she went to the serving station to start organizing. As she rolled the forks and knives into little napkin burritos, the storm outside raged.
A shiver rolled down her spine as the waves crashed against the rock jetty near the outdoor patio.
Storms always did this to her; ever since she was little and almost drowned in the ocean. Admittedly, she was more happy than sad when she finally moved out of her childhood home. No more danger right at her door. She preferred her walk-up apartment on the second floor of the widowed Mrs. Collins’s house.
Even though she no longer had a view of the ocean, she always felt it. It was something ingrained in her that not even a brush with death could stop. Coming to work at The Siren gave her that little hint of exhilaration while not forcing her to her knees in terror. It was a thin line, but she’d dealt with it. She was the only one who could take care of her mother. The only one who wanted to.
The napkin slipped from her trembling hands three times before she got it right.
Sometime later, Donnie, the 22-year-old busboy, sauntered into the dining room. He flipped the rest of the lights on and crossed into the kitchen, tying his chin-length brown hair to the nape of his neck before winking at Rose.
Holding back an eye roll, she pressed her lips together in what she hoped appeared as a polite smile.
He’d made moves on her, several times before. And much to his dismay, Rose turned him down every single time. He was cute but too young. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the six-year age gap.
Though, some days, it felt like much more than that. Between caring for her ailing mother and working to pay the bills, there wasn’t time for dating. She was a spinster in the making, and it didn’t help that Missy constantly berated her about going on dates.
It wasn’t as if she wanted to be alone. She wanted love. More than she cared to admit. She had a specific picture in mind for her perfect relationship. It mirrored her parents to a T.
Pearl and Ben had been inseparable and even after years together, they were as in love as they were when they’d met.
There was no way she was getting that in The Burrow. The townies knew too much of her childhood, and tourists weren’t looking for long-term commitments. She knew that firsthand, and she’d never cross that bridge again.
The door opened, distracting her from her thoughts. Serving customers kept her mind busy. Missy had capitalized on the locals, offering sandwiches for reasonable prices during the off-season. It kept her employees paid and Rose from drowning in bills. She’d had more than enough to thank Missy for in her life.
Later that afternoon, after Rose insisted that Missy go home before her actual shift that evening, the lull in the flow of customers was a welcome retreat. While Rose didn’t want to think about Pearl, she felt a little sick when she forgot about her, even for a few minutes.
The bell above the side door jangled, shattering all thoughts of Pearl.
Two police officers walked through the doors. Even though they both had Town of Burrow patches stitched on the arms of their navy-blue shirts, she only recognized one of them. The other had his back turned and typed furiously on his phone.
Chief of Police, Patrick McCreary, met her eyes and nodded his head. A rotund man in his fifties, he had been around her house a lot during Rose’s teen years when Reen found herself in trouble more than a few times. Things had quieted down tremendously in the years since her departure, both at home and in town.
He removed his hat and droplets of rain slid to the floor. He smoothed down the few strands of hair left on his head.
‘Afternoon, Patrick,’ Rose said.
‘Rose,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s good to see you.’
The other officer turned around. A stone-faced guy, closer to her age than Patrick’s. His nose was thicker in the middle, looking as if he’d been in a lot of fights as a kid. His dark hair was thick and shaggy at the top of his head but buzzed on the sides. Otherwise, he was cleanly shaven. He looked more like a tourist than a local. The way his eyes darted across the restaurant confirmed it.
Rose suppressed a smile. If he was looking for crime in this place, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
‘I’m Rose,’ she said, leading them to a window booth.
‘Shane Cassidy.’ He offered his hand.
She took it. ‘Nice to meet you.’ His rough hand brushed over hers. She drew in a sharp breath and nearly dropped the menus. ‘I have a seat right over here for you,’ Rose said, trying to recover. It wasn’t as if many attractive men came to town to stay more than the summer.
Patrick slid into the booth. As she moved out of the way, she focused on Shane. For a second, she thought she noticed a lumbering in Shane’s gait, but when his eyes lifted to hers, she glanced outside, trying to hide the heat on her cheeks. The rain had slowed, but the sun had yet to peek through the clouds.
She dropped two menus on the table.
Patrick barely glanced at the plastic menu. That was the way it worked in The Burrow. You could tell the tourists from the townsfolk in seconds.
‘What’s good here?’ Shane asked.
‘Everything,’ Rose and Patrick said at the same time.
Patrick chuckled as Shane raised his thick eyebrows. ‘That’s helpful.’
Rose smiled at the joke, but he didn’t. He wasn’t teasing.
Rose cleared her throat. ‘Can I get some water for the table?’
‘Sure,’ Patrick said, smiling up at her with his grayish teeth. ‘And I’ll have a coffee too.’
‘I’ll be back to take your order.’ Rose crossed the room to prepare the waters and coffee.
‘Patrick,’ Mrs. Miller said from two booths over. She and her husband came into The Siren several times a week. An older couple in their sixties, they ran the antique and used bookstore closer to the town center.
‘Good afternoon, Sally,’ Patrick said, nodding toward them.
‘Who’s the new guy?’ Mr. Miller asked.
‘You know I’m retiring,’ Patrick said. ‘Shane here will be taking my position as chief come the summer.’
‘No kidding,’ Mr. Miller said.
‘What he means is, we’re happy to have you,’ Mrs. Miller said to Shane.
His jaw tensed; even Rose could sense his discomfort across the room. Newcomers to The Burrow weren’t used to the level of nosiness around these parts.
While the Millers went back to their clam chowder, Patrick and Shane continued their conversation.
Rose approached the table with two glasses of water and their utensils, trying not to make it appear as if she were eavesdropping.
‘You’re not in the big city anymore,’ Patrick said to Shane.
‘Oh?
