A/N: This chapter contains sexually explicit material.
July 1. On Sunday morning, Joey woke before the six o'clock alarm, unsure as to what had woken her; she usually had to hit snooze a few times. It would be so good to sleep in, even if it was only for a couple hours. Sadly, that was probably not going to be her reality this summer. She rolled over to see Alexander lying in the bed next to her, and he was awake, staring at her. She smiled.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
The toddler giggled and moved towards her. He placed his hands on both sides of her face. "Jo-Jo," he whispered very seriously. "Is my birfday."
She laughed. He'd been saying this every day for the past week. "No, it's not."
"Yes. Elmo birfday is my birfday."
"Alexander, you're almost three years old. That's old enough to face the facts. Your birthday is in October. Just because you've watched the Elmo's birthday episode like fifty times since February doesn't change that fact."
"I wanna 'appy birfday," he whined.
She sighed heavily. "Freaking Sesame Street," she mumbled under her breath. Then she said very patiently, "Okay, fine. Happy birthday, Alexander. Happy birthday to you."
"Tank you," he said oh-so-happily and squished her cheeks between his small hands.
"You wanna help Aunt Jo make pancakes?" she said, smiling as she pulled his hands down from her face.
"No."
She frowned. "Gee, thanks."
"Where Pacey?"
She heaved another sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you he's gone sailing on a big boat?"
"I want Pacey," he pouted, whining again.
"I know you do. I want him, too."
After she showered and dressed, silence greeted Joey in the kitchen. Searching the cupboards, she retrieved the supplies she needed: whisk, bowls, pans, spatula. She even found Pacey's apron that said COME AND GET IT! By the time the coffee had finished brewing, she had been joined by two of their guests, Rebecca Pinckney and her daughter Jenna from Boston. They seated themselves at the dining table. She flipped a golden pancake onto a plate, then topped it with another. She added a few slices of bacon to the side. And the first plate was served.
Mrs. Pinckney murmured her thanks as Joey started on Jenna's plate. "You two are up awful early."
Jenna watched her. "It's hard to sleep when the aroma of fresh coffee hits my nose." She took her plate from Joey. "This looks fabulous. Thanks."
"My pleasure," Joey said with a smile. "Is everyone else still sleeping?" she asked, referring to their husbands as well as their friends upstairs in the other guestrooms.
The women nodded but continued eating. Joey topped off their cups of coffee, and then poured herself one. She started brewing another pot for whoever came downstairs next. "So, what do you think of Capeside?"
Jenna swallowed. "It's cute. But small." She cut her pancake into tiny bites. "Kind of like me."
Joey laughed. She heard feet on the stairs and started pouring pancake batter onto the griddle. "Sounds like we have more customers."
By ten o'clock that morning, she had arrived at Leery's Fresh Fish. After shoving her bag in her locker and grabbing her order book, she started her shift. She worked alongside her friendly and chatty coworkers as they performed all the opening tasks in the dining room. The tables were soon ready for patrons, and then the doors opened at eleven.
"What are the lunch specials today?" Joey asked as she tied her black apron around her skirt inside the makeshift employee lounge that doubled as a coat closet and also a cluttered storeroom.
Colin shoved a clipboard at her, then finished tying his bowtie and began fussing with his heavily gelled auburn hair, making pucker lips at himself in the mirror while humming "Molly Malone."
She grinned. "I get it, Colin. You're gay and Irish."
"The perfect combination, my pet."
Then she read the printed list out loud to help her memorize it. "Fish of the day—seared Mediterranean Branzino with mint gremolata, and served with fresh English peas and herbed farro."
She looked at Colin with a deliberate grimace. Gail Leery had recently hired a new manager to help decrease the hours she spent at the restaurant. Ever since, the menu had started adopting what Joey thought were fancy, pretentious words.
He was used to this routine, but Colin sighed in his typical exaggerated exasperation, rolling his eyes and thrusting out his left hip, and said, in a deadpan voice with his mild, slightly-accented Irish brogue, "Branzino is sea bass. Gremolata is a condiment made of mint, garlic, and lemon zest. Farro is wheat, so it's a side dish like rice."
As a former student at the Culinary Institute of America, Colin Murray knew his stuff. Without him, Joey would have to walk back into the kitchen and ask the cooks, who would only look at her with disdain, unless Bodie was around. Unfortunately, he worked nights. She didn't mind looking like an ignorant no-nothing in front of Colin. But she couldn't afford to look like a no-nothing in front of customers… or worse, Marcel, the new day shift manager. The corncob up his ass was so tight it would take a jackhammer to dislodge it.
She turned back to the list to read the soup du jour. "Brodetto of wild Cape Cod Bay cozze, gamberetto, and aragosta, with fregola and roasted cippolini onions." She shook her head. "What the…?" Her voice trailed off.
Before she could make her face at him, Colin leaned over. "It's Bodie's seafood stew, except now it's fancy!" he murmured, making jazz hands to emphasize the joke.
Joey laughed and then walked out to the dining room.
In addition to generous tips, one of the best things about this job was the east-facing wall of picture windows that gave her and the diners an unobstructed view of the Capeside Harbor. She had enjoyed working nights and seeing the twinkle lights along the boardwalk posts. She had especially enjoyed nights this spring when the temperature had finally been warm enough to open up the outside seating to diners. Seated there, you heard the gentle sounds of the water, and sometimes the sound of fog horns in the distance. Now that summer was here, every day was warm enough for outdoor dining.
Though none of this was new to Joey, and despite the fact she wanted nothing more than to leave this town and spread her wings, she still never took it for granted. On any day of her life, she could look out across the Atlantic Ocean to the beautiful horizon beyond. The view never failed to draw her eye, and her memories of boarding the True Love last summer and sailing out of that very harbor still had the power to take her breath away.
Adjusting her schedule to day shifts wasn't so bad. The place was so busy with the influx of the summer people, that work was steady throughout the day, and the tips were decent. The restaurant was busy today for lunch. It was a Sunday at the start of the summer, so Joey was sure it would be like this all day. More than once during the afternoon, she felt the vibration of her cell phone clipped on the waistband of her black skirt. She checked the number the first time to verify what she already suspected. It was Pacey.
