Richard wasn't sure why he'd told Mia Harnett about his past. When he met her gaze, seeing those hazel eyes, he was struck by her beauty. A tingling gooseflesh rippled from his arm down to his leg, making him shiver in spite of the layers of clothes he wore. It hadn't mattered if he'd not known her name yet. Upon laying his eyes on her, something came alight, inflaming his core.
Once he met those eyes, and it pierces through his own, his guard disappeared. Her hair fell below her shoulder like raven silk. He could imagine her skin taste like sweet caramel; her flush face like cherry as he left a mark. It made him shiver yet again.
He shook the cranial thought aside. It was inappropriate with his grandmother merely inches beside him.
"Oh, I nearly forgot to mention it to ye. I offered ye to help Mia," Adelia said. Her word brought him out of his trance.
"Help? What do ye mean help?"
"Ye ken what I mean. She would want someone to give her a tour, or a hand settling in town."
He groaned and bit his lips otherwise a terse remark would follow. "Aye. And what did she say?"
She scoffed. "She said yes, obviously."
He thought his heart stop for a second.
"Mo ghràidh, is there something wrong?" Adelia asked sincerely. She used the term of endearment in the old tongue on three occasions. One of them is when she knew she'd mistaken what she thought would be a reasonable judgment—in his account.
The silence grew in the cold confines of the car.
"Aye, grannie, everything is great." He finally choked a reply.
The lie was thick on his throat. His grip on the steering wheel tightened from the memory of it. He let out a heavy breath, his eyes not straying away from the dark road in front of them. The beetle Volkswagen roared as he hit the gas pedal.
Richard snuck a peek at his grandmother. Even in the dim light of the car, he saw a faint silhouette of her mischievous smile. He knew what's going through her mind. What plot she had up her sleeve, unaware of its reason until the very end. In his younger years, there were times his grandmother conspired some sort of plan to get favor from his late grandfather. Yet he'd never recognize early signs if he was on the receiving end. Not until it was too late.
However, she was too obvious at the moment. Maybe the darkness played a trick on him. He might be seeing things or misunderstood his grandmother's intention. Maybe she did only want to help her.
Now his thoughts returned to her, his prior sensual imagination resurfaced. For once, he was annoyed at the car. If he'd want to make it through the night, he'd have to take a cold shower.
****
In the morning, he tried to focus on his usual daily chores. Most of the farm responsibilities were dealt with Mr. Peter Ramsay, his wife, Mindy, and son, Alfie, who his grandparents hired long before he stayed with him. They were trusted employees and considered family. Yet the farm wasn't the only form of living his grandparents catered.
They also owned a diner and pub in town called, The Tavern (it was a bit on the nose and fitting of its services.) In the evening, the place became a den of working men, clamoring inside with beers and local ale in hand, jeering about their days' work – farming, fishing, or other forms of labor.
Last night, he'd left the place in the hands of Mrs. Imelda Clarence, the cook, and her daughter, Greta. Her husband, Mr. Henri Clarence, was the island's headmaster of the only school for the local children. At first, Mr. Clarence wasn't keen having his wife help run a facility majorly served drunkards. However, when Richard's grandfather was alive, he convinced Mr. Clarence to approve his wife's job. And nearly nine years in service, Mrs. Clarence became a trusted employee, whom Richard looked up to now he's running it in place of his grandfather.
While Richard spends most of his days at The Tavern, his grandmother stayed at home and help tend to the farm with the Ramsay family. She also does most of the light chores around the house and left the heavy-lifting and fixings to Richard once he was home, or found time to get away in the mornings during slow seasons.
It took some gauging and a bit of threat from his grandmother to get him off the night shift and greet Mrs. Stanton, and her niece, Mia.
As his thoughts conjure her name, he felt his cheeks flush again. Yet he shoved it in the back of the head with a dismissive wave. He couldn't be distracted with work piling for him to accomplish.
Once Richard parked his car on the back, per usual, he entered by the kitchen area with resolve. Peering down on his wristwatch, he was sure Mrs. Clarence was somewhere cleaning the place for business. But as he headed towards the front, the chairs were still stacked on top of the table, and not a soul found anywhere.
