by Ellen Joy
When the excuses ran out, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and got up. It was completely dark out still, but she knew if she didn’t do it in the morning, she’d never do it. So, she laced up her running shoes and peered out the window at the moon glowing behind feathery clouds. She’d push to get one mile done and go from there.
She pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and left her phone on the kitchen table. She always ran to music, but her phone had become a burden she no longer wanted to carry. Today, she’d take in the pulse of the ocean.
She started out slow. Her rhythm mimicked the crashing waves, but soon she gained her footing and fell into her regular tempo. Her feet created a soft beat against the packed snow.
The sidewalk had been cleared on Prospect Street, which ran perpendicular to Shoreview Drive. The lit steeple from the Congregational Church stood above the houses and to her left. The horseshoe shape of Camden Cove could be seen over the basin. The only lights on in the seaside village below were the Christmas tree and the bakery.
With each exhale, her breath billowed out in front of her, incandescent under the streetlights. The air felt humid, not bitter like in Minnesota. She loved running in the cold, especially early. Everything was still, a magnified quiet that only happened in the winter. Even the stars appeared brighter, the smells fresher.
After her second mile, she realized she hadn’t been thinking about anything other than moving forward. By her fourth, her breath was in sync with her steps. One. Two. Three. Breathe.
By mile six, she had made it back to the village square and stopped along the harbor’s railing. A buzz filled her body as she watched the boats’ bows bob up and down in the water. The adrenaline from her run sent a warming sensation rushing over her.
Off on the horizon, the sun peeked out and the sky came alive. Sea smoke danced upon the surface of the water. Behind it, a pink streak contrasted against the ocean’s black edge. She had seen that same pink streak the night before she left Perkin’s Cove that summer with Matt. They sat out on the swing of Vivi’s screened porch as the sun set. That night, she wished nothing would ever change, but she had known even then, her real-life fairytale was about to come to an end.
Once back home, her parents’ divorce made her realistic, even at sixteen. If her parents couldn’t make it after twenty years, then a cross-country teenage relationship didn’t have a chance.
Matt had called her for months. Then he wrote emails after she stopped calling back. He’d write about fishing, or how much he missed her. After a year, he wrote his last one. Asking if she was still coming out that summer. She never replied.
What if she’d called him back, instead? How long would they have dragged out the inevitable? His own divorce proved once again that happily-ever-afters were just fantasy.
The thought of starting over, beginning again, made her panic. She didn’t want to date again. Have her married friends set her up, like her sister. She inhaled a deep breath of salty air to bring her back to the present, then heard a bell jingling against glass.
“Good morning, Kate.” She turned to see David standing in the doorway. Floury handprints smudged the front of his black apron with La Patisserie written in cursive font she didn’t recognize. She guessed it had been a default font from a sewing machine. “Want to come in for a cup of coffee? On the house.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She wiped the sweaty wisps of hair from her face and began to cross the street, but suddenly stopped. “But I’ve just come from a run. I’m not really appropriate.”
He scrutinized her as he approached. “What happened to your face?”
Her hand touched her swollen nose. She had forgotten about the purple tinge in the corners of her eyes. “I fell while snowboarding yesterday.”
“I warned Matt not to get you hurt.” He examined her more closely. “Did he skip the beginner lesson?”
“I didn’t even make it off the bunny hill.” She laughed as the image of Matt helping her down the mountain popped into her head, her panic dissipating.
“Well, come inside. You deserve a treat. I’ve just pulled out my mille-feuilles.”
She didn’t know what David said, but her stomach growled at the possibilities. He held the door open as she stepped inside.
A warm glow illuminated the room. Candle flames flickered in lanterns on each of the small, round tables. Three chandeliers were dimmed low, and their light reflected off the mirrored backing of the wooden shelves that held plates, bowls, and glasses, all neatly stacked.
“Have you opened?” Kate hadn’t noticed a sign for store hours.
“In the winter, I open when someone shows up.” He walked to the coffee station and grabbed a mug. “How about our dark roast?”
“That would be great.” The buzzing, warming sensation flowed back through her body again. She deserved none of the generosity she continued to receive.
“It must’ve been freezing.” He filled the mug, looking out the window. “It’s not even thirty degrees yet.”
“It’s peaceful,” she explained, as he handed her the warm mug.
“Yes, I guess it is.” He smiled and ushered her to a table by the counter. He pulled out a chair for her.
“When do you get here?” she asked as she sat down. She pulled off the headband that covered her ears. She could only imagine how ridiculous she looked, wiping the loose strands away from her face. “I saw the lights on when I left at five.”
“This time of year, it depends on my mood, but I like the mornings. Luckily for me, my line of work requires early hours.” He walked behind the counter and came back with a plate in his hand. “Tell me what you think.”
A long, slender, sugared confection melted in her mouth. The light, airy pastry was delectable. She licked her fingers immediately. “Mmm...” she moaned. “What is this again?”
“Brioche beignet, but you’ve probably heard it referred to as a donut,” he said.
“So this is a true patisserie, you’re a master patissier.”
