The Shucker's Booktique

by J. C. McKenzie

  He chuckled and shook his head. One, she wasn’t interested; two, she was married; and three, she didn’t seem like the type to agree to a fuck-buddy relationship. Too bad. With the energy zinging between them with every skin-on-skin contact, it would be exquisite.

  The kettle whistled, almost drowned out by the constant drone of the storm outside. Every crash of the waves sounded like bells to his ears. His brethren squealed with delight, a sound only his kind could hear. If he hadn’t chosen to visit Jenny, he’d be racing in the undertows with his brothers.

  He glanced outside. There might still be time for play. The storm held strong and it would be hours before the sea calmed.

  He pulled two cups out and made some of the herbal tea Jenny liked so much. The one with the tiger on the box. He had no idea if her nameless niece liked the same thing, but he’d find out. He planned to discover more about her and the disappearance of Jenny. He knew better than anyone that things weren’t always what they seemed.

  ****

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. A hunky stranger loitered downstairs making her tea, and she couldn’t figure out what to wear.

  Branches from the birch trees scraped against the window as another gust of wind rocked through the backyard of the house. In the dark, with only flashes of lightning to illuminate them, the branches looked like elongated gray fingers, scratching to get in.

  Willa shivered and went back to dressing. She settled for dark denim skinny jeans, and a flowing green cotton shirt. She could deliberate all night, but eventually the guy would wonder what took her so long. Still, she couldn’t squash the powerful need to look good for him.

  The clinking of mugs drifted upstairs. Her mind told her to be cautious, but her hormones kept telling her, with every sound pinging up from the kitchen, she should race down the stairs and jump the man.

  She ran a brush quickly through her hair, then cursed when it poofed to twice its thickness. Damn frizzy hair and damn moisture. A hair tie would have to do. She snatched one from the dresser and quickly threw her hair up.

  Her heart thudded in her chest as a personal time-keeper. How long had she already taken? Ten minutes? George would’ve been yelling at her by now.

  Ugh. Well, he hadn’t wanted her anyway. She could take all the time she needed…couldn’t she?

  No. It was rude to make someone wait. She took one last look in the mirror, hated what she saw, tried to smooth down her hair again, and then spun around to walk downstairs. Her heartbeat picked up at the thought of looking into the dark, mysterious depths of his thundercloud eyes.

  Maybe this guy had the answers she sought. Maybe she could kiss them out of him.

  The old, heritage home groaned with each step on the hardwood stairs. The storm should’ve drowned out the sounds, but each creak made Willa wince. Her aunt had spent a lot of money converting this plantation-style house into a trendy, profitable, book-selling business. The charming three thousand square foot home had been built by a local merchant and shipwright in 1865, when granite, lumber, and shipbuilding were the town’s big industries. Since then, the home had passed through many hands and had been vacant since the 80s. Aunt Jenny bought it with inheritance money and entrenched herself in her job; always saying it didn’t count as work when it was something she loved.

  Well, where was she now?

  Something must’ve gone wrong. The Shucker’s Booktique was her aunt’s baby, her life, her world. She’d never abandon it.

  Her chest stopped its hard, anticipatory beating and sank a little in her chest. A sigh escaped her lips and she silently asked her aunt for forgiveness. Here she was, lusting after a complete stranger, and her aunt was missing.

  Yes, this man could have vital information regarding her aunt’s whereabouts. He could also be the one responsible.

  The blood in her veins grew icy. She hadn’t thought of that.

  At the base of the stairs, she took a deep breath and prepared to launch into a tirade, or at least a police-worthy interrogation, before turning the corner to walk into the kitchen. She jerked to a stop and her breath snagged in her throat. The stranger stood in the outline of the kitchen’s window; long, ink-black hair dripped rain onto the floor. His ill-fitting clothes, soaked through, revealed touch-worthy broad shoulders, strong pecs, and chiseled abs. Her fingertips itched to reach out and trace lines along his body.

  His piercing storm-gray eyes twinkled and flashed in unison with the raging borderline-cyclone outside and fastened on her.

