of Ed. “And chardonnay for you.”

Margie beamed. “She remembered.”

“Of course I did. You're my favorite customers.”

“Don't let anyone else hear you say that,” Ed said, but he was smiling.

The fishermen arrived around six, loud and sunburned as always. They took over their corner of the bar, and Justin poured their beers without missing a beat in whatever story he was telling.

Then a woman walked in.

She was maybe sixty, with silver hair cut short and stylish, wearing white linen pants and a turquoise blouse. She moved with the kind of easy confidence that came from years of knowing exactly who she was. She scanned the room, spotted someone, and smiled.

Merritt followed her gaze. She was looking at Crocker.

He'd emerged from the back a few minutes earlier and was adjusting some of his pottery on the shelf near the register. A large bowl glazed in deep blues and greens, the color of the Gulf at sunset.

The woman walked over and leaned against the bar. “William Rawlings. Is that new?”

Crocker looked up. His face didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. “Evening, Dottie.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Finished it last week.”

She studied the bowl, tilting her head. “It's beautiful. You should sell these, you know. You could make a fortune.”

“Don't need a fortune.”

“Everyone needs a fortune.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “When are you going to let me take you to dinner? There's a new place in Fort Myers. French. Very romantic.”

“I don't eat French food.”

“You've never tried French food.”

“Don't need to. I know what I like.”

Dottie laughed, a warm sound that carried across the bar. “You're impossible, you know that?”

“So I've been told.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “One of these days, you're going to say yes. And I'm going to faint from the shock.”

Crocker almost smiled. Almost. “Don't hold your breath, Dottie.”