Relief instantly filled her. On Wednesday night, the Moores departed the Cayman Islands on their yacht and had begun a four-day journey to St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. That meant her boyfriend had been without cell service for four days, and she'd been anxiously waiting to hear from him and know that he'd arrived safely at their destination.
When her break came, Joey made a dash for the restroom and listened to her voicemail in the bathroom stall. Multitasking both the phone and the toilet paper was tricky, but she managed to avoid dropping the phone in the toilet or on the floor.
"Hey, Jo, I guess you're busy," Pacey said. "You're probably at work. Well, I am currently in Charlotte Amalie, Saint Thomas. We got here very early this morning. When I woke up, we were already docked in the harbor. I think we'll be here for about a week."
Pacey sounded relaxed and happy, and Joey breathed a sigh of relief as she stood and yanked up her underwear with one hand while he talked on.
"I like being at sea more than I like being docked, but you could probably guess that. Ten days in that mansion on Grand Cayman was making me crazy. James actually asked me if there was anywhere that I'd like to go. Me. Can you believe it? I looked at the map and picked Cozumel. It's supposed to have great snorkeling. At the very least, I'll get to practice my Spanish with the Mexican locals, right? I don't wanna get rusty. I'm not sure how long it'll take to get there from here, if we even do end up going there. I expect at least the same number of days it took to get here. The only downside to sailing is I can't talk to you, which sucks.
"Melanie is celebrating her twenty-third birthday this week, and I believe this is the island she wanted to be at. They're planning on throwing her a big party, so I'm sure that'll keep me and Chef Mao busy. Anyway, I think we're also gonna go over to St. Croix for Fourth of July, which isn't far. I think there's a ferry you can take. I guess they go all out for the holiday over there. Melanie says there's food and music and tons of people and amazing fireworks—"
The message came to an abrupt end.
She couldn't help but roll her eyes. The way he kept talking about her—Melanie this, Melanie that—was starting to become rather annoying. Joey hated to admit it, but she was a little jealous. One of these days she'd rid herself of the immature feeling, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. Jealousy was an emotion she had grown up with. It attached itself to her like a leech and drew out her baser emotions with precision and skill. She knew jealousy was a negative emotion, born from insecurity and low self-esteem. But for her, jealousy seemed like it was an inescapable condition of being a woman in love.
Still, she knew she could trust Pacey. Trust him with her body, her heart, her life. He had the bluest, gentlest eyes she had ever seen on any man. Eyes that told her of his loyalty and devotion, of his love, of his burning need for her—in every way possible. Eyes that could never lie to her.
Joey pressed the speakerphone button and set her phone on the small shelf below the mirror while she washed her hands. There was a second message, also from Pacey.
"Hey, uh… I guess I got cut off. I have to head down to the kitchen soon to help Mao with supper. Um, well, I guess there isn't much more to say right now, but I hope you can find some time to talk to me later. I don't suppose you've been checking your mail?"
The mail? Her voicemail? She wiped her hands on a paper towel and inspected herself in the mirror, her expression a mixture of sadness and longing.
"The only thing I really have left to tell you is… I miss you, Joey. And I want you, and I need you, and I love you."
She missed him, too, and wanted him and needed him and loved him. She gazed at herself in the mirror. She looked better than she felt, she decided. A few strands of dark brown hair, too long for bangs and too short to stay in her ponytail, hung on either side of her face. She tucked them behind her ears, knowing they wouldn't stay there. She gave herself a small, encouraging smile.
"I know your work schedule is crazy right now, but please call me when you get home later," Pacey continued. "I don't care what time it is. I'll stay up, and I won't go down to my room 'til I hear from you. The thought of goin' five nights in a row not hearing your voice is killing me, Potter."
She understood, and felt the same. She missed hearing the sound of his voice every day. Most days, it was the first sound she heard when she woke up in the morning, and the last sound she heard before she fell asleep at night. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him, how the time dragged now that he was gone, much she loved him and was counting down the days until he returned.
She missed talking to him. She missed the way he listened to her as if every word she said was of the utmost importance. She missed his friendship, his company, his mind and his body.
She missed waking up in the morning and hearing his voice in the B&B kitchen, she missed hearing his laughter while he sat with Bodie in the back yard, but perhaps most of all, she missed the sound of his breathing in the dark. It was a sound that told her she was safe and protected.
But hearing the happy contentment in his messages made her question whether she should elaborate too much on her loneliness. She didn't want to bring him down, or worse, make him feel guilty for doing something for himself. She didn't want him to worry, to question whether he should come home earlier than planned.
She dreamed of the day Pacey came home, knowing their initial sexual urgency would finally give her the chance to hold him the way she craved, to give him all the love that had been building up inside her. The very first moment he could get her alone, she had a feeling Pacey would fall on her like a starving man falling on a feast.
Joey turned off her phone and clipped it back on her waistband, then left the bathroom and collided with Colin in the narrow hallway. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling sideways.
"Whoa!" he said, releasing her. "Watch it."
"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Just feeling a little stressed. And hungry. I never did get a chance to taste Bodie's ooh-la-la seafood stew. I was hoping to eat something this break."
Colin reached into his pocket and pulled out a Snickers bar, grinning at her. "I heard somewhere that if you give a girl a Snickers, she'll follow you anywhere."
"I think you mean an elephant," she snarked, taking the candy bar from him.
He followed her to the makeshift employee lounge-slash-closet-slash-storeroom, where she fell into a wooden brown chair with armrests. She ripped open the candy bar wrapper. "Thanks," she said.
"What are you so stressed about?" he asked. "Marcel getting to you?"
"No. Marcel I can handle. It's just…" She sighed as she took a bite of the Snickers bar. "It's a lot of little things, I guess."
"An unfortunate run-in with Dullson?"
She snorted. "Do you really have to call him that?"
His brows shot up as he shrugged and shook his head at her. "Why wouldn't I? He's dull."
Tongue planted firmly in cheek, she tried not to smile. "No, I haven't seen Dawson lately."
"You haven't heard from Pacey yet?"
"Yeah, I did. He called me earlier and left a couple messages."
Colin sat in the chair next to her. He had a friendly round face, wide mouth, luminous brown eyes, and thick, rust-colored eyebrows. This was the first time she'd seen him since Wednesday, and they hadn't talked much yet this shift. "Tell me." He sounded concerned. Colin was a wise-ass most of the time, but he was capable of breaking out of that persona to be a nice guy when he had to. His brown eyes regarded her steadily and patiently.
