Imagine With Me (With Me in Seattle 15)

“If you’d seen the smile on your face when you smelled them, you’d disagree. Enjoy.”

She buries her nose in a bloom, and we continue walking. It’s Saturday, so the market is busy, full of tourists and locals alike, people stocking up on produce for the week or just out and about for the day.

Lexi’s eyes are huge as she takes it all in, seeming to commit everything to memory.

Most likely storing it all away to include in a book later.

“I’ll buy some crab for dinner,” I say as we approach a seafood vendor. “The food here is fresh and delicious. Do you like crab?”

She nods with a smile, and I turn to the vendor and choose two good-sized Dungeness crabs to take home.

By the time we exit out the other side of the market, we’re loaded down with bags, flowers, and a box of crabs, packed on ice.

“That was a successful shopping trip,” I say with a smile. I notice Lexi’s stopped at an art vendor, admiring a painting of the coastline. It’s done in gray and blue, and the waves are moody against the sand.

“I’d like to buy this,” she says to the man. “Are you able to ship it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies with a smile. I wait as Lexi finishes the transaction and arranges for the painting to be shipped to her home in Minneapolis.

As we walk away, I say, “You have good taste. That is beautiful.”

“It’ll always remind me of my time here,” she says. “I’ll hang it in my office. I have a story brewing that takes place on your island, and I’ll stare at that piece as I plot. It’s perfect.”

I want to ask more. I want to help her brainstorm her plotline and read it as she writes.

I have no right to ask for any of that so I just nod and gesture to the shop across the street that has a line out the door.

“That’s the first Starbucks café,” I inform her. “It’s always packed, but we can go get something if you’d like. You can say you’ve been to the original place that started it all.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s very…peopley over there.”

“Yeah.” I chuckle, and if my hands were free, I’d tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Is that a no, then?”

“I can get Starbucks anywhere. I’m not fighting that crowd for it. But thanks anyway.”

I nod, and we walk in comfortable silence back to the SUV.

“Are you going to work at the pub again this evening?” she asks.

“I am, yes. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want.”

She stands by as I load the car with our market finds. “I don’t mind. If you don’t.”

I raise a brow. “You really want to spend another evening at the pub so soon?”

“I liked it,” she says. “I know, it surprises me too because I like quiet, and I enjoy being alone. I get neither of those things at the pub, but I like your family, and watching you in the kitchen was fun. I could even be your sous chef, if you’d like. Unless you’d rather I get out from under your feet and leave you be for the night, which I totally understand.”

“You’re welcome at O’Callaghan’s anytime, Lexi. Of course, I’d like you to come.”

She smiles. “Okay. I’ll come then.”

Her arms are still full of flowers. She held them back when I offered to lay them on the back seat. Her eyes look almost violet as she grins up at me.

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go or see?” I ask.

“I think we can head back to the island, if it’s all the same to you,” she replies. “I’d like to get these into some water, and maybe read for an hour or so before we go to the pub.”

I nod and open her door for her. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

She wrinkles her nose and sits in the car. Before long, I’ve pulled the SUV onto the ferry, and Lexi and I are standing on the deck. I even talked her into leaving the flowers in the backseat, assuring her that they would be safe in the shade.

She takes a deep breath. I know the ferry makes her nervous, and I’m just relieved that she didn’t ask me to drive three hours out of the way to avoid it.

Lexi’s hands grip the railing tightly, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Fine.” The answer is short and strained, and I know she’s not fine.

I instinctively reach out and rub circles on her back, and she relaxes at my touch just a bit, but her grip on the railing doesn’t loosen.

“What do you enjoy doing?” I ask, trying to make conversation.

“I write. That’s about it.”

“You have literally no other hobbies?”

“I read,” she says. “I take walks. In the summer, I like to ride my bike.”