“Well, as true as you can get outside of Paris.” He sat across from her, resting his elbows on the table, watching her enjoy his treat.
“It’s very welcoming in here.” She admired all the decorations throughout the room. Twelve-foot oars hung on the wall. A wooden lobster trap, filled with burlap coffee bags, sat on top of the shelves. A collage of black and white photographs hung along a brick wall. The space felt oddly familiar and comfortable.
“That’s all Frank.” He gestured around the room. “He’s goes all over to find some of these trinkets.”
“Those are great photographs.” Kate noticed that most of the photos were of Camden Cove.
David pointed toward a picture of a fisherman standing on a dock in front of a boat named Sarah Marie. “That’s Matt’s grandfather.”
In the photograph, the man held a lobster the size of a cocker spaniel in both hands. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. His face appeared serious, but his eyes gave away his pride. They looked like Matt’s. “I’ve never seen such a big lobster.”
“Legend has it that it was eighteen pounds.”
Kate suddenly felt ashamed that she had left the Christmas party without saying goodbye. After all David and Frank had done for her, she didn’t even bother to thank them. “I’m really sorry I snuck out of the party the other night. You both have been so kind to me.”
“There’s no need to apologize.” David shook his head. “Now, come in the back and keep me company while I finish frosting Mrs. Johnson’s birthday cake.”
Kate looked around the empty space and hesitated. “Are you sure I’m not bothering you? I don’t want to interrupt.”
David waved his hand, dismissing her worries. “Come on. Bring your coffee.”
Kate grabbed her brioche beignet and followed him through the swinging door. Her eyes immediately looked up to a tin ceiling. On one side of the room, two large commercial ovens sat next to metal shelves filled with pots and pans, trays and ba
skets of utensils. On the other side, glass fridges stood next to a large basin filled with dirty metal trays. A white marble island stood in the middle of the room, coated with flour. David motioned for her to sit at a stool next to it.
He topped off her coffee, then set the cream and sugar in front of her just as the oven buzzed. He pulled out a cookie sheet and placed it on the counter. With a metal spatula, he lifted triangular pastries, laid them on a linen covered tray, and slid one on a plate, shoving it across the island to her.
“What’s this one?” Kate blew on the steam rising from the new flaky treat. Warm apple and cinnamon filled the air.
“It’s called chausson aux pommes,” he said, “or an apple turnover.”
“What’s your favorite type of dessert to bake?” she asked, wondering what a pastry chef most enjoyed.
He looked to the ceiling as he thought of his answer. “I love a wedding cake. The sheer decadence of it all makes for a lot of possibilities. I love creating flavors that leave your whole palette wanting more.”
“Weddings must be a big part of your business.” Kate waited for the emotional tidal wave to wash over her, but surprisingly it didn’t.
“We do lots of weddings, mostly in the summer, and a lot in autumn.” David arranged the pastries in straight, uniform lines. “Most of our business comes from the restaurants and hotels in the area. This was only a dream until I met Frank. Twenty years later, here we are.”
Kate could see the pride on David’s face. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. She had always dreamt of going out on her own and starting a design company. She wanted to start small, focus on local businesses at first, small projects and low budgets, but then expand by targeting bigger markets. At one time, she had even started putting money aside for start-up costs, but instead she used it for the down payment on her and Eric’s house.
What would they do about the house?
She watched David as he grabbed a bowl of frosting from the fridge. He used a metal cake knife to stir in the teal coloring. Then he filled a frosting bag and began writing “Happy Birthday” on top.
“What happens next?” he asked. Kate looked up, suddenly realizing she had been staring off into the distance.
“What do you mean?” But she knew exactly what he meant. She wanted to stall to think of an answer, because even though she had been asking the same question since she stepped off the plane, she didn’t have an answer.
She shrugged. But what was she going to do?
She wasn’t going to stay at her and Eric’s place. She could probably stay with her mom until she found something, but the idea of going back home made her sick. Moving back into her childhood bedroom at thirty-two years old was hitting rock bottom, and living with her sister and her happy family would be worse. And it all was soon to be her reality in less than a week. Her heart raced at the thought of it.
David studied her for a moment and said, “There’s a French expression called au pif. It means “by the nose”, or to cook by feel, and use your senses.” David filled the frosting bag again, folding over the end when it was full. He squeezed it until a small amount of frosting piped out of the tip. “Sometimes we’re so dependent on the recipe to tell us what to do, we go against our own gut feeling. What’s your gut telling you?”
A few days ago, she couldn’t wait to leave the seaside village, now she dreaded it. The worst part for Kate was that she didn’t have a plan. And she always had a plan. Not having a plan freaked her out more than anything else. She lived by creating lists, organizing every detail of her life. The plan kept her safe.
But where did it get her? He left, anyway.
Maybe it was time she listened to her gut.
Then she heard a horn blow off in the distance.
And suddenly she said, “To go lobstering.”
MATT CHECKED THE REARVIEW mirror before he stepped out of the truck. A nervous energy ran through his body. He couldn’t wait to be with Katie, especially after their day together on the mountain, but his sixteen-year-old insecure self kept sneaking to the surface.
