Nantucket Rose

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Nantucket Rose Page 27

by CF Frizzell


  Ellis marveled at their fate as she sipped her coffee. Already based on Ellis’s workweek, the boating getaways required Maggie’s clever maneuvering around guest arrivals and “minding the store,” and Ellis took immense pleasure in helping wherever and whenever she could. Today was another of those days when they’d made time for each other.

  The screen door shut softly and Maggie’s arms locked around Ellis’s waist from behind. Ellis squeezed them to her as Maggie kissed her ear.

  “I knew I’d find you out here,” she whispered, “getting all damp in the fog.”

  “It’s going to burn off just in time for us.” Ellis turned, set her cup aside, and kissed her. “Good morning, Ms. Jordan.”

  Retta arrived from the backyard and barked for her share of the action.

  “Hush,” Maggie said, and they patted her until she ran off to continue her morning inspection of the bushes.

  Ellis massaged Maggie’s supple form, flexed her fingers into her back. I love how we fit, the feel of you, how right this is for each of us.

  Maggie snuggled deeper into her arms. “Mmm. Good morning, my captain. Thank you for helping with advance work again last night. I probably should get you an apron if you’re going to be slicing and dicing with me in the kitchen.”

  “No apron,” she said and kissed her softly. “Although if I don’t master that juicer pretty soon, I’ll need one.”

  “I thought I heard you grumbling earlier.” Maggie tugged her closer. “Does the sailor in you always slip out of bed so early? I’m not sure I want to get used to that.”

  “Only when I hear the Rose calling us.”

  “Oh, well, maybe that’s what I heard. We should be on our way in a couple of hours. There’re just five for breakfast this morning. Can you wait that long?”

  “No. Let’s go wake them all up.”

  Maggie laughed and led her back inside, excitedly detailing the treats she’d already packed for their outing.

  Your enthusiasm is just one of the reasons I love you.

  Maggie’s devotion to her and the Rose seemed to grow by the day, equaled only by her determination to succeed with Tuck’r and its future. Ellis couldn’t have been happier or more proud. Her own desire to help Maggie’s effort grew steadily as well, and often left Ellis a bit amazed that she now appreciated her old home as Maggie’s achievement, not as a painful personal loss.

  It’s all about love and respect. And optimistic vision. A long way from avoiding Davis Street, Ms. Jordan.

  “They’re all down in the living room now,” Ellis said, adding two little butter dishes to Maggie’s tray. “The couple from Boston asked for espressos.”

  Maggie looked up. “I’ll make them if you take this out.”

  “To the parlor. Sure.”

  Ellis turned toward the door with the tray as Maggie watched over her shoulder.

  “Ellis? I like that, you know. Parlor.”

  “Guess I fell back a few years. I meant—”

  “No. Parlor, it is. From now on. This inn needs a parlor.”

  Ellis thought better of simply tossing the tray aside to sweep Maggie off her feet. You’ve known how to reach me from the start. Instead, she crossed the kitchen and kissed her. “After this, I’ll load our stuff into the truck. If you’re winding down here, I’ll take off to prep the Rose.”

  “Ah…” Maggie’s pregnant pause caught Ellis at the door again. “That couple, the two women from Kansas City?” She grabbed Ellis by the belt. “Watch out for them.”

  Ellis feigned a pout. “Aw, must I? Midwest women are—” Maggie flicked Ellis’s hip with a dish towel. “Okay! Actually, I was going to check out the hot blonde from Providence, the one who sits in the corner all the time.”

  Maggie lashed out again as Ellis escaped.

  Little more than an hour later, Maggie stood at the helm of the Rose, motoring through harbor traffic guided by Ellis’s hands on hers. Below, on the stern deck, Retta lay stretched out, basking in the sun, only rising when a passing craft required her review. The level of everyone’s contentment reinforced Maggie’s faith in her judgment, although she did regret the months lost prior to making the “momentous” decision.

  The warm breeze carried an occasional chilly wisp, and Maggie fervently wished it was May and she had the entire summer to enjoy just like this.

