brewed some of the best java he’d tasted in a long while. Last weekend, when he noticed the For Rent sign in the upstairs window, he had immediately called the number listed. Apparently, the owners of the coffee shop and its top floor recently lost their tenant to Bremerton and they’d needed another lessee. After a quick tour, Rogan signed the agreement.
Jingling the keys in his hand, he looked toward the cove. The boardwalk arced in a horseshoe at the conclusion of Main Street. The right annex of the shoe consisted of ferry docks, a few craft shops and a seafood pub; the left extension hosted several local clothing stores, the Tuscany Grill, Art Smarts, Coffee Sense—and Lee’s pier.
He admired the quaint maritime architecture of each building: wood siding in a variety of bold colors, weathered cabled roofs, storefronts circa 1930 with scripted or printed signs.
Most of all, he liked that Coffee Sense was the last shop on the boardwalk’s left curve—and a few dozen yards from where Lee moored her seaplane. That detail had him smiling as he surveyed the spot where, within the hour, her red-and-white Cessna would once again rock lazily on the sun-dappled water.
After signing the lease yesterday, he’d stood with Danny at the upstairs window and watched Lee lift easily into the air on her afternoon mail run.
“There’s the lady’s plane,” his son pointed out. “Are you gonna see her all the time?”
An innocent question with conflicting connotations. Yes, in a sense, he would see her “all the time” but not for the reasons he craved, like the heart he believed hidden behind her quick tongue and clever mind. And then there were those flashing green eyes. Reasons that were all about Lee Tait, the woman—Jeez, Rogan. Forget it already.
Inserting the key, he unlocked the door and took the steep, narrow stairs to the four-by-four landing where a pair of doors faced each other. With a squeak, the one on the right swung open and he stepped into his new office. The hardwood floors creaked beneath his boat shoes and the musty scent of wood and age filled his nostrils. Yesterday there had been a sense of rightness about the place, which he felt again today as he reassessed the main room, the side kitchen, the five-foot hallway branching into a washroom, bedroom—or second office space—and the rear entry to an outside stairway.
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