"Mrs. Clarence!" He called quizzically.
His eye squinting at the dim room. He called again. The sound bouncing off the dark walls. As he was about returned to the kitchen, he heard the back door open. Footstep followed as the new company entered the main room.
Richard's heart fell in relief upon seeing the younger version of Mrs. Clarence. Greta was startled as he cleared his throat, catching her attention.
She placed a hand on her chest. "Goodness! Mr. McKenzie, ye scared me there."
"I'm sorry, Greta. That wasn't my intention." He hides his amusement with a shy smile. "D'ye know where is yer mother?"
"Aye, sir. She's outside. We've just arrived ourselves...uhm... we're sorry if we were late, Mr. McKenzie."
He waved his hand in dismissal. "It's okay, Greta. Was it a long night? Ye should have called me. I could have excused last night's engagement and helped out here."
Greta shook her head. "Och, no! There was no need, sir. Ma and I were able to handle everything."
It was then Mrs. Clarence made her appearance. She looked surprised as well but was quick to compose herself than her daughter. "Mr. McKenzie, good morning. I thought ye'd be a wee bit late. How did yer evening go with yer grandmother's guests?"
"Aye, well enough," he replied timidly. He then cleared his throat and feign studying the pub. "Should we start preparing for opening?"
"Aye, we should." Mrs. Clarence nodded and gestured Greta towards the upturned chairs.
Richard helped Greta in the front while Mrs. Clarence managed the kitchen. By ten in the morning, The Tavern was opened for business. Richard took his position behind the bar, Greta prepped the tables – making sure everything was tidy and clear, and Mrs. Clarence's muffled chatter in the kitchen was clear as she prepared today's menu.
It was already passed summer. The influx of tourists dwindled. Therefore, Richard was sure of his usual costumers throughout the day. By lunch, the first batch rang the bell dangling at the top of the door as they entered. He walked around the bar counter and greeted the familiar group of pensioners.
"Morning, ladies and gentlemen. Are ye having lunch with us for a change?" Richard greeted and gestured Greta towards their usual table, who quickly got there and set it up.
"Ye ken we've always had lunch here, lad," Mrs. Meyer answered. Her white and silver hair was tied neatly in a braid. Her knitted top and patterned skirt swayed as she moved further inside the vicinity. She's known by the locals as the leader of the retirees.
However, her husband, the timid and kind Mr. Meyer was behind her. He took off his fedora, tipping it towards Richard in greeting. "Good day, Mr. McKenzie."
"Good day to ye, Mr. Meyer."
"Come on, mo chridhe. Let's sit. My ankles and knees are starting to go numb in this chilly weather." Mrs. Meyer grunted and walked past me towards their table.
"Is it already cold out? It's still the middle of the day, Mrs. Meyer." Richard commented and walked behind her while glancing at Mr. Meyer, who seemed bothered by the weather too.
"It is, lad. And to think it's still August." She scoffed. Once they reached their table, Richard pulled out the chair for her. After she settled down, with a sigh, she looked up at him gratefully. "Thank ye, sweetie. Ye'r always a dear. Please tell Mrs. Clarence, Don and I are having our usual."
Richard helped out Mr. Meyer to his seat before answering. "Aye, ma'am. That'll be ten to fifteen minutes, as usual."
She nodded and beamed. "Of course. Thank ye again."
With that, Richard turned toward the other pairs of pensioners. But Greta seated them swiftly. The place now served a group of three couples, and two female widows, whom Richard chatted as well before retreated towards the kitchen to help out Mrs. Clarence with her preparation.
He made it in time for her to plate the food. The ten and fifteen-minutes notice was out of courtesy. As the pensioners always visited The Tavern like clockwork, Mrs. Clarence always prepped their meal. It only took at least five minutes since they sat down before Greta and Richard served it.
There were at least two or three more customers during lunch hours. After that, the early afternoon was quiet. Richard returned by the bar counter and started early on his preparation for the evening customers. Since Mrs. Clarence and Greta covered his section last night, he'd made a quick assessment of the inventory to be sure everything was stocked. Though he was confidence in Mrs. Clarence's competence, however, after taking over the responsibility from his late grandfather, he felt accountable to do the work himself.