"Pacey's fine. He sounds more than fine, honestly. He sounds happy and like he's having fun and… he's making friends…" She rolled her eyes as she took another bite.
"Female friends?" he said perceptively, arching his perfectly shaped brows.
She frowned and finished chewing while Colin looked at her with wordless sympathy. "Oh, you know… rich, beautiful blondes, who are probably scantily clad at all times. It's a stereotype, frankly."
"And yet an accurate one, I'm sure. I'm also guessing your boyfriend's a good-looking guy, if his brother is anything to go by, so you might wanna watch out there."
Joey's eyes went wide with surprise. "You know Doug?"
Swallowing, and going a bit red in the face, Colin shrugged it off and cleared his throat. "Well, who doesn't know the Witters? Everyone around here knows Capeside's favorite deputy. I've just never had the pleasure of meeting the youngest, and recently most famous, of the Witter clan. Anyway, you were saying?"
She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "Anyway, I'm just working a lot. You know, between my three jobs, I'm working like eighty hours a week. I hope I'll get the chance to talk to Pacey tonight. I just get really down when I don't get to talk to him, and then I worry. It's constant worrying that something tragic has happened to him. Also, I really need to go see my dad. I haven't been up to visit him in like three months, and the longer I go without visiting him, the weirder and more uncomfortable it is when I do. But I don't know if I'm going to have a weekend free to go see him. Plus, my mom's birthday is this week—on the fifth."
Colin frowned in sympathy. "How old would she have been?"
The empty candy wrapper crumpled in her palm as she closed her hand into a loose fist on the table. "Forty-nine." Joey shook her head and forced a smile. "So, what about you? Where have you been all week?"
"My grandmother's in the hospital. Well, I guess she's getting out tomorrow. I got a message from my mother this morning. Nan fell and broke her hip on Wednesday. She had surgery on Thursday."
Joey winced. "That's lousy."
"I've been over to the hospital a lot and running back and forth to Nan's house in Boston. They're taking her to a rehab place tomorrow. My ma wants me to move into Nan's house and take care of stuff there. She's got a dog. And plants. She's very worried about her plants."
"Are you gonna do it?"
"It's fine with me. It's just the way my mother asks. I mean, the slams that come with it. Like, 'your brother Patrick can't do it, of course. He has a family and a home of his own to take of. You—no wife, no kids. No responsibilities.'"
"She did not say that."
"Oh, she did. And she said I was wasting money on having my own apartment here on the Cape for the summer. Obviously, she meant the chunk that's her money."
She shook her head. "But you're a student. You're about to graduate and start your illustrious career at William Rawn. Just one more semester, and you'll be an architect. She must be proud of you for that."
"My dad's proud of me for that, even though it's taken me seven years to finish college and decide on something I actually want to do with my life. My ma, I don't know. Colleen has very traditional ideas about marriage, family, you know, all that stuff. That's what's important to her. By the time my brother was my age, he was married with a baby on the way. I'm almost twenty-six, still single, with nothing on the horizon. It's causing her grief, stress, whatever."
"Maybe you should tell her you're gay," Joey suggested. "Then she'd quit complaining that you don't have a wife."
Colin snorted and then smiled sarcastically. "Somehow, I don't think that would be better news to her. I'm sure coming out of the closet would destroy Colleen. To know her youngest was anything less than perfect, especially so soon after the huge disappointments of her divorce and her eldest son's less than model behavior in his own marriage. Besides" —he shrugged— "there's nothing to tell. I'm not dating anybody right now, male or female."
Her eyes widened in mock horror. "You mean you might be open to dating a woman?"
He shook his head, smirking. "No. I mean I'm nonsexual at the moment. After all these years of hiding it from my family, this would be a strange time to come out." He pursed his lips, thinking, and then a broad smile spread across his face. "But I do love irony," Colin gushed.
"Well, I'd better get out there. You too. Thanks for the snack."
As they entered the dining room, Colin gasped and whispered, "Witters at table seven."
Her coworker looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Turning sharply, Joey saw Sheriff and Mrs. Witter sitting with Doug at table seven in Colin's section.
"Can you take the table?" he asked quietly.
"Me? That's your section. You think I want to go over there? Pacey's parents are the worst. Also, I'm pretty sure they hate me. At least his mother does."
Colin shook his head, panic rising in his usual cool, calm, collected face. "Don't make me wait on them. I'll die."
Knitting her brows curiously, she followed his anguished gaze back to the table and zeroed in on Pacey's older brother. "What's the problem? Is it Doug?"
"Please just cover the table for me, Joey. Please."
She nodded her agreement at Colin, then picked up a bread basket and a bottle of olive oil. She made her way through the crowded restaurant to table seven and placed the basket in the middle of the table.
"Hello," she said in her perfect professional cheerfulness. "I'm Joey. I'll be your waitress today."
Doug greeted her and started to chuckle as Susan Witter looked up at her with surprise. "Well, if it isn't Joanna. How are you, sweetie?"
She clenched her teeth. "Fine, Mrs. Witter."
Before she turned the bottle over to fill their oil dish, Joey made sure the spout was firmly in place. Last weekend, she'd tipped over one of these bottles and the stopper had popped out, flooding the table and a man's lap with olive oil. Not her best afternoon. Marcel almost blew a gasket.
"How are Bessie and Bodie doing, Joey?" John Witter asked politely.
"They're fine, Sheriff. Thanks for asking."
The man's eyes widened slightly at her icy, clipped tone. She'd also never called him anything but 'Mr. Witter' her entire life. Without saying another word, he went back to perusing the food selections.
"Do you have any questions about the lunch menu?" she asked after the oil was safely dispensed.
"What's the soup today?" Doug asked.
Joey started to answer, and then realized she couldn't remember the menu version of the dish at all. All she could remember was Colin's sarcastic joke. She glanced furtively around to assure herself that Marcel was nowhere nearby, then lowered her voice and said, "Our seafood stew."
Doug's eyes held hers for a moment, looking amused. He peered over the menu at his parents. "You guys ready to order?"
"I'm gonna need a minute," his father replied.
Mrs. Witter nodded shortly and ordered in a confident voice. "Citrus-marinated halibut."
