Clallam Bay (A Fresh Start #2) by L. C. Morgan Page A

letting Coll lead me out, his hand at the small of my back.
    The late fall wind bit but I didn’t mind. It helped me clear my head once Coll’s hands found their way back into his pockets.
    “I’d offer you my coat but I didn’t wear one.”
    I smiled up at him.
    “You too cold? You wanna go back inside?”
    I shook my head. “No. I’m good.” I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.
    We walked the length of the pier in silence. Music escaped into the night, echoing across the bay when people came and went, opening and closing the door to the bar. I felt his hand at my back again and turned where he led me. By the time we reached the docks I was numb to the cold and my inhibitions.
    “So how was the burger? Frozen?”
    “Nearly. But I still ate it. Woke up starving.” He lightly tugged the back of my sweater, and I stopped. “I guess nearly twenty-four hours of straight sleep will do that to you.” He rested his elbows on the railing and I leaned back against it. “I didn’t even hear you knock.” Rubbing his hands together, he looked over at me. “I’m assuming you knocked.”
    “I knocked.” Numerous times, actually. I thanked God he didn’t know for sure if I’d made more than one trip to his house or not.
    Nodding, he looked back out over the bay, and I took the opportunity to really look at him. While he wasn’t necessarily weathered by the sun, I could tell he worked in it. His hands were darker than his forearms. His forearms darker than his upper arms, I assumed from how he sometimes pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirts. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes accelerated his age, only giving him some very admirable distinction. There was a scar I hadn’t noticed along his left cheek. It was so light and so small it could have been a deep nick from a shaving mishap. But for some reason I doubted it.
    “How did you get that scar?” Reaching out, I thumbed the raised skin.
    “Ah. You noticed that, huh?” He straightened with my touch and turned to lean back against the railing as well. “It’s a painful story. Probably as painful as the experience.”
    My brows rose in interest and I turned to face him. “Tell me.”
    “You sure you want to know?”
    “Uh huh. Yeah. Tell me.” I had always had a somewhat worrisome interest in morbidity. The gorier, the better. The way he talked about the day and the events leading up to the injury was vividly descriptive, which only excited me more. He talked a lot with his hands, trying to explain things I maybe hadn’t seen and definitely had never heard of. When he got really animated, I knew the good stuff was coming.
    “So, Sal goes to cast the line, and the hook catches me right there in the cheek.” Smiling, he rubbed the spot with his shoulder. “Went straight through. I could taste the metal.” I cringed at that. “I can still feel it sometimes when I think about it.”
    “So, wait. Is that how you actually catch the fish? I thought you used the net thingy.”
    He smiled at my description. “The trawl. Yeah, that’s how we catch the fish. But you can bring your own equipment and fish on your break if you want to.”
    “I would think you’d want to take a break on your break. But maybe that’s just me.”
    He shrugged. “Most probably would, but they also have families to feed. What you catch you can keep. It puts free food on the table.”
    I hadn’t thought of it that way.
    “Do you fish on your break?”
    “Used to.”
    “Why’d you quit?”
    “There was really no point. All my brothers fish for a living. The youngest is still at home. I’m sure as hell not gonna eat fish every day. There’s nobody else to fish for.”
    “So what is it you do on your breaks? Sketch seagulls and sunsets?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Really?”
    “No. Not really.”
    I hit him with the back of my hand.
    “So how many brothers do you have exactly?”
    “Four.”
    “Four?” I asked, surprised.
    He nodded.
    “Jeez. All my