<< Go Back

Finding You

By Robin Patchen

Order Now!

Every major decision Bryan Wright had made since he was seven years old was based on lies, each new one an extension of the one before. They felt true and solid, stacked like bricks in a wall between the life he was meant to live and the life he’d settled for.
He was tearing that wall down now—trying to anyway. Which meant everything was changing.
What would happen when the last bricks were tossed away?
Who would he be? Who did he want to be?
And why was he pondering the questions today? It was Wednesday, the first of his five-day Thanksgiving break. He planned to stay with his parents tonight so he wouldn’t have to make the drive south again tomorrow. He was in no hurry to return to his rental house near the Bowdoin campus.
The holiday traffic from Brunswick, Maine, to Shadow Cove had added fifteen minutes to what was normally an hour-long ride, making him late for lunch. Fortunately, he snagged a decent parking spot right around the corner from Webb’s Harborside and, umbrella in hand, walked as quickly as his bum leg would take him. He’d left his cane in the backseat. He used it when he had to, but if he could manage without, all the better.
The rain had let up in the last few minutes, but as he crossed a narrow side street, fat plops landed on his head. He opened the umbrella.
The sidewalks were mostly deserted, but he saw through the restaurant’s windows that the family restaurant overlooking the Atlantic was packed anyway. Halfway up the walkway to the door, a blonde stood alone, hunched over, arms crossed, clearly freezing. She had a phone pressed to her ear. She wore jeans and a teal turtleneck sweater.
“That’s not the point,” she said. “You had no right—”
The rain picked up, but the woman didn’t move.
“You’re the one who broke in.” She paused, then said, “So you say, but how can I…?”
Obviously, this wasn’t a conversation she wanted anyone overhearing. But the temperature hovered in the mid-thirties, and the rain wasn’t exactly warm.
It was a cheap umbrella. Bryan could get another.
He approached her, catching her eye about ten feet away.
She tilted her head to the side, looking more curious than annoyed at the interruption.
He held out the umbrella. “Keep it.”
“Oh.” She smiled and…wow. She was slender, five-seven or five-eight, with curly blond hair and striking gray eyes. She wore jeans, a teal sweater, and big silver hoop earrings. Standing outside without a jacket in November proved her intellect was more summary than analysis, but what she lacked in IQ points, she made up for in beauty.
She took the umbrella. “Thank you.”
He started to respond, but she looked down again. “No, not you. I wasn’t talking…” Lifting the umbrella over her head, she returned her attention to the person on the other end of the line. “Listen, you need to stop…”
Bryan hurried up the handicap ramp. Hair only slightly damp, he pulled open the exterior door to find the breezeway packed with people. Inside, the area in front of the host’s station was just as crowded with men, women, and children sitting on benches, leaning against walls, blocking the way. No sign of Bryan’s brothers, so they must’ve snagged a table already. He made his way past the throng and searched the dining room.
There they were, seated at a round table with six chairs near the stone fireplace in the center of the restaurant. He headed that way, skirting diners and barely dodging a server carrying a tray of drinks before stopping behind one of two empty chairs. “Sorry I’m late.”
Michael, second-oldest of the Wright brothers, stood and shook his hand. He was a shade shorter than Bryan’s six-one. Though, to hear Mom tell it, all the brothers were the same height, even though they all claimed to be a little taller than the rest. “Glad you made it. I know it’s a drive.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” After shaking Michael’s hand, Bryan greeted Leila, Michael’s fiancée, with a kiss to her cheek, then her twin sister, Jasmine. As tall as the Wright brothers were, these sisters were petite. Not a millimeter over five feet, he doubted either one weighed a hundred pounds. They both had long, silky black hair and wide, almond-shaped eyes. They were gorgeous, though Bryan wasn’t interested. A good thing because, within about seconds of meeting the other twin, Derrick had fallen a little bit in love.