  She forgot what she’d planned to say.

  “There you are,” he said. His eyes roamed her body and a slight smile tugged at his lips. “I made you herbal tea. I figured it was too late…” He glanced outside. “Or early, for anything caffeinated.”

  “Thanks. Smells good.” She reached out and accepted the steaming cup. It slipped partially from her hands and she groped at the mug before it could fall to the ground. Clutching the handle, she dried the outside off with her shirt. How’d the cup get so slippery?

  The man wore a funny expression. Then, she glanced at his hands; he wrung them together. Wet hair, wet clothes, wet hands…

  “You’re still soaked. Are you sure I can’t offer you a towel, or something? I don’t think we have any clothes, er, big enough to fit you, but at least you could dry off.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m fine. I don’t mind being wet.”

  “Oh,” she said. Normally she’d be annoyed at someone bringing so much water into the old house, but the drenched effect somehow fit him, making her easily forget his state of disarray. Odd. No one could be that comfortable with soaked clothing, could they? “Okay…”

  Silence stretched in the small kitchen as the storm thundered outside. The cereus and primrose smells from earlier were long gone, replaced with herbal tea, the dew of rainwater and the man.

  “My name is Willa,” she said and stretched her hand out.

  He straightened from leaning against the counter and took a few strides forward before clasping her trembling digits with his enormous hulk hand. “Lon,” he said.

  She sucked in a quick breath as another wave of heat flowed from the contact. “Lon?”

  He nodded. “Lon.”

  They stood and studied each other, and Willa wished she could teleport away from the awkwardness. Part of her didn’t want this moment to end; she didn’t want his large, warm hand to let hers go. Then, sadly, it did, and her arm fell to her side.

  “Why don’t we have a seat?” Lon suggested and lifted his chin toward the counter-height table and chairs a few feet away. “I’d like to hear about Jenny.”

  She nodded and took the seat closest to the door. Her raging hormones might zing around in tune with the storm, but her brain set off a cacophony of warning bells. The man’s confidence and his comfortable demeanor around her aunt’s place might put her at ease, but he was still a stranger.

  “You asked me where Jenny was,” Lon asked. He took the dish towel from the stove handle and placed it on the opposite seat before sitting down. The move so fluid, it came across well practiced. Had he sat here soaking wet with her aunt as well?

  “Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you know where she is?”

  Lon sighed and glanced out the window again. “No. As I already pointed out, I wouldn’t come looking for her here if I knew she was someplace else.”

  His words made sense, and a bit of her fear dissipated. The circumstances of his presence might be odd, but he wasn’t here to harm her. But why was he here then? Why visit her aunt at such a late hour? Something wasn’t quite right about him and this situation. Willa snapped her mouth shut and looked at the table top. She’d eaten oatmeal in this very spot this morning and had missed a spot when cleaning up.

  Her brain kept telling her something was off, but her body wanted to leap across the table and stick to him like a limpet. Her warring emotions created a dull throb behind her eyes. Or was that from the door smacking her in the face? Or the hard tiles she land
ed on? She picked at the dried oatmeal and shook her head.

  “Willa?”

  “Hmm?” she asked, still picking at the oatmeal. George would never stand for such uncleanliness.

  “Willa!”

  “What?” She glanced up and froze as the intensity of his gaze hit her.

  “What’s going on?”

  Her shoulders sagged and she gave up on the oatmeal, gave up on any hint of normalcy. She’d kept hoping this was some horrible dream, and her aunt would come waltzing through the door any minute. Talking to the cops had been difficult, but admitting the truth to this stranger, this friend of her aunt’s, made it feel even more real.

  “She’s missing,” she said. Her voice caught and her breathing hitched. Tears welled up and she squeezed her eyelids shut to prevent them from falling. No way would she cry in front of a stranger.

  “Missing?” His body tensed.

  She nodded, eyes still shut, and explained, “She’s been missing for about five weeks. As far as we can tell, no one has seen or heard from her since her last customer, Tess Highland, left the shop on May twentieth, and Aunt Jenny closed up shortly afterward. Tess heard her lock the door, and frankly, if Tess knew anything, the whole town would know it, too. No one has heard from her.”