"How do you want that cooked?" Joey asked. "Fried, grilled, or broiled?"
"Broiled." Susan Witter handed over her menu looking satisfied with her choice.
Joey turned to Doug.
"What kind of salmon is in the salmon salad?" he asked.
"Wild-caught Alaskan," Joey answered confidently. "All our fish are on the eco-friendly list."
"Then I'll have that." Doug folded his menu and looked up with a warm smile.
Then Mr. Witter spoke up. "I'll have the fried—"
"No," his wife interrupted. "Absolutely not, John. You know what Dr. Davidson said about your heart."
He heaved a patient sigh. "Then I'll take the swordfish, grilled. And I think I'll have a cup of that seafood stew. I know it's one of Bodie's specialties. What I don't know is what in the world happened to the menu here, Joey. I don't know half of these words."
She shrugged. "New manager."
"I think I'd also like a cup of that stew," Doug said, and then Mrs. Witter agreed, wanting one for herself as well.
Joey collected their menus. "Can I get you anything from the bar? A bottle of wine?" she asked.
"No, thanks," Doug replied. "I'm good with water."
Mr. and Mrs. Witter each ordered a beer, and then Joey left the table. She dropped the food order off at the kitchen and then went to the bar. After delivering a bottle of Pinot Grigio to table twelve, she swung by table seven where the Witters were engaged in a serious-looking conversation, which abruptly broke off as she approached. She wordlessly set their ice-cold bottles of beer down on the table, and departed. The next time she visited their table, to deliver the stew, she caught a bit of dialogue before they stopped to wait out her presence.
"Look, Dougie," said Mrs. Witter, her tone decidedly irritated. "Do we really need to open that can of worms? I don't know why we can't just enjoy a meal together without having to bring up—"
Joey picked up the empty beer bottle. "Did you want another?"
"Yes," Susan Witter snapped.
"So, Joey, have you heard from my wandering little brother?" Doug asked with a smile, his tone friendly, conversational.
She swallowed, glancing nervously at his parents. The sheriff breathed a resigned sigh. Mrs. Witter fidgeted with the cloth napkin on her lap. "Yeah, we… we talk all the time."
"And what exciting place has he found himself now?"
"He's in the Virgin Islands."
"Very nice. Do you know where he's off to next?"
She shrugged. "He said something about hoping to go to Mexico and practice his Spanish," she laughed breathlessly. "I think it was probably his favorite subject in school."
"Spanish," John Witter scoffed. "That explains a lot."
His wife smirked. "Maybe if Pacey's favorite subject had been math or science, he'd have some decent prospects. Is it really even necessary for kids to learn Spanish in school? I guess if they want to become dishwashers and gardeners."
Joey stared at the woman with contempt, shocked but not surprised. She glanced at Doug, who'd gone red in face while the sheriff chuckled and nodded in agreement with his wife.
"I take it I have you to thank, Joanne, for encouraging my son to reach for the stars and find himself work… on a boat," Mrs. Witter continued, her voice dripping with disdain. "You were the one who convinced my baby boy to leave Capeside, leave his family, am I right?"
"Well, I—"
"Now, now, Sue," Mr. Witter said, placing his hand on his arm. "We can't blame the girl. Pacey would've done whatever he wanted to do, regardless of what his little girlfriend told him. The boy's as stubborn as a mule. But don't you worry. He'll be back." He looked away from his wife and at Joey. "Don't take it personally. We're all kind of missing Pacey around here. I don't suppose you'd be willing to share his phone number?"
She almost couldn't believe they were pretending as if they actually cared about their youngest son. Or maybe they just missed their favorite punching bag. "I'm sorry, Mr. Witter. I'm not really at liberty to give that out." Taking the empty beer bottles, Joey hurried away from the table before she could say something that would get her in serious trouble with Marcel.
When she returned with two more beers, Susan Witter said, "My son's soup is cold."
"No, no," Doug said with a wave of his hand. "It's fine, Joey."
"You said it was cold," his mother accused.
"Well… it's not exactly hot."
"Sorry," Joey said. "Let me get you another cup and I'll make sure it's hot."
After setting the "not exactly hot" soup down on the busboy's cart, she was pulled in several different directions, taking orders and delivering food and drinks. Table seven was no longer on her mind, not until she carried the tray over with the halibut, swordfish, and salmon salad. She noticed, on her approach, that they were all sitting sullenly across from each other, not looking at each other. It apparently was not a good day for them.
"Here you go," Joey said as brightly as she could to counter the strain. She set the plates on the table.
"What happened to the soup?" Mrs. Witter asked.
"Oh!" Joey said, inwardly cursing. "Sorry. I forgot. I'll go get it right now."
"That's okay," Doug said. "Don't worry about it. Now that the entrée's here, I'll skip the stew."
"I'm really sorry," she apologized again.
He gave her a reassuring smile, his eyes conveying a genuine lack of concern.
"That isn't right," Susan said, staring at her husband's plate.
"That's the swordfish," Joey replied, certain she'd gotten the order right.
Mrs. Witter poked her husband's fish with her fork. "Yes, but he said he wanted grilled. This looks fried to me."
"It's okay, hun. I'll eat it. I'm sure it's good."
"You're not supposed to eat fried foods."
Joey examined the fish, seeing that she was right and feeling a sense of helplessness.
"He can't eat this," Susan announced flatly.
"Okay. I'll take it back." she reached for the plate.
The woman shook her head. "No. We don't want to wait another half hour for it either. Can you find out what this was fried in? Is it butter or corn oil or what? He needs to avoid certain types of fat."
"I'm pretty sure it's canola oil," Joey said.
Susan Witter stared at her for a second, and then her mouth curved into a condescending smile. "I'd like you to check on that to be sure. At this point, I really don't think I can trust you."
Good grief, she thought, and cursed inwardly.
"Mom, come on," Doug said with a frown.
Marcel, who had an uncanny ability to smell trouble, was suddenly standing directly across the table from Joey, one of his murky eyes open wide with curiosity and the other narrowed at her with suspicion. He stood at attention, his black suit perfectly pressed, his right arm bent at the elbow, his left arm straight at his side, posed as if he were a mannequin. Of course, he had been waiting, watching her, expecting her to mess up. She thought she could even see a hint of glee in his eyes.
"Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Witter?" he asked, smiling his phony smile under his ridiculous little mustache.
"She's gotten everything wrong," Susan complained.
"Not everything," John corrected.
"Nothing, really," said Doug. "Everything's fine."
"No, everything is not fine."
"Mom, please," he pleaded.
But Mrs. Witter persisted. "The seafood soup was cold. We sent it back and she forgot to bring a replacement."
Oh no! Joey thought as she heard that damning phrase. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second before opening them to see Marcel staring at her, his face pallid with horror, as if… as if—Joey remembered another one of her mistakes—she had shaved Parmesan cheese over fish! She was sure she had now committed every last one of the seven deadly sins on the seafood restaurant commandment list.
Susan Witter continued her litany of Joey's failings. "And my husband's swordfish was supposed to be grilled, but it was fried."
"Everything else is fine," Doug maintained, and smiled reassuringly at Joey. "And the swordfish is probably not her fault. Just a mix-up in the kitchen, I imagine. Obviously, it's very busy here today—"
"Sea…food soup?" Marcel repeated laboriously, staring accusingly at her.
I'm in really deep shit now, she thought.
The manager heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Go tend to your other customers and I'll take care of this," he hissed at her.
Joey obediently turned and left the table, before hearing him say, "Mr. and Mrs. Witter, I'm so sorry for all the trouble. Let me get you a complimentary bottle of wine."
It wasn't long before she came face to face with Colin in the hallway near the kitchen. "What a total disaster. You owe me big time!" she whispered furiously.
"God, what happened?" Colin's brows shot up.
"Pacey's mom hates my guts. Not to mention the woman's a bigot." She paused. "But I already knew that."
He ran his hand through his thick, wavy reddish-brown hair. "Look, Joey, you're a real lifesav—" He abruptly stopped talking, his eyes widening in shock-horror, before he turned and walked away.
Confused, she turned to see Doug standing there. He looked a bit red in the face, but then he quickly collected himself. It was only now that she'd just noticed he wasn't in uniform—a rare sight for her. "Hi. I'm really sorry—"
"Joey." He put his hand up to stop her. "It's not a big deal. Stop apologizing. My parents aren't having such a good time today. I guess they took it out on you. You know, kick the dog scenario."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better, Doug?"
"Sorry. That was stupid. I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," she sneered. "I'm all too familiar with your parents' kick the dog routine. Only, Pacey is usually the dog in this scenario, isn't he?"
Shoving his hands in his pocket, Doug closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I feel terrible for whatever chain of events my mom's complaints might have possibly caused. You're not gonna be in too much trouble, are you? I mean, you won't get fired?"
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "The new manager would love nothing more than to fire me. Gail and Bodie won't let him. So, don't worry."
"Right."
Her curiosity getting the better of her, she asked the question in spite of herself. "So, why are your parents having a bad day? I would think they'd be in constant good moods since your dad won the election."
"It's Carrie," he sighed. "She's not doing well. She can't take care of herself, let alone her three girls. My nieces are with Gretchen today. Amy suggested our sister get checked into… you know, a facility… to get some help, and even offered to have the girls come stay with her, but of course, Carrie flipped out and had another meltdown. Anyway, my parents aren't believers in that 'therapy and mental health mumbo jumbo,' and they just think Carrie needs to snap out of it. They're trying to help her, in their own way, but my parents aren't really natural caregivers, and… Pacey not being around frustrates them even more because of it."
Her brows knitting, she didn't understand at first how the two were connected, but then she realized. "And they want Pacey to come home and take care of her and the kids, is that it?"
"Well, he has been trying to take care of everyone since he was five years old."
Probably because he was starved of affection, she thought. Anger rose in her chest, but she suppressed it with a sigh. "Yeah, well, I'm not about to call Pacey and ask him to come home, Doug."
"I know you're not, Joey. And I don't want you to."
He apologized again for his parents, and then walked off. Marcel soon appeared, sneering at her, holding out a credit card receipt. "Sheriff Witter… insisted that you receive the tip for the service." The man looked like it seriously pained him to say this to her.
She reached out and took the receipt. Pacey's dad had left her a hundred-dollar tip. Her eyes popped, and she closed her ears to Marcel's heated lecture about proper service and the importance of knowledgeable staff. When he was finished ranting, she hurried to find Colin.
"The Witters tipped me a hundred bucks."
He stared at her in surprise. "What? I thought it was a total disaster?"
"It was!" Then she sighed, frowning. "I think it's guilt money."
"Because they were so rude to you?"
"No. Because of what happened to Pacey." Colin didn't have anything to say to that, and she shrugged. "I don't want the tip. I don't want their money. You take it."
"I can't take it! You worked the table, Joey."
"It was in your section."
"So? I'm not taking tips from a table I had nothing to do with. Never have, never will."
"Well, I don't want it."
His brows arched as he gave her a pointed look. "If you don't take that hundred dollars, you can be sure Marcel will."
She grimaced.
"Put it in your college fund."
A grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. "So, you wanna tell me why you're avoiding Doug Witter like the plague?"
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Colin snitted, unable to look her in the eye as he said so, and then turned on his heel to walk away.
She narrowed her eyes at his departing back, wondering what was going on there.
Joey punched out of work just as Bodie arrived at five o'clock, Dawson walking in the door behind him. Her erstwhile best friend said nothing as he passed by her to punch in, and she ignored him.
He then stopped walking and turned around to face her. "You know, Joey, at some point we have to say something to each other. I mean, I'm willing to talk if you are."
"What would you like me to say, Dawson?"
"What do you want to say?"
"Leave me alone."
With an aggravated sigh, Dawson turned and kept walking to the employee closet-slash-lounge. Then she followed her would-be brother-in-law into the kitchen. He donned his white chef's unform over his Hawaiian shirt with the green palm fronds and pink tropical flowers. She sat on a stool at the counter against the wall and then he served her a steaming bowl of his delicious seafood stew along with some freshly-baked crusty bread.
While she ate and he worked, she filled Bodie in on all that occurred over the course of her shift.
"Marcel is an ass," Bodie admitted. "But he's an intelligent ass who's managed some of the most stressful, and most successful, restaurants on the Cape." He looked up at her and gave her a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry your… interaction… with the Witters was less than positive."
