Sandbridge Box Set

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Andy didn’t seem to be one for small talk, and Scooter gave up trying to draw him out fairly quickly, instead just settling for what his Ma had called “rattlin’ on.” Giving Andy a feel for the area, pointing out the spots of interest. Not that there were many; Sandbridge was a tiny town that might as well have been a suburb of Virginia Beach, all of four miles of narrow beach reaching between the Atlantic Ocean and Currituck Sound. A few apartment buildings and some single family homes housed the tiny population. There were no hotels, which dissuaded the majority of the tourists, but people in the know rented out the oceanfront cabins and houses. Sandbridge was…secret. Good beach, good food, but off the beaten path.

Whenever Scooter pulled into the lot at Dockside, he had a sense of coming home, of welcome. For a moment, looking at the man sitting in the cab with him, Scooter tried to see the restaurant like a stranger might.

Built in the late 70s, the porch was wide, the windows large and plentiful to catch the ocean breeze. The wrap-around porch was littered with four-top patio tables and a bar. A series of barstools faced the ocean and a hook-toss game was set up at the far end. The sign was old and battered—it had been hand-painted by his dad back in the day, and Jason had touched it up a few times, but no amount of fresh paint could disguise its weather beaten state. The roof was tin and could use repainting; the pale blue weatherproofing was rusting through in patches.

Scooter caught up the bag from Harry-Rex’s and the paint and was pleased when Andy picked up the big jug of insecticide without being told. Scooter led the way around the garage and up the front porch steps rather than go in through the kitchen, so that Andy could get a quick tour.

The outdoor furniture was all a little ratty, but comfortable and well-sanded. Indoors, they’d laid the seating out in a series of antiqued picnic tables and benches, painted brilliant colors and then artificially weathered. An old racing kayak hung from the rafters, and the decor was beach-themed: stuffed fish and local art and old-fashioned advertisements, except for the stretch of wall behind the register, which was covered in framed photos of the staff and clipped articles about the regular customers. Some of those frames had been hanging on the wall longer than Scooter had been alive.

Scooter had always thought the place was homey—a little beaten but still standing, full of warmth and love. But maybe to a city slicker, it would just be any other rundown hole-in-the-wall diner.

It was late afternoon; a few early dinner customers lingered over their meals, but the floor was mostly free. “Jase!” Scooter bellowed as he came through the door, setting the paint aside.

Scooter and Jason had grown up together, so Scooter still remembered the skinny kid Jason used to be. But most other people had a reaction when they met Jason the first time, so Scooter took a step to the side to watch. Scooter had no illusions about his own looks, which were on the prettier side of good, but whenever Jason was in the room, that was where all eyes went.

Jason was huge, easily six-two and probably weighing in at two-twenty, all pure beefcake muscle. He kept his blond hair trimmed short, unlike the careless, chin-length fall that Scooter barely maintained these days. Jase wore thin white T-shirts at least two sizes too small that showed off ludicrous pecs and abs, and rolled the sleeves to display his arms. He had a face like a Greek god, all strong chin and firm nose and beautiful, patrician mouth.

Andy went still, his eyes going round which was pretty typical. Then he took half a step back, and his eyes flickered around the room like he was checking the exits, which usually only happened on the rare occasions when Jason was angry. Scooter wondered if that fresh shiner on Andy’s face was covering up an older one, and growled inwardly. Andy stopped himself, though, caught a breath and huffed it out hard before standing straighter and squaring his shoulders. “Christ, you’re a big guy,” he said as Jason came closer.

“Jason, this is Andy. Andy, Jason Anderson. Head cook and not the bottle washer, at his own very loud insistence. Jase, can you get Andy a—burger and fries okay with you?—while I show him the apartment?”

Jason offered Andy a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. He raised an eyebrow at Scooter, jaw tightening a little.

Kat bounced onto the floor, tray on her shoulder. “Hi, Andy,” she chirped on her way past, putting a little extra wiggle in her walk as she got closer to her marks, a couple of college-aged kids. Her accent got thicker, more of a Georgia-peach drawl. Christ, she could bottle that up and sell it as jam. It was completely fake, which always threw people when they got to know her better. The kids laughed at whatever she said; Kat always drew great tips.

“That’s Ekaterina,” Scooter said, pointing. “She’s our waitress, except on Tuesday and Saturday, when it’s Melissa and Elaine. And D’ante’s on temporary for washing dishes. I’ll let him work out the day, if that’s okay with you, and you can start tomorrow?”

“Sure thing,” Andy said. He eyed Kat, which wasn’t surprising, ‘most everyone did. Then he glanced back toward Jason, shuffling nervously. “Any, uh, anything I should know now?”

“Kat’ll show you the ropes as you go,” Scooter said. “Let’s get your stuff settled and come back for food. You look ‘bout fit to eat a horse.”

