Long Live the Rebel

by E L Irwin

  “Oh, and by whom?”

  Uncertain just how to explain it, I simply said, “Someone I’m getting to know.”

  At that, she only nodded with a spark in her eye and led me to a table in the corner. As I seated myself, she placed a menu on the table. I looked it over, noting the mixture of Irish and German offerings. I decided to have the Irish Apple Cake, but on another visit, I would try the German Strudel.

  Jo was an amazing cook, and as I complimented her on her talents, she explained that her mother had emigrated here from Ireland, and her father was a second-generation German migrant. She liked to keep the family traditions alive, so everything she cooked and baked was from a trusted family recipe, handed down for generations. I loved the history in that. The meaning. And while there seemed to be a steady stream of customers, her restaurant was never loud and boisterous. One was able to enjoy their meal without feeling rushed or interrupted.

  Jo appeared at the table and refilled my cup. The tiny restaurant was busy, so she didn’t stay to visit. I mentally took inventory of the other people in this town who had stolen my heart. The Paiges were a mother and daughter team who owned and worked Turning Paiges, which at first glance, at least from the outside, seemed to be a simple used bookstore, but upon closer investigation, turned out to be so much more. My mind wandered back to that initial meeting…

  As I stepped through the glass door, the bell overhead cheerfully wringing, I heard a gasp from off to my left somewhere. A girl I guessed was somewhere in her late teens stood behind a counter constructed of some kind of corrugated steel and redwood. She had pale blond hair with deep purple tips that came to her shoulders. Her eyes were green and friendly. And she was tall. Curvy and tall. She had the kind of figure that one might kill for. Literally. And you could tell she was comfortable in her skin.

  “Hi!” she said breathily, with maybe a hint of excitement in the mix. Those green eyes of hers were flashing; a bright grin was upon her face.

  “Hello,” I said. “How’re you?” Sometimes, when someone recognized me in public, and if they were a fan, they could be a little on the starstruck side. The first few times it happened, I wasn’t certain who’d been more uncomfortable, me or them. So, when this happened, I just tried to smile through it and smooth things over by not making a big deal about their excitement.

  “Good.” She grinned. “I’m Poppy. Can I help you with something?”

  “Hi, Poppy. I love your name. It’s great. I’m AJ… and I’m just looking around right now. But I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”

  “Oh.” She chuckled a little self-deprecatingly. “Poppy is actually my nickname. My real name is Paige, like my mom. We own the store. I’ve been Poppy since before I can even remember. Grandma said that my grandfather took one look at me and said I was as pretty as a poppy, and the name just stuck. I’ve been Poppy ever since.”

  “Well, it’s a great name,” I told her as I began to look around. What an amazing little store. Turning Paiges was a pleasant and unique combination of old and new, the quirky and the serious. It wasn’t a huge store, your average size, I guessed. It sported four support columns, and they’d decorated each, making them look like a tree, complete with fake bark, branches, and leaves. I was completely enthralled by it all. They were like one of those ranch-and-home-type stores that have literally everything in it you could imagine, and some things you couldn’t, only this store was more for the reader.

  As I perused the aisles, I found fuzzy, bookish-themed socks and blankets. The shelves were lined with coffee mugs, literary teas, t-shirts, book bags, magnets. They held Funko Pops and Legos, posters, signs, and various other little knickknacks – many of them handmade from every day gadgets. I even found this amazingly detailed dragon paperweight that I had to have. The dragon’s scales were what initially caught me with their greens and purples so dark they almost seemed black. Poppy informed me that it actually wasn’t a dragon; as it had only two legs — dragons have four. This one was a wyvern. I’d also found a small stained-glass window hung with an antique-looking chain. It measured about eighteen by twenty-four inches, and had rugged, Moorish mountains in the background; a dark castle sat in the foreground, one small window lit in an upper turret. The words Jane Eyre were printed across the width of the glass in a deep red Old English script. I loved it instantly.