"Well, I certainly don't blame Pacey in the slightest for wanting to get as far away from them as he can. I'll never understand how he turned out… so wonderful. I mean, he had Gretchen, but she was a kid herself. Carrie and Amy moved out the house when he was still in elementary school. Doug has his moments, but he was hard on him, too, and he's nothing like Doug. I know Pacey spent a lot of time at the Leery's house growing up, but still… he's nothing like Mitch, or Dawson."
"No, he isn't," Bodie agreed.
The prep cooks and apprentice chefs busied themselves in the kitchen around her. The evening waitstaff appeared in the kitchen and listened to Bodie's instructions concerning the specials menu. As she watched him take confident command of the kitchen and observed everyone else's rapt attention, their deference and respect for their chef, the clear way he gave directions and the affectionate way he praised their efforts, realization began to dawn.
"Bodie?"
"Yeah, Jo?" he said without looking at her. He tasted some sauce one of the apprentice chefs was working on. "Too salty," he told the young woman.
"After my dad… you know, went away, and you took over running the Ice House with Bessie…"
He finally looked over at her and smiled. "Yeah…?"
She licked her lips, looking around the kitchen. "How often would you say Pacey hung around the place?"
"The Ice House? All the time." His attention was diverted to his apprentice and he again tasted the sauce she was working on. "Too sweet," he told her with a grin. "You're getting there. Keep at it until it's just right."
"Did he ever hang out with you in the kitchen? You know, watch you cook and stuff?" Joey asked.
"Pacey?"
"Yeah."
Bodie thought for a moment. "That's where he mostly hung out. He wasn't exactly a paying customer, so he rarely took a table. He'd just walk back into the kitchen like he owned the place." He laughed at the memory. "At first, I was like, who the hell does this kid think he is? But then Bessie told me it was an old habit that started with your mom and dad."
"Did he ever want to help you out while you worked, or would he just come back there and eat?"
"No, he was always offering to help."
"I don't think you wore a chef's uniform at the Ice House," she said, thinking back.
"Not usually. Just my everyday clothes and an apron."
"Your Hawaiian shirts?"
Bodie laughed. "You're not about to start making fun of my wardrobe choices, are you? I get enough of that from your sister."
Smiling to herself, Joey slid off her stool and carried her empty bowl along with her spoon over to the dish room. She returned to the kitchen. She was still smiling, and she was smiling so hard her cheeks began to hurt. Walking over to stand behind Bodie, she hugged him tight.
Her voice cracked with emotion. "Thank you."
"For what?" he laughed.
"For being you."
He laughed again. Then he smiled. "I almost forgot. Speaking of Pacey…" He pulled out an envelope from his back pocket. "Bessie forgot to get the mail out of the box yesterday."
"From Pacey?" she replied, her eyes going wide with surprise, excitement making her heart pound as she reached for the letter. The envelope was addressed to her, from Pacey, and postmarked Grand Cayman.
"Have you noticed the time, girlie? You're gonna be late… again."
She stepped back, turning sharply to face the large clock high up on the wall. It was almost six. "Oh, shit," she cursed under her breath. Then she thanked Bodie for the food, and rushed out of the kitchen.
After getting out of her uniform in the employee bathroom, she slipped on a pair of jean shorts, a thin-strapped red tank top, and Pacey's Hawaiian shirt that she'd stolen-slash-borrowed. The shirt was patterned in a golden yellow sky with gray clouds and dark palm trees in silhouette. Once she'd changed clothes, she rushed out of the restaurant and into the parking lot, making a mad dash to her truck.
It wasn't the first time Joey had been late for work since she'd gotten the job at the busy twenty-four-hour Shell station on Main Street. To her happy surprise, Will Krudski had recently applied to work there, and he was now her coworker the four days a week she was there. She had only been at the gas station two weeks before another position suddenly, and unexpectedly, opened up.
When she'd first started working the counter inside the station convenience store, she'd worked alongside Scott Farrell, Capeside High graduate of the class of 1999. He'd been working at the station since his junior year of high school. He had covered for her the very first time she was late for work, and she'd known he did it because he found her attractive. He then started covering for her every time, but working late at night alone with Scott soon put her on edge. He asked her out a dozen times at work, each time more aggressive and inappropriate than the last, before she finally complained to their boss.
The resulting termination had caused quite a scene. "You're firing me, Izzy?! Over the new girl?!" Scott had shouted in the office. The door had been left wide open. Thankfully, the only people inside the station at the time had been Joey and Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, an older, hard-of-hearing couple who lived on the creek, just a few houses down from the Witters on Cranberry Lane.
Their boss had lifted her arms in the air and shrugged helplessly. "It's technically sexual harassment, Scott. My hands are tied."
"Bullshit, Izzy! I didn't get fired over Nicole or Laura or the Richardson girl! How come I get fired over Joey Potter? I've been here for three years! She hasn't even been here two weeks! Besides, we're family!"
"Only through marriage."
"You can't fire me, Aunt Izzy! It's not right!"
"Her boyfriend is a Witter! You think I need the sheriff up my ass? Or yours, for that matter? What the hell were you thinking? You're fired, Scotty. I'm sorry. Collect your stuff and leave."
"Fuck you, motherfucker!" he'd screamed as he exited the store for the last time, leaving Joey no doubt that their next family gathering would be a memorable one.
Scott's absence from her shift didn't do much to put her at ease. Working all alone at night, terrified he would come back and get some sort of revenge, almost made her quit. Thankfully, Will Krudski had come to her rescue and applied for the job.
Isabel Forrester came out of her office just as Joey hurried into the gas station. The bell over the door was still dinging when her boss asked her if she was late, clearly certain she was. She stopped up short, not having expected to see her boss on a Sunday. The woman was in her late forties or early fifties, but she dressed and wore her tawny brown hair in a style that was much too youthful. The years hadn't tarnished her looks; her reputation around town was another matter.
"Traffic was crazy downtown," Joey explained in a rush. "The tourists, you know? They don't know how to drive, and they don't know where the hell they're going," she complained knowingly, trying to find common ground with a fellow local who could commiserate with the influx of the summer people. Officially, Capeside had a population of just over six thousand. In the summer months, that number swelled to somewhere around an oppressive twenty-five thousand.
Isabel's dark gaze swept over her, noticing everything and all but making Joey squirm under the scrutiny. "Maybe if you spent less time prettying yourself up to spend six hours in a gas station, you'd get here on time."
