.
she punched in on the time clock before removing her coat and placing her sopping mess of a jacket onto the hook by the door.
‘Rosie, that you?’ Missy called from the kitchen.
‘Yeah,’ Rose said and pushed through the double doors into the kitchen. ‘Want me to start in the dining room?’
‘How’s Pearl?’ Missy asked.
A pinching sensation in her chest stopped her in her tracks. It was a good thing Missy was busy cleaning the counters. Even though Rose had washed them the night before, Missy was a perfectionist and germophobe. While she worked, she kept her blonde hair back from her face with a battered baseball cap.
‘She’s fine,’ Rose said.
Missy turned, digging her hand into her hip. Her freckled cheeks flushed. ‘They called you this morning because she’s fine?’
Rose grabbed the bucket of clean utensils. ‘She fell, I guess. Sprained her wrist. But she’s okay.’
Missy chewed on her lip and stared at her shoes before lifting her gaze to her best friend. ‘Glad to hear it.’
Rose sighed. Missy knew well enough to leave some things alone.
A rumble of thunder vibrated the utensils in the nearby clean bucket.
Missy tsked. ‘Not sure we’re going to get a lot of customers today.’
Rose grabbed the bucket and held it against her hip. ‘I can handle it once the rest of the staff comes in if you want to leave early.’
Missy nodded. ‘Jake’s supposed to call today.’
‘What time? I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed.’
Missy waved a dismissive hand. Jake’s phone calls from overseas came sporadically, but Rose knew Missy didn’t want to miss one conversation with her husband who was on tour in the Middle East.
‘I’ll get the dining room set up,’ Rose said, grateful for the reprieve. She pushed through to the dining room and pulled the cords of each of the shades that covered the massive bay windows, giving customers a view of the stretch of ocean. The outside patio seated most of the customers. In the summer months, people packed those seats from lunch through to dinner. Between the awning and the view, most preferred sitting outside. With the constant breeze across the Atlantic and the fans hung from the canopy, it was the perfect place to share a meal.
As she took the chairs from on top of the tables lining the interior dining room, Rose recalled the last meal she had with Mom at the house. It wasn’t her fondest memory of her mother. Pearl had snapped in the middle of the meal, shouting, and telling Rose to get out of her house. After ending up on the sharp end of a plastic knife – thankfully Rose had switched them a week before – Rose had no choice. She’d needed help.
Shaking those thoughts from of her head, she went to the serving station to start organizing. As she rolled the forks and knives into little napkin burritos, the storm outside raged.
A shiver rolled down her spine as the waves crashed against the rock jetty near the outdoor patio.
Storms always did this to her; ever since she was little and almost drowned in the ocean. Admittedly, she was more happy than sad when she finally moved out of her childhood home. No more danger right at her door. She preferred her walk-up apartment on the second floor of the widowed Mrs. Collins’s house.
Even though she no longer had a view of the ocean, she always felt it. It was something ingrained in her that not even a brush with death could stop. Coming to work at The Siren gave her that little hint of exhilaration while not forcing her to her knees in terror. It was a thin line, but she’d dealt with it. She was the only one who could take care of her mother. The only one who wanted to.
The napkin slipped from her trembling hands three times before she got it right.
Sometime later, Donnie, the 22-year-old busboy, sauntered into the dining room. He flipped the rest of the lights on and crossed into the kitchen, tying his chin-length brown hair to the nape of his neck before winking at Rose.
Holding back an eye roll, she pressed her lips together in what she hoped appeared as a polite smile.
He’d made moves on her, several times before. And much to his dismay, Rose turned him down every single time. He was cute but too young. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the six-year age gap.
Though, some days, it felt like much more than that. Between caring for her ailing mother and working to pay the bills, there wasn’t time for dating. She was a spinster in the making, and it didn’t help that Missy constantly berated her about going on dates.
It wasn’t as if she wanted to be alone. She wanted love. More than she cared to admit. She had a specific picture in mind for her perfect relationship. It mirrored her parents to a T.
Pearl and Ben had been inseparable and even after years together, they were as in love as they were when they’d met.
There was no way she was getting that in The Burrow. The townies knew too much of her childhood, and tourists weren’t looking for long-term commitments. She knew that firsthand, and she’d never cross that bridge again.
The door opened, distracting her from her thoughts. Serving customers kept her mind busy. Missy had capitalized on the locals, offering sandwiches for reasonable prices during the off-season. It kept her employees paid and Rose from drowning in bills. She’d had more than enough to thank Missy for in her life.
Later that afternoon, after Rose insisted that Missy go home before her actual shift that evening, the lull in the flow of customers was a welcome retreat. While Rose didn’t want to think about Pearl, she felt a little sick when she forgot about her, even for a few minutes.
The bell above the side door jangled, shattering all thoughts of Pearl.
Two police officers walked through the doors. Even though they both had Town of Burrow patches stitched on the arms of their navy-blue shirts, she only recognized one of them. The other had his back turned and typed furiously on his phone.
Chief of Police, Patrick McCreary, met her eyes and nodded his head. A rotund man in his fifties, he had been around her house a lot during Rose’s teen years when Reen found herself in trouble more than a few times. Things had quieted down tremendously in the years since her departure, both at home and in town.
He removed his hat and droplets of rain slid to the floor. He smoothed down the few strands of hair left on his head.
‘Afternoon, Patrick,’ Rose said.
‘Rose,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s good to see you.’
The other officer turned around. A stone-faced guy, closer to her age than Patrick’s. His nose was thicker in the middle, looking as if he’d been in a lot of fights as a kid. His dark hair was thick and shaggy at the top of his head but buzzed on the sides. Otherwise, he was cleanly shaven. He looked more like a tourist than a local. The way his eyes darted across the restaurant confirmed it.
Rose suppressed a smile. If he was looking for crime in this place, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
‘I’m Rose,’ she said, leading them to a window booth.
‘Shane Cassidy.’ He offered his hand.
She took it. ‘Nice to meet you.’ His rough hand brushed over hers. She drew in a sharp breath and nearly dropped the menus. ‘I have a seat right over here for you,’ Rose said, trying to recover. It wasn’t as if many attractive men came to town to stay more than the summer.
Patrick slid into the booth. As she moved out of the way, she focused on Shane. For a second, she thought she noticed a lumbering in Shane’s gait, but when his eyes lifted to hers, she glanced outside, trying to hide the heat on her cheeks. The rain had slowed, but the sun had yet to peek through the clouds.
She dropped two menus on the table.
Patrick