  As Poppy was ringing me up, another woman entered the store. She reminded me of an older Poppy, with longer golden hair. Her figure was fabulous. Poppy introduced me to the woman, who turned out to be her mother. I guessed that explained the unfairness of their fantastic body shape. She asked if I was just passing through, or if I thought I might stay in the area.

  Her encouraging attitude made me say, “I’m not sure yet, but I’m really enjoying myself. The people here are amazing. It was very nice to meet you both.”

  “And you. We hope you’ll stay, AJ,” Poppy said.

  Something in the tone of her voice made me look up.

  Her green eyes stared into mine beseechingly. “I mean,” she continued, “if you like it here and all.”

  Smiling at that, at her welcoming attitude, I nodded and said, “I’m seriously considering it, Poppy.”

  “Okay, well I’ll see you later hopefully.”

  “Definitely. I love your store.”

  She smiled again and handed me my packages that she’d taken special care to wrap for me. “Bye, AJ. Thanks for coming in.”

  I waved to them as I left the store and knew I’d be back soon.

  Now, as I sipped my coffee and looked around the tiny café, I took in its patrons and the warmth of its atmosphere, and my heart beat with a sense of rightness. It dawned on me then that Sequim really was my kind of place and these were my kind of people. I’d have to find their businesses online and share their links on my blog page. I made a mental note to do that soon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wicked Charlie’s

  BLOG POST

  Hi there, Beach Bums!

  Hope you’re enjoying your lovely Coronado weather. What’s kicking on the beach, guys?

  So, as I shared a while back, I’m out of town, and it looks like I’ll be here for a while. Where is here, you ask? I’m in Sequim, pronounced Skwim, Washington. And guys, it’s so beautiful here! I’m loving it. Below I’ve posted some pictures I’ve taken of my adventures here so far.

  I’ve met some incredible people that I want to share with you. I’ll be telling you about them over the next few days or so and posting more pictures.

  So, big news is I won’t be back for a while. I’ll be here at the very least through the end of summer. Maybe longer. It just depends. But have no fear, I’ll be in touch. And YES, I’m writing. I promise. I’ve got some good stuff coming for you all, so stay tuned.

  Love you all,

  Your Siren of the Surf, AJ

  Another place Jake had suggested I check out, if I was looking for another side of Sequim, was Wicked Charlie’s. Jake wrote that it might shed some light on who he’d been, what he’d been like. He’d said to expect a saltier crowd, a rawer atmosphere, but he had also said he thought I’d like it. So, I found myself packing up my laptop, my notepad, pens, and headphones one afternoon. I kissed Josephine goodbye and headed out the door.

  Wicked Charlie’s sat toward the north end of town, on Brown Road. It stood alone, a one-story building which, from the outside at least, looked like it had seen better days. The parking lot was worn with a few cracks and potholes, the stripes faded. An American flag waved proudly from a pole near the front entrance. Someone had made the attempt to spruce up the exterior, as half wine barrels stood to either side of the door sprouting many colorful flowers. The walls were painted a dark grey, and the windows were glowing with neon signs advertising various beers. The front door was propped open with a heavy brick to let in the cool coastal breeze.

  Like any bar, I guessed, the lighting was dim, dimmer than out in the parking lot at least. So, when I stepped inside, it
took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust. Several heads had turned in my direction, curiosity evident on their faces. A sign stapled to a wooden post sunken in a concrete-filled bucket, read No one under the age of 21 allowed right above another sign that directed me to seat myself. Glancing around the room, I chose a booth off to the left-hand side.

  I’d been seated maybe three minutes or so, just enough time to get my laptop set up and pull out my various needed items, when a waiter came to the table for my order. “You know what you’re after, or you need to see a menu?” he asked. His voice was even and had a growling quality to it. He wore a faded AC/DC t-shirt and a cautious, yet friendly smile.

  “You have Pacifico?” He dipped his head indicating yes, so I said, “With lime, please.”

  “You got it. Anything else?”

  “Mmm… I don’t know. Whatcha got?”

  “Nuts, pretzel sticks, or chips? Or, you want a regular meal?”

  “You have salsa to go with those chips?”