She looked down at herself and frowned. Jean shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and tennis shoes? And she knew whatever little makeup she'd applied that morning before her shift at Leery's Fresh Fish would be mostly faded by now.
"Come on, Isabel," Will said in his warmest, friendliest tone. "She was rushing to get over here from her other job. She's busting her ass to get here on time. Cut her some slack."
Their boss softened in the face of Will's smile, and she almost smiled at him in return. "Today. You better not be late ever again."
Joey seethed as the female troll returned to her office, mainly because she knew where the remark about her looks had come from. Ever since Izzy had fired her nephew, she'd taken to making snide insinuations that made it sound as if she thought Joey had led Scott on, or encouraged his advances. Utter bullshit.
The second their boss went back inside the office, a customer sidled up to the counter. Will handled the transaction while Joey punched in and placed her bag on the shelf under the counter. "God, why is she here on a Sunday?" she muttered when the customer left.
"She said she had to do inventory on the first of the month."
She heaved a resigned sigh. "Right."
The next half-hour went by kind of slow. Isabel had left her office door open and they could hear her sorting through folders and papers and whatever else.
"So, have you heard from Pacey?" Will asked.
"Yeah. He called me today, actually. Left a couple messages."
"How's he doing?"
"He's… he's great. He's having a blast. He's learning a lot and getting to see new places, new people. He's… making friends, which of course, is very easy for him."
Will laughed to himself. "Pacey could charm the birds out of the trees."
Or the pants off any woman he put his mind to, she thought with a frown, as the name Melanie started swirling inside her mind. Then she rolled her eyes, inwardly berating herself.
Eyeing her, brows furrowing, Will smirked. "What's with the face?"
"It's nothing. It's stupid."
"I doubt it's stupid, and I doubt it's nothing."
"Believe me, you'd think it's stupid, too."
"Try me."
She shot a furtive glance at the open office door. Her boss was still rummaging around in there, albeit not as loudly as before. "Well, there's this girl—this woman—he's become friends with. Melanie. She's blonde and filthy rich and… and older. She goes to law school. Pacey talks about her all the time. It's in a completely friendly way, though. He hasn't said anything to make me think…" Her voice trailed off as she inwardly berated herself again.
"So, you know, it's stupid. Pacey isn't a cheater or a liar. I know I can trust him."
"It's not stupid. No heart that loves is entirely immune to suspicion."
Her brows knitted and she laughed. "Did that come from a book, or something?"
He smiled, nodding his head. "Iron Will by Charles Neville Buck, 1927."
"That sounds obscure."
"I went through this phase in middle school where I constantly went to the library and started venturing out of the kids' section. I loved the smell of old books. The title caught my eye… you know…" He chuckled.
She nodded in understanding, giving him a generous smile. "Ah." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, there isn't even suspicion. I'm not suspicious. I honestly don't think I could ever lose Pacey to another girl. He's completely devoted to me, he's completely monogamous.
"I think it's what Melanie represents. You know, that life. The yachts and the mansions and the global traveling and the wealthiness of it all. It's a life he could probably have if he went after it. If he availed himself of everything the Moore family possibly has to offer.
"You know, and then there's me. Impoverished girl from the creek who's going to barely pay for college by the skin of her teeth. I don't belong in that world, in a life like that. So, he'll never have that kind of life with me, and if he eventually decides that's the life that he wants..." She sighed. "There are things out there that are way better than me."
Will shook his head. "Better in whose opinion? I highly doubt Pacey's."
She smiled, her cheeks blushing pink. "He really loves me, doesn't he?"
"You're all he talks about." He laughed. "You're all he's ever talked about, for as long as I can remember. You and Dawson. Yeah, you know, I'd call him up on the phone once in a while over the years, just to chat and catch up, and it was always Joey this, and Joey that." He laughed again.
She chewed her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from grinning like a fool. It didn't work.
Just then the manager's office door shut, diverting their attention, and Isabel started walking towards them, her purse over her shoulder. The woman's face had a malevolent glow. "Women should know better when it comes to men. None of them are faithful. None. You should know that better than anyone, Miss Potter. How is Mike doing these days? Have you been to visit him lately? Tell him Izzy says hello, the next time you do."
Her face burning, Joey took a breath, remembering what the woman was: a troll posing as a human being. She contained her anger as her boss walked out the door.
"What was that about?" Will asked, clearly confused.
"How should I know?" she quickly replied, turning to hide her face from him. "That woman is a witch."
Will seemed to know she wanted the subject dropped, and also to be left alone, as he moved out from behind the counter to retrieve the mop and bucket. She gazed out the large glass windows as a convertible filled with laughing, bikini-clad beach bunnies pulled up in front of the station convenience store. Joey took a deep breath and tried hard to force her face into a smile as she heard the bell ding over the door. It was going to be a long night of selling candy, beer, and cigarettes.
When Will finished mopping, Joey suddenly remembered the letter that was in her bag. "Hey, do you mind if I go out back and take a break?"
"Nah. It's slow right now."
Taking the letter from her bag, she went into the break room and sat down at the Formica table. She ripped open the envelope, pulled out several pieces of folded lined paper, and began to read.
Joey,
I know we've been talking every day, but I thought I would write. I've got a 4-day sea journey coming up and we'll be out of touch. I didn't want you to go that long without hearing from me. The guy at the post office said it takes about 7 - 10 days for mail to get to the U.S. I'm crossing my fingers.
Anyway, you are on my mind every day. I miss you so much and long to be with you, to touch you and hold you. You make me feel so happy when I'm with you, and good about myself. Something I never thought I'd say. But nothing makes me happier, or makes me feel as good, as when I'm making you happy. That's the most important thing in the world to me. That you be happy.
I know this summer apart has been really hard on you, and it's not even half over. It's been hard for me, too, but I think worse for you. Because you're stuck in Capeside and I know how suffocating that is, probably more than most people. But I want you to try to have some fun. There's lots of stuff happening all over the Cape all summer long. I know you're working like crazy, but it wouldn't kill you to enjoy yourself, too. Are you painting at least? You should paint! All work and no play makes Jo a dull girl.