Bryan shook Derrick’s hand—the youngest brother, who of course had taken the chair next to Jasmine’s.
Derrick gave him his trademark happy-go-lucky grin. “Finally. I’m starved.”
“You didn’t have to wait.” Bryan draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat, enjoying the warmth of the fire just a few feet away. “Where’re Sam and Eliza? They’re coming, right?”
“Levi’s got a cold.” Michael had settled between the twins again. “Eliza told Sam to come anyway, that they’d survive without him for a couple of hours, but you know how he is.”
Bryan didn’t, not really. He didn’t see his brothers often enough.
Michael explained. “Sam missed so much of Levi’s life already, and he refuses to miss anything else.”
Huh. Bryan didn’t figure a four-year-old’s sniffles could be that interesting. The old Sam wasn’t exactly involved in the lives of others. The fact that he wouldn’t leave his newly found son when Levi was sick said a lot about how much Sam had changed.
Bryan grabbed the arm of the empty chair beside him. The jacket draped over the back must belong to one of the sisters. “We probably ought to tell the server we don’t need this. The place is packed.”
Derrick said, “Actually—”
“Sorry!” The voice came from behind, and Bryan twisted.
It was the woman from outside, the blonde. His umbrella hung from her wrist by the strap.
Bryan stood. “You could’ve kept it.”
The rest of his brothers stood as well. Mom would be proud to see the manners she’d hammered into her boys.
She met his gaze. “I’m guessing you’re Bryan.”
“Uh…”
“You didn’t know?”
Since he had no idea what she was talking about, he felt confident saying, “Nope.”
She held out the umbrella. “Do you make it a habit of giving your umbrellas to total strangers?”
“Do you make a habit of standing in the freezing rain without a jacket?”
He’d expected a grin, maybe a laugh. But her pretty smile wavered. “Extenuating circumstances. I thought it would be a short conversation. It should’ve been a short conversation. Anyway”—she stuck out her hand—“Sophia Chapman. Sophie.”
He shook her hand. Her fingers were ice cold, and he had the crazy thought that he should keep ahold of them and warm them up for her. But he didn’t. “Everything okay?”
“Apparently, someone broke into my apartment.”
“Dang. What’d they get?”
Her lips slid into a frown. “It appears they took nothing.”
“Uh, then how do you—?”
“My ex. Apparently, he’s been ‘watching’ the place for me.” She made air quotes with her fingers.
That explained the contentious conversation.
Sophie’s smile seemed to take some effort. “It’s not important. I appreciate the umbrella.”
Bryan pulled out the empty chair, which was obviously meant to be hers. After she’d sat, he and his brothers did the same.
“Sophie is my friend,” Leila said in her Arabic accent. “We met in Germany. She was visiting her parents in California.” Leila focused on Sophie. “What is the place called again?”
“Orange County. Irvine, to be specific.”
“I knew it was a color.” Leila smiled at her, then spoke to Bryan again. “She flew here to meet Jasmine and see where I am living on her way back.”
“I wish the weather were a little less…typical.” Bryan nodded toward the wall of windows streaked with rain. “I guess you can be thankful it isn’t snowing. Yet.” Though the forecast suggested the temperature would drop tonight. Meteorologists had predicted the first snowfall of the season.
“I’ve lived in Northern Europe for years.” Sophie held her hands toward the flames dancing just a few feet away. “Your weather doesn’t scare me.”
“You’re tougher than most California girls, I guess.”
“You have no idea.” Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the firelight, which highlighted flecks of green and gold.
Wow.
They gave a server their drink orders and scanned the menu. Bryan had been at this restaurant a few times before and chose the first thing that caught his eye—fish and chips—then set the menu aside.
Sophie seemed to be reading every word. She glanced up and caught him watching.
Whoops.
“What do you recommend?” she asked.
“You’re in Maine, so…lobster.”
“Done.” She set the menu down.