  “I can feel the change coming.”

  She leaned back against Ellis, welcomed the warmth of her chest and arms, and Ellis lowered her head to speak against her cheek.

  “Very good. I’m impressed.” Her warm breath tickled Maggie’s neck. “Yes, today you can feel it in the air. Unfortunately, it won’t always feel this warm.”

  Maggie disagreed. She’d enjoy this warmth every day, no matter where they were or what time of year.

  Ellis indicated the proper course for leaving the harbor, and Maggie steered past Brant Point, tempted to throw pennies. The realization that she didn’t have to, that her return was virtually guaranteed, lifted her heart, and she smiled at the lighthouse as if it had known her fate all along.

  The Eagle approached as they exited the channel, larger than life it seemed, from a vantage point Maggie had never experienced. Ellis reached for the radio just as it crackled to life, and, with the huge ship bearing down on them, Maggie immediately missed the security of her presence. About to pull Ellis back against her, she flashed her a wary look but then relished the wink she won in return. She took a breath and maintained course as calmly as she could.

  “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Nantucket Rose,” the radio voice chimed, and Retta sat up, barking at the sound.

  “And to you, Master Doyle.” Ellis covered the mic and whispered to Maggie. “Shamus Doyle. All five foot one of him. A salty leprechaun.” Maggie stifled a laugh.

  “Beauty of a day y’picked, Captain Chilton.”

  “That it is. You drew Sunday duty.”

  “Indeed I did. No complaints, all’s well. Y’headed out or just about?”

  “Just about.”

  “This your lovely Maggie? Greetings, darlin’. And do I see you have a sea dog now, too?”

  “We do,” Maggie said as Ellis held the mic for her. “She and I are learning fast.”

  “You’re in good hands.”

  Retta barked dutifully as the ships sailed abreast of each other, and Maggie joined Ellis in waving up at the Eagle’s wheelhouse. Doyle waved his cap out the window.

  “Say, Ellis, just so you know, we swam through a bit o’ soup a ways back, so keep an eye.”

  Maggie knew enough to interpret that as a fog warning, and she looked to Ellis in alarm.

  Ellis kissed her forehead and whispered, “Fog happens, but we’re having none of it.” She sent Doyle a salute. “Roger that. No soup for us,” she said with a chuckle. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Steady as she goes, then, Ellis.”

  “Aye, sir. And to you.” She hung up the mic and turned to Maggie with a grin. “Brace yourself.”

  Maggie didn’t have a second to ask what she meant before the Eagle’s arrival horn nearly startled her off her feet. They laughed when Retta barked in response.

  Ellis encircled Maggie’s waist and tucked her fingertips inside the front of Maggie’s shorts.

  “I prefer you stay right there, Captain.”

  Ellis ground her hips against Maggie’s and nuzzled her neck. “Do you?”

  Her fingers inched lower and Maggie squirmed against her. “I’m concentrating, you know.”

  “So am I.”

  “Behave. I don’t want to mess up. I like being at your controls.”

  “Helm. You’re definitely at my helm, but I like being at your controls, too.”

  Maggie groaned as Ellis nibbled her ear. “Does this officially make me your first mate?”

  “My only mate.”

  “Good, because I adore the Rose, you know, but I love you.”

  “Oh, and I love you, Maggie, my true Nantucket rose.”

 
About the Author

  A recent telecommunications retiree, CF Frizzell (“Friz”) is the recipient of the Golden Crown Literary Society’s 2015 Debut Author Award for her novel Stick McLaughlin: The Prohibition Years. Friz discovered her passion for writing in high school and went on to establish an award-winning twenty-two-year career in community newspapers that culminated in the role of founder / publisher.

  She credits powerhouse authors Lee Lynch, Radclyffe, and the generous family that is Bold Strokes Books for inspiration. A life-long Massachusetts resident, Friz is into history, New England pro sports, and singing and acoustic guitar—and living on Cape Cod, just an hour from Provincetown, with her wife, Kathy.

  Follow Friz on www.cffrizzell.com and on Facebook at CF Frizzell.

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