I'm dying for the day I get back to you. But for now, you're in my dreams, and I see your face every night in the stars. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Have I told you lately that you're the smartest, most interesting, and most wonderful person on the planet? Because you are. I love everything about you.
(Well… except your taste in music. I mean, come on, Jo. You're still listening to that angry chick rock you were listening to 4 years ago. Does Gwen Stefani still have to be so whiny? She's rich and famous! You need to broaden your tastes. I am determined to help you develop a keen ear for good music, if it's the last thing I do. Can I make a request that you play some Zeppelin or Pink Floyd sometime this summer and think of me?)
Joey started laughing and rolled her eyes. Then she turned the page over.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I love everything about you. I love your face, your hair, your legs (GOD!), your breasts — they are perfect! I love the cute, innocent way you smile when you look up at me when we're in your bed. It's a completely different smile than when we're in my bed. I don't know how to explain it. I love the way you kiss me. I can feel just how much you love me when you kiss me. I love the way I feel when I'm with you. I like who I am when I'm with you.
I love to feel your skin. It's so soft. I love the taste and feel of your nipples in my mouth. It's comforting and a huge turn on at the same time. I love the way you respond, the way you squirm and arch up all rigid, almost as if I could make you come just from working your nipples. We'll have to try that sometime.
Your flat belly is so sexy as I work my way down from your breasts. I've never been with anyone like you, or felt the way I do when I'm with you. I love the soft mound between your legs. I love the hair on your pussy, sinking my fingers into it. Don't ever shave. I love the way your pussy squeezes my fingers, hot and tight and greedy.
I love the way you taste. I love the way you smell. You are so hot inside. I love the way you let me eat you. I love the way your little clitoris pulsates and swells when I lick it just right. I love the way you explode, the way you sound when you come, the way you grip my hair, the way you get so damn wet. You taste so much sweeter afterwards. And I love what you do to my cock with your throat. When you swallow me, it drives me crazy. I am hopelessly addicted to you.
I want to hold you tight, and with just a slight movement of my hips, feel the soft, wet heat of your pussy as you envelop my cock. I love the way you whimper because it feels so good. I love the way you feel around me, like you're mine and I'm yours, like I'm only whole when I'm inside you. I love every second I spend inside you and every second I spend touching you, and Jesus, Joey, I fucking need you. I love feeling you come. Nothing in the whole world feels better than being bare inside your pussy when you come. I love the way you moan and scream and whisper my name. I love the way you make me come so hard that I forget my name and the only one I can think of is yours.
And I love how considerate you are when you wait for me to catch my breath before asking me to have sex again.
It's not just the physical stuff, of course. Although that's awesome. I love how bright and talented you are. I love that you're loyal as a dog (that's a good thing), and always stick up for yourself and your family and friends. I love that spunky kid inside you that stole that bottle of champagne that night on the beach in North Carolina. I love the fun, carefree side of you that likes to get drunk and play strip poker. I love the sarcastic, tough girl act you use to hide your big, sweet, sappy heart.
I love you. I love everything about you.
I'm going to bed. There's something very hard that I need to take care of right now. I'm sure if you were here, just one touch of your soft fingers and I'd explode inside my pants.
Take care of yourself, Jo. Try to have some fun. Sleep tight. Dream of me. I'll talk to you as soon as I can.
Always and forever yours,
Pacey
Joey returned out front to find Will standing behind the counter, ringing up some teenagers who were paying for gas along with some soda and candy bars. The kids walked out and he turned to look at her. His eyes popped.
"Why is your face all red?" Will asked.
"Is it? Oh, well, it got really warm back there in the break room," she replied, averting her gaze from his, before walking over to the coffee machines to check the pots.
It was after midnight when Joey crawled her freshly showered body into bed. She was exhausted. Curled up under her sheet, she dialed Pacey's number, hoping he truly had stayed up to wait for her call.
"Hi, Jo."
Her heart swelled with strong emotion and relief. "Hi, Pacey. I miss you so much."
"I miss you, too. It's been a lonely few days without you."
"For me, too. How was your day?"
"Good. Busy. Mao showed me how to make some French dish I still have no idea how to pronounce. I'm now sitting out on the sun deck all by myself. The Moores are all staying in some fancy hotel on the island. James might be thinking of buying it. I don't know. Anyway, it's so quiet out here, just me and the stars. How was your day, sweetheart?"
She heaved a frustrated, exhausted, stressed out sigh, and rolled her eyes up at her bedroom ceiling.
"Are you okay, Joey?"
She suddenly felt like crying, and Pacey showing concern made the emotion even stronger. Tears pricked her eyes, but she sucked it in, and got her breathing under control. "I'm fine. My day was… well, just your typical day in the life of Joey Potter the Serving Wench here in Capeside, Mass."
"That great, huh?"
She snorted.
"Did you happen to get a letter in the mail, by any chance?"
Blushing, she turned to look at the envelope on her bedside stand. "Why, yes, I did, Pacey Witter."
"And?"
She could hear the big smile in his voice. "I loved it. It was exactly what I needed to hear after the day I had. Thank you. I love everything about you, too."
"I'm sorry you had a bad day, Jo. I wish I was there with you. I would climb in bed next to you and wrap my arms around you and kiss you and hold you until you fell asleep."
"Sleep? Is that all we would do, Pace?"
He chuckled. "Well, we wouldn't have to sleep if you didn't want to."
"What would we do?"
"Josephine Potter, are you trying to start something?"
"Maybe. Your letter got me all hot and bothered, which wasn't helpful at work, let me tell you."
"Are you in bed?" His voice lowered, and the husky sound caused her to put everything else out of her mind.
"Yes."
"Are you naked?"
"No, but I can be." She slid out of her underwear and tossed them to the floor, before lying back on the bed. The sexual animal in him was definitely speaking to the animal she never knew she had before she fell in love with him.
"Touch your clit for me," he whispered. "You feel my fingers?"
"Yes."
"I'm rubbing it."
"Uh huh."
"I'm sliding a finger inside your pussy. It's so hot and wet. Then I put another one in and feel you tighten around me. Damn, Jo, you feel so good."
Phone sex was nowhere near a replacement for the real thing, but it was just the fun diversion she needed to relax and fall asleep with a mind free from stress and worries. She indulged in the desire, closing her eyes to the sound of Pacey's sweet, sexy voice in her ear. Reality would be waiting for her in the morning.