After they ordered their meals, the women carried the conversation, Leila telling Sophie about all the things she’d seen in Maine since she’d moved here. She spoke about the rolling hills and rocky coastline as if they were amazing attractions. And she told her friend about the new job she’d just started, running a retreat center that, apparently, Sam owned. Bryan hadn’t known anything about that.
Sophie questioned Jasmine, the quieter sister, about her life and how she was liking America. Jasmine explained things she found intriguing—like the Walmart Supercenter in Scarborough. “You can get anything you want, all in the same store. They have televisions and food and clothing and toys.” Her voice was filled with awe, her accent much thicker her sister’s. Considering she’d never left Iraq until a few weeks before, her English was excellent. “All packaged up with pretty colors. We spent an hour there, and still I did not see everything. Do they have these in Orange County?”
Sophie didn’t laugh or tease at all. “We do. And Super Targets as well.”
“What is…Target? This is a store, like Walmart?” She turned not to her sister, but to Derrick.
“I’ll take you there if you like,” he said. “There’s one in Portland.”
She smiled, the expression both hopeful and shy. “I would like, very much.”
It might be November, but romance was blooming—at least on Derrick’s part. Hopefully, Jasmine returned his feelings. There was something about her that made Bryan wonder. She seemed…reticent. No, that didn’t cover it. It was that plus something else.
Fearful, maybe. Which would make sense.
She and Leila were both in danger from the men who’d hunted them across two continents. But the twin sisters were well hidden in this little Maine town. Surely, even if the terrorists somehow figured out where they were, they wouldn’t be able to get into the States, right? Their names had to be on watch lists.
Of course, anybody could waltz across the border these days. So, there was that.
Perhaps fear was all Bryan was reading in the shy sister’s expression. He definitely saw affection for his brother.
In which case, great. Bryan was happy for them.
He was.
Wasn’t Derrick’s fault that Bryan hadn’t a met a woman who interested him in years. And the last one had turned out to be so uninteresting he could barely remember her name.
Their meals were delivered, seafood and onion rings and french fries piled high all around the table.
Sophie’s lobster, shiny and red, was a beauty.
Sophie looked at him with wide eyes, though not wide with wonder, he guessed.
“You have had lobster before, right?”
“Of course.” But the quick shake of her head indicated the opposite. “I’ve tasted it, you know, in bisque. And sandwiches and salads. But it’s never come”—she gestured to her plate—“like that. It’s not exactly prevalent in Southern California. Or Germany. I expected, you know, meat. On the plate. Ready to eat like…like everything else a person would order in a restaurant.” She gazed at the other meals—burgers, fried fish, soup for Jasmine. Yup, all ready to eat.
“You’re in for a treat,” Bryan said.
She leaned away from at her meal like it might bite. In her defense, with its eyes open, its claws aimed as if preparing to defend itself, it did look a little menacing.
He couldn’t help the chuckle. “Would you like some help?”
Her gaze flicked to his fish and chips. “Do you want to trade?”
“No way am I depriving you of an authentic New England experience.” From the table, he plucked the bib the server had left for her. “Put this on.”
She unfolded it and held the thin plastic in front of her, smirking at the cartoon lobster. “You’re not serious.”
“Unless you want to ruin that pretty sweater.”
“Fine.” She tied the straps around her neck. “I don’t think this can protect me if that thing goes on the attack.”
On her other side, Michael looked away, stifling a laugh. He cleared his throat. “I’ll pray for us, and then we can dig in.” He asked God to bless their food, then added, “And protect poor Sophie from her dangerous crustacean.” Which brought a guffaw from Derrick.
The group echoed his amen. All but Sophie, who didn’t seem a bit amused.
“You can do this,” Bryan said. “Start by gripping the tail in one hand and the body in the other.” Bryan inched closer and reached to demonstrate—not actually touching the shell. “Then twist your hands in opposite directions and pull the pieces apart.”
