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“Okay,” I say. “Well, we want to buy some muffins and some coffee. Two of each please.”
“Make that four muffins,” Carter calls. “And swap one of those coffees out for a tea.”
“Sure, of course dear,” the woman says.
“Do you have any money?” This is from Mitchell, who is looking at me suspiciously. Which is fair enough, given how sweaty and smelly I am.
“Don’t mind him,” the woman says. “I’ve been running this store for three decades, and I told him when we got married two years ago that he’d have to start being nice to the customers.”
“We can pay,” I say, though I can’t help but smile at the woman’s story.
“I’m Margery,” she says. “And you are not paying. Not after the ordeal you just suffered.”
“It was okay actually,” I say. “Carter, my um, my?—
“Your beau?” Margery asks.
“That’s me,” Carter says from where he’s now standing next to me. He slings an arm around me and pulls me in close for emphasis.
I just let him stay there because frankly I don’t know what to call him or how to explain our relationship. Friends? No. Beau? Certainly not. Enemy? Not since we kissed, I guess.
We kissed. Fucking hell, I think.
“I found us a cabin we could stay in,” Carter says. “I’ve been here a few times.”
“I thought I recognized you! You’re one of those scientists who comes to tag puffins, aren’t you?” Margery says.
“Yes I am. Proud to be one. And I love it here on Isle North.”
Mitchell gives him an assessing look, and I see the old man soften towards him. Carter saying he loves Isle North has clearly scored him some points.
Margery busies herself making us our drinks and puts the muffins down on some plates. We sit on a small wooden bench they have in one corner. The first bit of muffin has me moaning.
I don’t even finish chewing before I say, “Margery these are perfect.”
“Best muffins in all of Maine,” Mitchell says proudly.
Carter and I much away in happy silence, and then sip from the cups Margery hands to us.
“Do you know anyone who could take us back to Mount Desert Island?” I ask Margery when we’re done. “We’d like to get back tonight.”
Margery and Mitchell share a look. “Well, honey, that might be difficult,” she says. “Most folks here don’t have their boats in the water yet. And it’s a long way.”
It took us two hours to get here, so I do understand what she means. “What about the mailboat?” I ask. “Doesn’t it run every day?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you? Mailboat got damaged during the storm. It’s out of commission for a few days while Clint gets it fixed or gets the second mailboat into the water early. Normally he only operates one until the summer season starts.”
“What happened?” Carter asked.
“The storm swell was bad enough that the mailboat was flung up against the dock,” Margery says.
“What will you do in an emergency?” I ask. I don’t mention that I thinkthisis an emergency. But it is concerning how little they seem to be worried about the fact that Carter and I are stranded.
“Archie,” Margery says. “His lobster boat is in the water already.”
Score. Lobster season in Maine peaks in the late summer or early fall, but they can be harvested all year round.
“Perfect. He can take us today,” I say, standing up and wiping a few stray muffin crumbs off of me.
