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Not even.
About a mile and a half up the street, he pulls into the parking lot of The Shoal, where I notice Aunt Midge’s old junker parked off in one of the designated employee spots toward the back of the lot. A nervous thrum of anxiety pulses beneath my skin as we exit the car. Rhea was relatively harmless. It’s hard to say with Aunt Midge. She knows Lucian played a part in helping with the drug dealer, but whether that’s enough to change her perception of him is up in the air.
The tired boards of the deck creak below our feet, as we walk the pier to the front entrance, the salty sea air and sound of seagulls taking me back to life before Blackthorne Manor. After passing through the invisible curtain of grease at the entrance, we step inside, the scent of seafood smacking me in the face. Irish pub music drones on in the background, where the regulars--Mac, Joe, Doherty and Paul sit in their usual seats around the bar. Conversation withers like a frosted vine, the moment they turn their heads toward us. Behind the bar, Aunt Midge eyes me up and down, and frowning, she tosses a towel onto the counter behind her before shuffling toward us. “What’s this?”
“We’re here for lunch, like I promised.”
“We?” She tips her head, and the moment she crosses her arms, looking past me toward Lucian behind me, I know she doesn’t approve. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.”
Warm palms grip my shoulders, and perhaps Aunt Midge notices the way my skin reacts to Lucian’s more intimate touch because her frown deepens. “I’ll grab a table.” He strides toward one of the many open spots at the back of the bar, and I watch the other men eyeing him as he passes.
Once out of earshot, Aunt Midge tips her head to get my attention. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her gaze dips to my dress and back. “Wearing dresses now?”
“I told you. We’re having lunch. The dress was the only thing I had to wear in ninety-degree heat. Here.” I slip the check Rand issued me this morning for another week of work. “To help with the mortgage. Already signed it.”
“I’ll deposit it for you, but I’m not taking the money.” She folds the check, slipping it into her apron.
“C’mon, Aunt Midge. Don’t be difficult.”
“That’s another discussion. Right now, I want to know why you brought him here.”
“Why not?”
“Sounds too much like a date.” Again, her eyes trail down to my dress and back. “Looks like a date, too.”
“What if it is? I’m nineteen. An adult.”
“And he’s nearly twice your age, child!” She’s the master at whisper-yelling, but I don’t think she went unheard this time, as I look around the room to see all the men, Lucian included, staring back at us. “Look, I know he helped out with that Franco. But you don’t need to be getting involved with him, okay? It’s bad news.”
“You guys get a load of that? The Devil of Bonesalt himself.” Mac, one of the older fishermen sits at the end of the bar, hiking his thumb toward Lucian. “Since when do we allow monsters in our fine establishments?”
Two of the men chuckle, and only one of them shakes his head, but smiles as he’s doing it.
“Since the day you walked in, smelling like you crawled out of a watery grave,” Aunt Midge answers over her shoulder, as I lurch toward him. Always quick with the quips, which I imagine comes from working with these assholes all day.
Lucian waits in the corner, quiet, not bothering to respond to the man, at all.
“You don’t know anything about him.” My response is directed toward Mac, but my eyes are on Aunt Midge.
“Neither do you.”
“What do you suppose a man has to tell himself when he’s staring at that every day in the mirror?” Mac chimes in again, no doubt drunk.
“The same--”
Aunt Midge cuts me off, setting a hand on my shoulder, and shakes her head. “Enough, Mac. You can keep those comments to yaself.”
Still, Lucian doesn’t say a word, and I can’t tell if the idiot’s ignorant comments are starting to get to him, or not.
“I should’ve known better than to bring him here.” Teeth gritting, I shoot a glare toward Mac that he doesn’t bother to notice, too caught up in staring back at Lucian.
“It’s not my fault he’s garnered the reputation.” Aunt Midge glances back toward the bar. “These guys are assholes. What’d you think? They were going to welcome him with open arms?”
“Okay, well, if I can’t have my opinions, maybe a suggestion.” Mac is one slap away from my wrath. “I propose the ugliest bastard in the room buy a round of drinks for everyone.”
If fire could shoot from my eyeballs, the old man would be engulfed in flames right now.
“I could certainly afford that tonight,” Lucian finally says, sitting forward in his chair. “But I suppose that’d leave you broke every other night.”
There’s a moment of deafening quiet, before the other men at the bar belt out laughter, and Aunt Midge shakes her head again, chuckling as she heads back toward the bar. “All right, now that deserves a round.”
Mac shakes his head, burying the next smartass retort in his beer glass.
Still fuming, though, I make my way toward the table, knocking the old man in the shoulder along the way, and take my seat across from Lucian. “Here, I thought I had to protect you.”
“You underestimate my bastardly charm.”
“Indeed.”
Aunt Midge sets a mug of beer in front of Lucian. “What can I get the two of you to eat?” She nudges my shoulder. “Already know what you want.”
“I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
“Two bowls of cat piss. Comin’ up.”
Frowning, Lucian leans back in his chair. “What?”
“I think she’s trying? It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.” I chuckle, staring back at him.
Tipping back a sip of beer, Lucian grimaces when his throat bobs with a swallow, and he sets the glass down. “Speaking of cat piss.”
“Yeah, everyone here calls it Nasty Light. I probably should’ve warned you.”
It takes twenty minutes for our meal to arrive: two Cokes with two sloppy lobster rolls, and when I bite down into mine, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve had the non-gourmet variety of food. Closing my eyes, I savor the taste of familiarity, the flavors of Aunt Midge’s cooking, and let out a quiet, “Mmmm.” When I open them, Lucian is watching me, his jaw slowing working the food as he chews.
“You eat like you’re making love to it.”
“I missed Aunt Midge’s cooking. And I like food.”
“I like a number of things that I don’t indulge in as passionately as you with that lobster roll.”
“That’s a shame. You should always approach the things you enjoy with passion.”
Setting the lobster roll down, imperfectly perfect lips smile again, and I know he has another punchy comeback ready to go. Instead, he studies me in silence for a moment. “I have to admit, you’re not what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Not you.”
“Good? Bad?”
“Good, unfortunately.”
“Why is that unfortunate?”
“Because this is supposed to be filler, but you’re making me curious about the plot.”
Lowering my gaze, I bite back the smile itching to break free. “What are you curious about?”
“How a girl like you isn’t fighting off every swinging dick in this town.”
I lean in, keeping my voice low so Aunt Midge, or anyone else, can’t hear me. “Maybe I like yours best of all, Mr. Blackthorne.”
His eye twitches with a smirk. “Careful. That’s how i