  “Sure do.”

  “All right. Bring that. Thanks.”

  “You got it,” he said as he moved back toward the bar. The bar itself was an old-fashioned kind with lots of wood. It stretched out into the center of the room, nearly dividing it in half. Various military paraphernalia were hung around the establishment, giving it a patriotic feel. The barstools were covered in red, white, and blue vinyl, adding to the ambience. To the right side of the bar were two pool tables. One was currently occupied by a man and a woman in the middle of a game. The other was empty, waiting. A television hung above the bar had ESPN on. About half-a-dozen men were seated randomly around the bar itself.

  Not quite five minutes later, the waiter was back with my drink, a small bowl of sliced lime, and another couple bowls — one with warm tortilla chips, the other with salsa. “You’re new,” he said.

  I just agreed with a slight bob of the head, still trying to get a feel for this place, see what it was that Jake thought I’d appreciate.

  After a moment, he said, “Name’s Vic, but most call me Chief. I’m the owner, so holler if you need anything.”

  “AJ,” I replied. “And thanks, Chief. Will do.”

  Turning to my laptop, I got to work, occasionally sipping at my drink or munching at the chips. First, I checked my blog and replied to the comments. Amber left an especially nasty one in response to the news I’d be staying longer than I’d first anticipated, calling me a rather unkind and colorful name. Basically, I was the epitome of selfishness and didn’t deserve to breathe. Oh well, I thought, not much I can do about that.

  After finishing with the emails, I settled in to my writing rhythm. I had several productive hours, adding about six thousand words to my document. My characters, Reese and Darrel, were beginning to shape up nicely. Their chemistry was coming along at a good pace. And I felt that Leslie would be satisfied, as would my publisher.

  And what had only been intended as a one-time event soon became habit. Wicked Charlie’s, for whatever reason, helped me to focus and write. Maybe it was the military-themed atmosphere serving as my muse that gave me the inspiration. I really couldn’t say. It just worked for me, so I found myself there several days a week. And before I knew it, three weeks had gone by. Now, when I entered Charlie’s, it was a bit like stepping into an episode of Cheers. Everyone seemed to know my name. My booth was always open and available, and Vic had my Pacifico ready to go.

  A couple times Vic had slid into the seat across from me, asking about what I was working on. When I told him I was an author, he’d said, “Seriously?” Then he’d turned and shouted it out to the other patrons. A cheer had gone up. And then the questions had poured in, asking what type of books I wrote, had I been published, would my books make them blush. Laughingly, I’d taken it all in stride, and tried my best to field the questions.

  “So, Chief,” I said one afternoon as he slipped into the booth across from me. “What’s your story? Why Chief?”

  Chuckling, he scratched his chin, eying me. “Navy. I was Chief Warrant Officer on the USS Midway.”

  “No kidding? I was able to tour her about a year ago. I figured it had something to do with the Navy.”

  “You don’t say. And why were you on my ship?”

  “I write military-themed romances, and I live on Coronado, and as I do a lot to support our military, I was invited to tour her.”

  Chief lifted his chin in a thoughtful manner, and then as someone called out to him, needing a refill, he said, “Duty calls…” Then he was up and moving back to the bar.

  Jake had been right. I did like it here. I liked this crowd, the people, the atmosphere. All of it. It was a little scary how fast and how well I fit into life here in Sequim. I hadn’t expected that. Life here was so different from life on Coronado. And yet, I was making memories. Roots were being established, and I didn’t know just what to make of that. Staying hadn’t been on my radar at all. Now, I wasn’t sure just how, when, or why to leave.

  I’d seen Ryler a handful of times in these last couple of weeks or so. Again, just around town in passing. And I wondered about him. A lot. More than I should have. More than I wanted to certainly. But he was darn near impossible to ignore or forget. I wanted to know him better. And that was a bothersome desire, because I wasn’t sure just where it was stemming from. An overactive libido possibly. He was like a thirst that demanded to be quenched.

