Finding You by Daphne Elliot

2

DECLAN

It had beena long day at work. Winters were hard—there was little sunlight, and storms made navigating to and from our fishing grounds even more treacherous. People got sick, people got depressed, and everything got exponentially more difficult to manage. Our business continued to grow, and all the pressure rested squarely on my shoulders. I was in charge of protecting the legacy built by my great-grandfather, and sometimes, I dragged that legacy around like a weight. Today was one of those days. I was driving home, listing to some Arcade Fire and looking forward to seeing my dog, Ginger, when my phone rang. I clicked the Bluetooth link on my steering wheel. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. How was your day?” My mother was relentlessly cheerful and organized. She had to be, raising three wild boys. She sounded sweet, but underneath that sweetness was a steely backbone that we knew not to mess with.

“Great, Mom. How’s Dad doing?” My dad had suffered a massive heart attack back in November. He was improving every day but still faced a long recovery. My mom managed his health like a general, so I had a lot of faith he would be back to his old self soon.

“Your father is a pain in my behind, but other than that he’s great. They have him walking on a treadmill at physical therapy now. He’s ahead of schedule!”

“That’s great, Mom.”

“And I know it’s because of the plant-based diet we’re doing. You should consider it, sweetie. We both feel amazing. And I am so regular.”

“Mom, please. TMI. Just stop.” If I didn’t stop this line of conversation soon, who knows what kind of awkward questions she could start asking me.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I brought it up.”

“I am actually just driving home from work, Mom. Anything you need?”

“Oh no, sweetie, I just wanted to say hello. I am so sorry you were stuck working late.”

“It’s fine. Business has been great, so I’ve been busy.”

“But while I have you. I was at the salon today getting my hair done, and I ended up chatting with Mrs. Zimmerman in the waiting area. Do you remember the Zimmermans, sweetie? They lived in town for a while and then moved to the South Shore. After retirement, they came back. She was filling me in on her kids. Her son, Bruce—I think he was a year or two below you in school—he just got married to a woman he met on some website called Bumble. Have you heard of it?”

And here we go. Annie Quinn could not keep her nose out of my dating life. “I haven’t, Mom.”

“You should go home and google it. It’s apparently for people who want to meet their special someone. Not for hookups. Like that Timber.”

“It’s Tinder, Mom.”

“Whatever.” I could hear the disdain in her voice. “Anyway, I would sign you up, but I am no good with technology. So you can do it later tonight?”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I’m cut out for that sort of thing.”

“Nonsense. Sweetie, you are going to do great. You are so handsome, the girls will be lining up to go on dates with you. Especially if you get a haircut. So you’ll do it? Awesome.” Typical Mom, steamrolling me every chance she got.

Suggesting I join a dating site was at least marginally better than the blind date she set me up on last month. She twisted my arm into meeting Stacy, a realtor from West Haven, who my mom met at a meditation workshop. I met her for dinner, and within five minutes it was clear we both wanted out. Stacy was twenty-five and obsessed with TikTok. She babbled on and on about followers and engagement and how her real goal was to be an “influencer,” whatever the fuck that was. I tried to feign interest but gave up by the time my dinner arrived. It felt like I was talking to a member of another species. At one point she whipped a small light box out of her massive purse so she could light her dinner better for the photo she was taking. Going out with her confirmed what I had long suspected—that I was only interested in women over thirty.

Yet as soon as my mom brought up dating, my mind flashed to a woman I saw this morning. I was out for my morning run in the cold, and I saw a gorgeous woman walking down my street. I had never seen her before. It was dark so I couldn’t make out a lot of her features, but she was tall, with mile-long legs, and wore a large red knit hat. We made eye contact briefly while I jogged by, and I felt something strange happening in my chest. I returned to my run and went about my day, but now, heading home and hearing my mother nag me about my lack of girlfriend, my mind wandered to her. Who was she? Did she live nearby? Maybe she was just visiting? And why did I care? I saw good-looking women all the time and never spared them a second thought.

I turned into my driveway, and the automatic lights flipped on. In the window, I could see Ginger, my sweet dog, looking for me. I usually brought her to work, but today I had meetings with some suits so I had to leave her at home. The odds were pretty good she was pissed at me and would let me know it, but I was still happy to see my girl.

We had been together almost eight years. I found her at a kill shelter in Virginia after my honorable discharge from the navy. I was twenty-seven, had known nothing but military life, and desperately needed a friend. I walked into the shelter and saw dozens of happy, affectionate dogs, but Ginger caught my eye.

She was guarded and wary, even for a puppy. The volunteer at the shelter told me that no one wanted to adopt her because she wasn’t friendly. That stuck with me. I wasn’t friendly either. We formed a tentative friendship and have been inseparable ever since.

Ginger was a cat in the body of a dog. She was aloof, didn’t easily give affection, and preferred to do her own thing. Most of the time she acted like I was annoying her with my presence. But she was loyal, protective, and the best roommate a guy could ask for. When I adopted her, they said she was a poodle mix and would likely be medium sized. They were wrong. Ginger was over seventy pounds of badass with soft gray fur. She got monthly haircuts at the fancy pet place in town, because I only wanted the best for my girl.