While Richard fetched the last batch of beer casing from their backroom pantry, he was startled by the front doorbell as a customer entered. It was nearly the end of the workday, and they've expected dinner guests as well. But it was too early. And it wasn't the only thing unexpected by the new customer.
Richard was surprised by the man's clothing. It fitted better in Milan or Paris rather than on an island of farmers and fishermen. To his luck, the man hadn't worn any cap to cover his face. His undeniably handsome feature kept him from greeting the customer right away. Since no one greeted him, he noted Greta's absence, which made him sigh in relief somehow. Odd. The man-made him feel uncomfortable.
When Richard hadn't spoken still, the man arched his eyebrow at him and a faint smirk tugged on the edge of his lips. "Good day, sir. Do you work here?" The man's clear Londoner accent snapped Richard from his stupor.
He was right. The man wasn't from around here.
"I do. Do ye need something, sir?" Richard wiped his hand on his apron and slowly walked around the counter. "Are ye here for a drink or a meal?" He added when the man didn't answer.
"Do you live here, sir?" The man asked rather than replied.
Richard wasn't sure if he should answer, but it won't hurt to tell the truth as it was obvious. "Aye. Why are ye asking?" He pressed, cautious about the man's line of questioning.
"Are you well acquainted by the tourist passing by here, or anyone staying in this area who aren't local?"
Alarm bells are going off Richard's head.
"As I asked, sir, why are ye asking?" He hardened his stance, trying to look as intimidating as he can.
"It doesn't really concern you. But I'm asking since I'm looking for someone." The man kept a calm demeanor, which unsettled Richard.
"Someone? Who is it yer looking for?" He inquired further as curiosity got the better of him.
"I'm not sure you'd know the person." The man sighed and peered around the diner. Somehow, he looked defeated.
"What's the name? I know most of the notable locals here. I can ask around for ye." He offered half-heartedly.
The man turned his gaze back to him and caught the deepest shade of blue. Richard was surprised such a color exist for a person's eyes.
"Why would you offer to help me? You don't know who I am."
"Then, tell me who are ye, sir," Richard stated and held out his hand towards the man. "I'm Richard McKenzie, owner of this establishment."
He smiled, showing his pearly white teeth. He grasps Richard's hand, shaking it briefly as he replied. "My name is Erik."
"Just Erik?"
"Erik Alexander Kingsley."
"Kingsley?" Richard stared at the man in realization. "Do ye mean as in Kingsley Castle? Are ye from the family who—"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence when Erik interrupted. "Yes. It is owned by my family, particularly by my father."
Richard smirked, shaking his head. "A Dhia! I thought there won't be a day I'd see one of the owners of that old castle." He studied Erik in a new light. "What brought ye here, sir? Surely, one of yer employees would've taken the trip themselves here. I mean, I know Mr. Burkhart. He'd have helped ye himself..."
Erik cleared his throat, disrupting his speech. "I know Mr. Burkhart, Mr. McKenzie. But this is a personal matter."
"Right." He arched his eyebrow. "Who are ye looking for anyways?"
He hesitated for a moment. His eyes peering around the empty diner. He then glanced behind him, towards the door leading to the kitchen. When no one appeared to disturb them, he told him.
"Do you know someone named Leanna Stanton?"
Richard kept his expression passive, as much as he could. Somehow his eyes gave him away.
"You know her, do you?" Erik observed when he didn't reply.
Instead of speaking, he nodded.
"Is she here on the island?"
He nodded again.
"Is there someone with her?"
It was then his gut twisted in worry. He wasn't fond of where the conversation was going, but it was his curiosity that brought him to this point. When he didn't give him any response, Erik didn't stop.
"Is there a young girl with her? A niece, perhaps?"
"No!"
Richard was too hasty on his lie. Erik noticed it too. He could see it in his eyes. Like a spider caught sight of his prey. Please let me be wrong, he thought grievously. But the grin on Erik's face was enough to assure him of his mistake.
****
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