“Standard burger, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mayo, or are you brave enough to try the house special?” Jason asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Something about Andy was getting Jason’s back up, which was never a good sign. Might have been the bruise, though, if Jason thought it made Andy look like the kind of guy who liked to start fights for fun.

Oddly, though, Jason’s challenge seemed to bleed out Andy’s nerves. He rocked forward on his toes, meeting it head-on. “What’s the house special?”

Scooter nodded. “Give us both a cheesy all the way and a bowl, same, okay? We’ll break you in the hard way.”

Andy c****d his head, studied Jason and then Scooter. He grinned. “I’m pretty hard to break,” he said.

Kat came up behind them. “You collecting stray puppies again, boss?” The Ukrainian dropped from her mouth in liquid syllables. She’d attempted to teach all of them after she’d started working there, but Scooter was the only one who’d taken to it. “He looks like he’s running.”

“Running from what, that’s the question,” Scooter answered her.

Jason sighed. Languages weren’t his skill and he’d never learned more than a handful of words in Ukrainian, even though he and Kat had been dating for some four years now. “Two cheesies all the way, comin’ up.”

Scooter turned to Andy. “Apartment’s out back,” he said. “This way.” He led Andy through the kitchen—paused briefly to introduce D’ante, just finishing up the stack left from the lunch rush—out the back door, and up the exterior stairs. Scooter lived on the second story of Dockside, which had four bedrooms and a living room/kitchen combo. When Scooter had been a teenager, Dad had installed a separate studio apartment over the garage; it and the house were both accessed from the second-floor balcony. Another set of stairs led from the balcony to the widow’s walk that ringed the studio apartment’s roof. Kat liked to sit up there and watch the ocean on her breaks.

The apartment wasn’t big. It had a bed in the far corner (complete with Jeff’s horrible melon orange sheets and comforter); a burner, a microwave, and a mini fridge for a kitchen; and a couch and a portable television near the door. The bathroom, barely big enough to turn around in, contained a stall shower, toilet, and tiny sink. Trick, who had been sleeping on the sofa, lifted his head and thumped his tail a few times as Scooter opened the door.

Jeff had left the place a wreck, and Scooter had mostly shoved his stuff out of the way and bagged it up. “I’ll get Jeff’s crap into storage if you decide to stay,” Scooter offered. “The sheets are clean, I changed ‘em out this morning. Jeff left his sheets and towels and stuff, you’re welcome to use ‘em. Basic cable and WiFi, all utilities are provided. The washer and dryer are downstairs in the garage—I’ll show you later. And there’s a six-pack of Michelob in the fridge. It’s Jeff’s, but I think you can have it, if you want.”

Andy explored the apartment cautiously. His expression was guarded, and it couldn’t be more obvious that he was used to something bigger and nicer, but he didn’t say it. He stepped over to the sofa and held out a hand for Trick to sniff and then lick. He smiled a little at that and petted Trick’s head. “Never had a dog,” he admitted, not looking at Scooter. “Will he let me know when he needs to go out?”

At the word “out,” Trick got up, fetched a brilliant orange leash from the door-side table, and brought it back to Andy, wagging hopefully. “He’s pretty well trained,” Scooter said, grinning. “Jeff…Jeff was in the circus before he came to work here. Worked the animal show. Trick got hurt in a stage accident and Jeff brought him with to keep the head trainer from putting him down.”

Andy was grinning at the dog, a bright, uncomplicated amusement that made his whole face light up. “Well, good for Jeff, I guess,” he said. He took the leash and tugged at Trick’s equally lurid orange collar until he found the ring to clip it to. “Guess we’re going for a walk, huh?”

God, this was a mistake. Scooter smiled, but damn, Andy was really f*****g gorgeous, and there was something childlike about that grin that just went right through Scooter’s chest. He’d stated his rules, and they were written in stone. Had been for years. This was not the time to start having second thoughts. f**k, lock it down, Stahl. Kat was right, he did pick up stray puppies.

She was also right that Andy had the air of someone who was in trouble. Running. But weren’t all his friends? Jason had been running from the pain of his mother’s death and all it meant, Kat from her war-torn country, Jeff from the circus, D’ante from the war. Everyone ran, and they all came to Scooter in the end. He didn’t need another one. But he’d never been able to turn anyone in need away, and Andy’s body language screamed need.

Trick all but dragged Andy to the door, because he was well-trained but knew a sucker when he saw one. Andy laughed the whole way, obviously delighted.

“Okay, just—hold up a second, would you? Geez.” Andy grinned at Scooter. “This is great,” he said. “Really. I’ll just take Trick out for a bit and then I’ll come help you hang that door, okay?”

Scooter nodded. “Lunch first,” he said. “I don’t have what you’d call good employee health coverage, and you don’t need to faint on top of that shiner.”