“Fresh blue crab?”
Tug pulled off his ball cap, revealing the flaming tips of his ears beneath that shock of white hair. “Of course. You know me better than to ask that.”
It was meant to be a little jab, because everyone knew Tug only served fresh crab. He hated it when people asked, and she loved it when his ears got red like that. “I’m in.”
“Good.” He washed his hands, then went to work on breakfast for the two of them. “Heard there’s a guy wanting to open a workout venue here on the beach.”
“Here, or over on the public access?”
“Right below the diner there.”
“Like Muscle Beach?” She’d seen that in the movies once. “Why would someone want to do that?”
“I heard the guy trying to schedule an offshore fishing trip with Captain Aubrey the other day. The guy told Aubrey he’s taking it to the town meeting for approval next week.”
“I don’t like it,” Maeve said. “There’ll be trash and a bunch of people making noise. Tourists on the private beach too.”
“Could mean more customers for me. Can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
That was true. It wouldn’t be half-bad for Tug. “Would there be equipment out there?”
“No idea.”
“If not, I guess mostly they’ll just be jogging the shoreline, trampling my shells.”
“Or stirring up ones still below the surface.”
“Okay. Yeah, maybe.” She didn’t want to be one of those cynical old ladies, but darn if it didn’t come easy lately. “Why can’t more businesses be like Paws Town Square? They serve a need for the community and help others too. Plus, it transformed that horrible eyesore of the empty building. Now the entrance to Whelk’s Island looks welcoming. In fact, it looks more like the courthouse than the real one.” She laughed. “Won’t Mr. Muscle Guy be surprised if he pulls up to Paws Town Square thinking it’s the courthouse only to be met by a bunch of dogs running around!”
“Yeah, that place does look a lot nicer than our real courthouse.” Tug flipped a crepe in the air.
Maeve let out a quiet, “Impressive.”
Tug looked pretty pleased with himself. He slid the slip of a pancake onto a plate, then filled it with a fluffy layer of crabmeat and a drizzle of his famous milk gravy. He put another on a second plate, rolled it, and slopped it with another bit of gravy before setting the plates on the counter in front of them.
She inhaled. The natural salt from the crab teased her senses, and that rich gravy had her stomach growling. “That smells very good.”
He never prayed, but he always paused for her to have her own little silent moment. She bowed her head and silently thanked God for her food and many blessings. Then she added, And thanks for Tug. He’s been a true friend. A real best man. Amen.
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her almost as if she’d said those last words out loud.
At the same time, they plunged their forks into the meal before them.
“Here goes nothin’.” Tug took a hearty forkful and shoved it into his mouth.
Maeve took a bite. “Oh yeah.” She lifted her other hand to her lips. She was raised better than to talk with her mouth full, but this was too good to wait. “So good.”
“Just what I was hoping. Love it.”
“I vote for this to be on the menu.”
“At least a special when the crab is in season.”
“Even better than crab benedict.”
Tug’s bushy brows disappeared under his mop of hair, usually hidden by his ball cap with the diner logo on the front. “That’s a real winner, then.”
“Didn’t I already say that?”
From out in the gazebo, The Wife called out, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
“The Wife seems to agree,” Maeve joked.
“She loves me. What can I say?” He paused between bites. “Hey, I’m going to the town council meeting tomorrow. You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Try to always make it,” she said.
“The hearing should be interesting after them naked campers, the workout guy, and I hear there are a couple other businesses trying to get in before the season is over. Meet you there?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Can’t complain if you don’t say your piece.” He chewed, watching her. “People always listen to you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Always thinking,” the bird sang out, followed by a whistle that sounded a little like a fizzling firework.
Maybe it was just as well Methuselah couldn’t talk. That would get on Maeve’s last nerve eventually. Since Jarvis had passed, she’d learned to like her quiet life. Actually, it had taken about ten years to feel that way, but finally it had crept in like a comfort.
Tug walked over and unlocked the front door of the diner. A few regulars spilled inside, taking their usual seats at the counter and in booths. The tourists were easy to recognize, always fumbling around trying to figure things out and asking a bunch of questions.
Maeve sipped her coffee, enjoying the clatter and conversation. It kept that needling feeling of something on her mind at bay, and that was a relief.
“Are those shells from around here?” A woman dressed in a Whelk’s Island T-shirt and white jeans pointed toward the shadow boxes on the wall. “Someone down at the surf shop told me about those shells yesterday. She found one.” The woman clomped across the diner floor in what looked like flip-flops on top of two-and-a-half-inch wooden platforms. Not exactly beachwear.
“Really?” Tug handed her a menu. “Yes, those have all been found around here.”
“How’d you get them?” Her head bobbed with each word, but her short overbleached hair didn’t budge.
Tug moved closer, pointing to the shell and news article framed right next to the woman. “Well, some were in articles in the local paper here. I talked the people who’d found them into selling them to me so I could display them with the newspaper clippings. Beachcomber magazine picked up a story about that one. And when folks heard I was hanging them in the restaurant, well, they