  “No one?” His eyes, which had widened at first, now narrowed and studied her face.

  “No one. It’s as if she vanished. No cell phone activity, no banking. Nada.” Willa clasped her mug and bent her head. Months ago, her aunt offered her refuge after George left. She’d refused, but Aunt Jenny was the only family member not telling her to “suck it up,” that it was all her fault, or if she’d known how to take care of a man, he would never have left.

  Lon reached out and brushed her hand. “Who’s Tess Highland?”

  Willa bit back the sigh wanting to escape her lips from the brief skin-on-skin contact. Gentle waves swooshed up her arms and paralyzed her with need. She gaped at him a little before she recalled his question. “J-just a regular customer who chats…chatted with my aunt. She’s a bit of a town gossip, but her story checks out. After talking with Aunt Jenny, she purchased Scarlette LaFlamme’s Seducing Sarah, and went to work. She’s the sheriff’s secretary.”

  “Does Jenny have any known enemies?”

  The look she gave him must’ve been answer enough, because he grunted and then drummed his fingers on his mug.

  “What about you?” she asked and met his thundercloud eyes. The skin on the hand he’d brushed had turned cold, yearning for him to repeat the gesture. She refused to look at his fingertips and studied his face instead. She watched for lies, but his concern for Aunt Jenny appeared genuine.

  “Sorry?”

  “What’s your alibi?” she asked, though Lon looked less like a suspect and more like an ally as time progressed.

  “Didn’t we already establish I know nothing?” His brows pinched together, making his face more angular. Outrage danced in the gray of his eyes.

  The expression contorted his translucent skin, and the flash of otherness, of something off in his face, sent her neurons zinging in her head. Her skin prickled as the tiny hairs on her neck stood up. She leaned forward and squinted, but the moment was gone. Now inches closer, she wanted to hurl her body at his again.

  Wow, I hit my head harder than I thought! Willa clutched her mug and sat back in her seat. “You could’ve just said that to throw me off. Maybe you came by to get something of my aunt’s. Why are you here?”

  Lon’s lip snarled up. “That’s ridiculous. I could’ve taken whatever I wanted when you knocked yourself out with the door. I came to visit Jenny.”

  “Then where’ve you been these last five weeks?”

  Lon shifted in his seat. “Around.”

  “Around?” Unease flittered up her spine and settled at the base of her skull. Maybe he really had come by for something. Money, clothes. He certainly needed both.

  “I travel a lot for work.”

  “And what kind of work is that?”

  He paused and glanced outside. The storm had died down again, but from her aunt’s stories, she knew the weather could settle for hours before starting up again—the eye of the storm, she’d say.

  “I sell weather insurance.”

  Willa snorted. Some of her tea bubbled up her nose and she clasped a hand over her face. Liquid dribbled down to her mouth and her cheeks burned.

  “Here,” he said and passed her a napkin.

  She snatched it out of his hand and cleaned her face off, wanting to die. “Sorry,” she said. Sorry for what? Why did she apologize?

  “It’s okay. It really is a bit ironic, given the circumstances. Funny, even.”

  She nodded and crumpled the napkin up in her hand. “Thanks for the napkin.”

  “My pleasure.” He glanced at the window again and pushed back in his chair. “I’m sorry for intruding on you at such a ridiculous hour. I hope the authorities find Jenny, and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. She’s a dear friend, and I’d never want anything bad to happen to her.” He moved around the table before she could react to his words.

  “Err,” she said.

  “I really must go.” He picked up her hand, the non-snotty one, and slowly brought it to his face. He pressed his lips against her knuckles and warm tension replaced her apprehension. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Willa. I hope to see you again.”

  He walked straight for the bookstore’s front door and had already walked out before Willa stumble-ran to the front entrance.

  “Wait!” she yelled as she flung open the door. “How do I get a hold…” Her question trailed off in the wind. Lon had disappeared into the night.