I dropped my bag and keys and hung up my coat. The house was warm and welcoming, but sparse, just how I liked it. This area of town, a tiny peninsula overlooking a rocky ocean bluff, was prime waterfront real estate. For decades it had been a campground with rows of tidy cottages and areas for fires, volleyball courts, and horseshoe pits. The family that owned it, the Lawsons, decided to sell a few years back, and hating slick real estate developers, insisted on selling the plots individually to people they knew and liked. One of the Lawsons’ grandsons worked for me on one of my boats and put in a good word. They sold me an acre at the end of the peninsula for a song, and I got to work building my dream house. In fact, there were only three other homes on the street, mostly smaller cottages and craftsman-style bungalows. It was quiet and secluded, and I loved it here.

I was just filling Ginger’s food dish and debating what to cook for dinner when my phone pinged. Another text from my older brother, Callum.

Callum: Coming out tonight? Grabbing drinks at the Whale with some friends.

I loved Callum. He was probably my best friend. But there was no way in hell I was going out to the Whale on a Thursday night. The Tipsy Whale was a local bar where most Havenport locals hung out. Thursday nights were jam-packed, and I wanted no part of that. The last thing I needed tonight was to see a ton of people I know and be forced to make small talk over the sounds of loud pop music. No, thank you.

I decided to text him back and make sure he got the message. I sent him a photo of my middle finger next to a glass of whiskey I had just poured myself. That should do it.

My older brother, while my best friend, was also my complete opposite. He was the clean-cut corporate type who loved to socialize and have a good time. He was polite and outgoing and beloved in this town. He was a great student, athlete, and citizen. He couldn’t walk down the street without multiple people saying hello. He fundraised for charity, volunteered as a coach at the high school, and was the kind of all-around good guy that everyone loved. But recently something had been going on with him. He wasn’t exactly himself. I don’t know if it had to do with Liam getting engaged on New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t sure.

My younger brother getting engaged was wonderful. We loved Cece and she was so good for him. Seeing them together, it was so beautiful. They really understood and loved each other. And they had to get through some stuff before it worked out—but it was worth it. Seeing them together was sometimes difficult. I had recently begun to experience a weird feeling around them. I wasn’t jealous, per se. It was more a longing. A longing for that love, that support—the satisfaction of knowing you’d found your person out there in the big wide world and your life was better for it. Maybe Cal had been feeling this too? I could try to talk to him, but that wasn’t really our style. We were more the drink too much and work out too hard instead of dealing with our feelings type.

I had been on my own for a long time. And I liked it. I loved my home, I liked my job, and I had Ginger. My family was nearby, and I always had the wacky, loving town of Havenport if I needed them. Things were stable, they were good. I had no complaints. Given my personality and my dislike of socializing, I was likely going to die alone a grumpy, old bachelor, and I was generally fine with that.

I was pretty lucky that I didn’t have to try very hard to attract women. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found the quiet, surly type can sometimes attract ladies like moths to a flame. I’ve dated, had flings, and a couple of one-night stands. I’ve always enjoyed women, and it seems like they enjoy spending time with me. But nothing has really stuck. I haven’t met anyone I could see myself settling down with. For good reason. I’m a grumpy, moody pain in the ass. I wouldn’t marry me, so how could I expect some poor woman to?

This weirdness was compounded by the constant, yet loving, nagging from my mother. Now that Liam had “settled down,” in her words, by popping the question, she wanted to see Cal and me “settled” too. This meant frequent and unsubtle hints about dating. In her defense, she was stuck at home with my father, so it wasn’t surprising that she busied herself with trying to engineer our happily ever afters.

So what if I was thirty-five and happily single? I was employed, I owned my home, and I didn’t live in her basement and play video games all day. Most mothers would think I was a prize. My mother acted like I was the sad spinster of the family. It wasn’t a shock, as I was generally the black sheep of my family. My parents were loving and supportive, but I found it challenging to live up to their expectations at times.

I gazed out the window and noticed the lights on in the cottage across the street from my house. That was strange for this time of year. It was owned by Mrs. Jensen, a friend of my mom’s, and she rented it out in the summer to tourists. It was usually empty in the winter. I knew because I blew the snow from the driveway for her, so she didn’t have to drive up to this side of town in the snow.

January was not a popular time for tourists in Havenport. Actually that wasn’t entirely correct. The annual Christmas Tree Burn always drew decent crowds, but it was nothing like the summer tourist traffic. Good for Mrs. Jensen if she was getting renters this time of year. For a flaky artist type, she had really become quite the local real estate mogul.

I decided to take Ginger out for a little stroll before hunkering down for the night. As we walked up the street, I stared at Mrs. Jensen’s cottage to see if anyone was in there. The lights were on, but there were no cars in the driveway. Strange.

We rounded the corner and I saw her. The woman from this morning. She was standing on the deck of the cottage staring out at the ocean. Her blonde hair was flying around, and she had a knit afghan wrapped around her shoulders. In the moonlight I could sort of see her face, and she looked like a gorgeous angel, but she looked unhappy. Who was this sad, beautiful woman, and what had brought her to Havenport?