When she looked at him, her eyes seemed a little wider. Her pink lips puffed out in a pout. “Maybe you could just do it for me?”
Oh, man. Where did women learn to do that…that flirty, help me thing? Were they born with the ability? Did she even know what she was doing?
He was tempted to agree, just to see her smile.
But he’d been resisting tempting women for years. How many pretty coeds had used similar looks in the quest for a better grade. Couldn’t you just add a few points, bring it up to an A so I can keep my perfect GPA?
He told those coeds no. He could say no to Sophie. “How will you learn if I do it for you?”
“Why do I need to learn if I’m never going to do this again?”
“Maybe you’ll love it.”
She groaned, which told him she doubted that very much, but she gripped the lobster as he’d said and separated the body from the tail, exposing the beautiful white meat.
She dropped the two pieces and backed away. “Ew, what’s that green stuff?”
“That’s lobster too.” He couldn’t help the humor in his voice. “It’s called the tomalley. It’s intestines.”
Her face scrunched. “Disgusting.”
“I hate to tell you this, Sophie, but every animal you eat has intestines.”
“I prefer my meat to come on styrofoam trays from the grocery store. Or like”—she gestured to his fish—“that.”
“But this is going to be so much better. Twist off the claws and knuckles, then break them apart.” Again, he demonstrated, and she did what he said, setting the pieces aside. “Good. Now, grab the tail like this.” He put his hands over it, thumbs on one long edge, fingers on the other. “Squeeze until it cracks. Move down the length and keep squeezing until you’ve cracked it all the way.” She did, then opened the shell and dropped the meat onto her plate.
“Well done.”
“What’s next?” She must’ve forgotten to be horrified because she grinned at him.
He explained how to crack open the claws and knuckles with the nutcracker, then watched as she separated the meat from the shell.
“Good.”
She moved the white meat to one side of her plate, the empty shells to the other. “The meat looks good, once you get it free.”
“The best things in life are found on the other side of fear.”
“And ickiness?” By the way one corner of her mouth ticked up, she was barely containing a grin.
“You can suck the meat out of the legs.” He picked one of them up, squeezing it with his fingers, though the stubborn meat stayed inside. “You’ll need to use your teeth. It’s kind of like…like sucking toothpaste from a tube.”
“There’s a lovely picture. Help yourself.”
“We’ll see. Maybe you’ll decide to try it. Now, for the body… a lot of people skip it altogether. You just separate the shell from the meat.” She did, exposing a little meat, all the gills, and a lot more intestines. “You want to avoid the gills.”
“What about”—she gestured to the tomalley—“that stuff?”
“Some say it’s the best part.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I think it’s disgusting.”
She laughed, the sound light and fresh, a sound he wanted to hear again.
Sophie Chapman. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be forgetting her name.
Except…she lived in Europe.
With her fork, she shoved the tomalley over to join the discarded shells. “And the rest of this?” She poked at the body.
“You have to dig out the meat.” Which was mixed in with more intestines and gills and membranes.
“I see why people skip it.” She added the whole thing to the pile of trash. “That was a lot of work.”
“Trust me. It’s worth it. Go ahead.” He gestured to a piece of meat from the tail. “Dip it in the butter and…”
She did, then placed the bite in her mouth.
Her eyes closed. She moaned, loudly enough for the whole table to hear. Bryan figured he was the only one who heard it to his bones.
Her hand stayed by her mouth, and a drop of butter dripped down her long fingers toward her wrist. There was something about that slick butter, and her moan, and the pleasure on her face, that…
Okaaaay.
He forced his gaze away. He needed to focus on…anything else.
Michael gave him a look that said he saw, and he knew exactly what Bryan was thinking. He nodded toward the table.
Right. Eat. There was nothing sexy about fish.
Bryan’s fried haddock was excellent, the skinny french fries crisp and salty. But suddenly, he had a strong craving for lobster.

Order Now!

<< Go Back