  ****

  Lon removed his ragged clothes and stored them in the jagged rock face of the cliff before slipping naked into the ocean. The cool water engulfed his body, the icy depths a warm welcome. The other Tempests swirled around him in greeting. With the storm dying down, Lon’s energy had faded fast, abruptly ending his meeting with Willa. One touch of the sea renewed his vigour. The magic making up the fibres of his being tingled and his corporeal form dissolved.

  Now he swam amongst his brethren; a current, a tide, a scandalous thought in the ocean’s undertow. His “life force” combined with those of his brothers and gave the body of water its majestic powers. The mundane knew little of it. Not anymore. Humans tried to taint the sea with their garbage, but had yet to succeed. The ocean was the mother of all moderators.

  Though he had no physical body in this form, he had memories. He held onto his conscious thoughts as he rode the dying waves into the rocks. One thought kept repeating in his mind, one image.

  Willa.

  Her intensity from the moment she flung that door open with a look of hope and determination; crazy bed hair and rumpled clothes, bare feet…he took it all in. Even her expression—so radiant at first, then dulled by disappointment. She’d expected someone else.

  Willa.

  She’d acted so fierce when she’d slammed that door on his face, or at least tried too, yet she seemed so at odds with herself at times. What would render an obviously strong woman so meek and broken?

  He swirled around and around and around with his brothers to make a temporary whirlpool. Only a small one, just for fun.

  Willa.

  No. She couldn’t be broken. Willa contained an inner strength that glowed through her smooth skin. He saw it as clear as her curves through her transparent clothes.

  Why would she try to maintain a weak image? What was she trying to hide?

  Lon Devlin howled as he rode another wave hard into rocky shoreline.

  Did Willa have anything to do with Jenny’s disappearance? When the eye of the storm ended, he planned to find out what happened to his friend.

  ****

  Willa stepped out of the steaming shower and changed into dry pajamas—a baggy t-shirt and George’s old running shorts. One image had replayed in her mind over and over again while she cleaned up…those st
orm gray eyes and low rumbling voice. Her hands travelled from meticulously washing her hair to sliding down her neck to caress her breasts before slipping down between her legs… She stopped. What was wrong with her? She didn’t even know the man.

  Should’ve taken a cold shower.

  It took her a lot longer to feel clean. She shouldn’t fantasize about a stranger, no matter how irregular he made her heart beat. His hard edged yet handsome face and those stormy eyes ranging from dark gray to deep, ocean blue spelled trouble. Besides, even if he was interested in a “pip-squeak” like her, it would inevitably lead to failure. George had assured her she sucked in bed.

  Well, George might’ve thought her bed skills lacking, but would Lon feel the same way?

  She flung the sheets back, ready to slip into bed and drift to sleep, but the serenity of the night beyond the window snagged her attention. The birch trees swayed in the wind and the horizon lightened to a dark blue as predawn approached.

  George was out of her life, and lusting after Lon wouldn’t get her any answers. Why’d he come in the middle of the night to pound on her aunt’s door? On a weeknight at that! Didn’t he have to work the next day?

  Willa snorted. A weather insurance salesman? Really?

  He insisted he knew nothing about Jenny’s whereabouts, but did he have anything to do with her disappearance?

  The storm outside died down; the ocean lost its rage and the wind ceased whistling. Willa climbed into bed and turned off the night light. Only the sound of soft lapping waves trickled into her room, flowing over her like a lover’s hands and lulling her to sleep.

  She dreamt of Lon, and his large smooth hands doing very, very bad things to her.

  ****

  The morning smelled fresh and clean with the tang of ocean breeze. Willa stretched out of bed and enjoyed the sound of summer. The wildlife always seemed louder after a storm—as if crying their defiance or enjoyment of Mother Nature’s whims—the singing of the tufted titmouse and honking of the red-breasted nuthatch, the visiting Baltimore Orioles chirping along with an Eastern Towhee, the insects buzzing and vibrating the heated air, as the waves gently lapped the shore.