Katie was sophisticated and way out of his league. But life didn’t give second chances every day. He’d be a fool to not go for the catch, even if his chances were slim.
He rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer, playing out the day in his head. He’d take her up the coast. Simple was the key to making a cold fishing trip a success. He packed hot cocoa for a break, and clam chowder for lunch, with a fresh loaf of bread he grabbed from his uncle on the way.
When the door opened, all he saw was a figure standing in head-to-toe winter apparel. The only thing he could see of Katie was her eyes.
“Good morning!” she said through her scarf.
“You look fantastic.” And he meant it. Even though he could only see a pair of black eyes, she looked as beautiful as she did in that fancy black dress on Christmas Eve. Then he wondered what she’d look like waking up next to him. He shook the thoughts away as she pulled down her scarf, and he noticed her cheeks flush as if she could read his mind.
She straightened her arms out from her sides. “I feel like the kid from The Christmas Story.”
Matt tilted his head, taking a better look. “More like his brother Randy.”
She laughed out, “Thanks.”
“Ready to catch some lobsters?” He drawled out the letter R to exaggerate his New England accent.
“Wicked ready,” she said, and it made him laugh. She picked up a bag sitting on the table, and hesitated before she grabbed her phone.
“Let’s go, Minnesota.”
After a second hesitation, she stuffed her phone in her jacket pocket.
Their conversation stayed light on the short ride down to the harbor. The sun peeking out of the clouds showed the promise of the day ahead. Usually during this time of year, Matt stayed off the water. The weather was unpredictable, dangerous even, but the forecast said clear skies for the day.
After he parked, he led her down to the floating dock. The path had barely been cleaned off, making them unsteady on their feet. He put his hand on the small of her back to help guide her. He could feel electric currents radiating from where he touched her, even through the goose feathers. How was he going to spend the day with her and keep his cool?
The low rumble of a diesel engine bellyached in the distance with the cacophony of seagulls up above.
Matt stopped once they reached the end of the floating boat ramp and pointed to a boat. “She’s the one with the red hull, down there on the right.”
Katie shielded the sun with her hand. “She’s beautiful.”
Matt could feel his pride swelling up. She was a boat to most people, but she signified everything he had worked for his whole life. And he loved that Katie saw her beauty, too.
He led her to his boat slip and held out his hand to help her onboard.
“Who’s Maggie Mae?” She pointed to the name written on the stern of the boat as she climbed in.
“My family dog.” He smelled the shampoo in her hair as she stepped past him.
He took a second before climbing on deck to compose himself. He needed to chill out, or he was going to freak her out, because he was freaking himself out. He was fooling himself about Katie. He had no business to get involved with someone right now. Justine had proved that. He needed to get his head out of the clouds.
Then he watched as she walked across the boat. She put her hands on the railing and looked out toward the water. The wind blew her hair across her cheek and she closed her eyes, lifting her head up to the sun.
He imagined pulling her into a kiss.
He must love complications.
When she turned back around, he began to busy himself, pulling off the five-gallon bucket from the exhaust pipe and unlocking the door to the wheelhouse. “Today, you’ll be my sternwoman.”
“What exactly does a sternwoman do?” she asked, stepping up beside him.
“Basically, you put the bait into the lobster
pots.” Matt pointed to the tank full of herring on the deck, fresh from the fishermen’s pier earlier that morning. Then he turned to the dozen yellow traps sitting at the stern of the boat. “After that, we drop the pots into the water.”
“What’s the most important thing I should know?”
“Don’t get caught in the rope.” He opened the door and the tangy smell of salt and diesel fuel followed them inside the small standing space.
“What do you mean?” Katie asked, standing next to him. “What happens if I get caught in the rope?”
“You’ll be swimming with the lobsters.” He dragged out the r again, but the humor was lost on Katie. Her eyes opened wide. “You’ll be fine, Minnesota.” He handed over a pair of Grunden overalls. “Here’s your outfit.”
He began his ritual, flipping the battery switch and checking the fuel line before starting the engine. He turned up the volume on the marine radio and checked the dial to see if it was still set on channel four for weather. He knew it would be, but superstition made him follow the same routine. Everything in the same order. Besides, it never hurt to be extra cautious, especially with Katie on board.
She pulled on the bright orange rubber pants, which were ten sizes too big for her tiny stature, but somehow she managed to look great in them.
“Now you look like Ralphie.”
“Hopefully you don’t have to be limber to catch lobsters.” She strapped the overalls on.
“Naw, just a little bit crazy.”
Matt untied the bow line and moved to the stern, casting off from the dock. He returned to the wheel, reversing the boat out of its slip. Once clear, he throttled Maggie Mae forward at head speed until they cleared the no-wake zone. Even at the slow speed, the icy winter air swirled throughout the wheelhouse.
“Are you always alone when you fish?” she asked.
He shook his head. “In the summer, I usually have someone working with me. Last year, I had a guy all the way from Oxford,” he spoke up over the engine. “He barely earned anything, but he has already asked me to come back next summer.”