  I was staring off into the distance, my mind taking a break from the book, when the door to Charlie’s opened. And, as if he’d materialized out of my imagination, Ryler stepped inside. My heart tripped over itself. My mouth was instantly dry, that thirst pretty close to driving me insane. For a brief instant, I considered just walking up to him and kissing him. I could see it, see me doing that, bringing a blush to my face and neck. This had to stop. Taking a deep breath, I fought to wrest some control over myself. A huge dark shadow had followed Ryler in, and with a deep, rumbling sound, Shiv lumbered to my table.

  So glad for the excuse to not have to watch Ryler walk toward me, afraid I’d like that too much, give away too much, I spent that time making a fuss over the big dog, petting, scratching, and making a gooey voice at him. Several people hollered out Ryler’s name in greeting. When he reached my table, I forced myself to look up at him in a calm manner and found my breath rattling around in my chest. Even with me not seeing him up close these last few weeks, he was still deeply affecting me. How would he respond if I kissed him? What would he do? Where would it go? Far. I was certain it would go far. And was that a road I wanted to go down again? I’d been there twice, two times thinking I’d found the love of my life. Twice being led to believe that, twice being let down abruptly, painfully. No, no, I definitely did not want to end up in the same place again.

  “Hey.” I nodded at him, clearing my throat, forcing myself to ignore the way my body came alive near him.

  Ryler’s blue-gray eyes slid over me briefly, just a glance, a soft caress making my breath catch again, before returning to mine. “Sorry about Shiv. He must like you.”

  “He’s fine.” I was so thankful we were talking about his dog and not any apparent attraction he saw on my face that I blurted, “You want to sit down?”

  “I’m not interrupting you, am I?” He glanced at the laptop.

  “No, I’m good. My mind is stalled right now anyway. Sit — if you want to.”

  Ryler held my gaze a moment longer then slid onto the seat across from me. Quickly saving my document to the hard drive as well as my flash drive, I closed my laptop and slid it back into my backpack.

  Silence began to creep across the table between us. And heat. Lots of heat. At least, I was warm with those eyes of his on me. But the silence was lengthening, deepening, causing the warmth I was feeling to build. I was saved when Chief brought Ryler a tall mug of something dark and frothy. Just say that word, frothy. It rolls so well off the tongue. Frothy.

  “Thanks, Chief,” Ryler said to Vic. They chatted for a couple moments, catc
hing up. Thankful for the interruption, I quickly took a drink from my own bottle and almost choked — swallowing too quickly.

  “Easy there, kid.” Chief chuckled. “Don’t go choking on me, or I’ll have Ryler perform mouth-to-mouth.”

  That made me cough even more.

  Chief gently patted my back. “You gonna make it?”

  I continued to wheeze, trying to catch my breath.

  “I don’t know, Rye. She might need you.”

  “I’m good.” I rasped; my face was red, but at least I had the excuse of nearly choking to death.

  “If she starts turning blue…” He stabbed a finger at Ryler. “…you’d best see to it.”

  “I’ve got it, Chief,” Ryler said; a gleam turning his icy-blue eyes liquid. “She’s in good hands.”

  “I gotta get back behind the bar. Allen’s helping himself to the tap again.”

  Chief headed off, and I made my eyes meet Ryler’s. “You all right?” he asked quietly. Shiv lay between us under the table, warming my feet.

  “Yeah. I just tried inhaling instead of swallowing.”

  “You know, you probably shouldn’t do that.”

  Nodding in agreement, I, carefully this time, took another sip. Silence began creeping back in. Before it could take hold again, before I could say something I might regret, I blurted, “Talk to me, Ryler.”

  He cocked his head to the side, eyes gaging me. “About what?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t care. Anything. Just… talk with me.” Help me relax around you.

  “All right.” He gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment or two. “Is Pacifico your favorite beer?”

  That made me chuckle, the randomness of his question. “It’s a favorite, but not my absolute favorite. And to answer that follow-up question I can see coming, my favorite is the Guava Islander from Coronado Brewing.”

  He jerked his chin at me. “Your turn.”

  “Mmm, what’s your favorite then?”