Chapter 4
A short time later, I made my way back to the kitchen, my long hair twirled into a messy bun at the crown of my head, one of my drawing pencils holding it precariously into place. The cozy aroma of spiced tea and ginger cookies welcomed me amid the chaotic din of a dozen hockey boys hopping up on sugar, plus Noah. It truly was a sight to behold. Noah was holding court at one end of the table, regaling the boys of his many misadventures on the tough streets of Twillingate, reveling in their rapt attention. I couldn’t tell if they were just being nice or genuinely interested, but for Noah, it didn’t matter one way or the other, he just flourished whenever he could find a captive audience to entertain. I quickly scanned the kitchen to see where I could help and began wiping up crumbs and gathering dirty mugs from the cookie and hot chocolate feast they had all just enjoyed.
As I worked, I began to feel a curious sensation crawl up my spine, the kind you get when you feel like you’re being watched. I shrugged it off at first, it seemed to me that all eyes were on Noah. But then I spotted him. The one and only, Graham Fletcher, leaning against the counter like it was a throne and he was the king. One hand cradled a mug, the other sprawled casually on the countertop, every inch of him exuding that maddening, effortless confidence that people like him seem to be born with. Taking up more space than he had any right to, in my home. It irked me to a level that I couldn’t hardly put into words. His dark eyes flicked away from mine, venturing around the room, sharp and assessing, until they landed back on me. A slow smile spread across his lips and I noticed the curious glance at the pencil that I had forgotten I had used as a hair accessory.
Dammit.
The rest of the team was still gathered around Noah, chatting and laughing uproariously at something he’d said about accidentally (on purpose) flooding the boy's bathroom at school. But not Graham. No, he didn’t join in all the fuss. His focus was locked on me, a mix of amusement and challenge tugging at his expression.
“Let me guess,” he said, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, though it carried a bite that cut through the warm hum of the room. “You’re the town’s resident artsy ‘too-cool-for-you’ girl?”
The words hung in the air, dipped in just enough smugness to make my stomach twist. I stepped up to the counter, snagging a cookie from a plate that had been abandoned. “Let me guess,” I replied, keeping my tone as sharp as his. “You’re the team’s resident pain in the a—”
“Noah!” Mom’s voice sliced through the tension, bright and commanding as she beamed at my brother, who continued to commandeer the room like a stand-up comedian on a sugar high. He nearly took out a chair in his rush to grab another handful of cookies. “Why don’t you stop showing off and show our guests to their rooms instead?”
“Sure thing!” Noah said, already halfway out the door with a mug in one hand and a fistful of cookies in the other. He waved to the group of hockey players. “Let’s go, guys. I’ll show you where the best beds are, you guys can fight over the master suite, that one has its very own fireplace and everything. It doesn’t work mind you, BUT it looks super cool.”
The players shuffled out, their heavy feet thumping across the kitchen floor. But Graham stayed where he was, his gaze still pinned to me. His smirk remained; it was the kind that made you want to simultaneously throw a snowball at him and sketch it because it was so irritatingly perfect as it tugged at the corners of his mouth. He raised his mug slightly in a silent toast like he was acknowledging the tension simmering between us.
“So, what do you do for fun around here anyways?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I tightened my grip on the cookie, the edges crumbling slightly under my fingers. “Fun? We don’t usually have much of that.” I retorted, my eyes narrowing. Then I remembered my promise to my mom. Nice. I had to try at least.
“Well, we go for walks, try not to fall off Tickle Bridge on windy days, all kinds of adventures.” I eyed him up and down, wondering if he would catch on to my sarcasm or if I was hiding it as well as I hoped.
His eyebrows shot up, his smirk deepening with curiosity. “Tickle Bridge? What the hell is a Tickle Bridge?”
I rolled my eyes as I reached for another cookie. “Townies,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, the grin pulling at his lips even more now, like he was trying not to laugh.
“Nothing,” I shot back, spinning away from him before my cheeks could betray me with any more heat.
The sound of heavy footsteps clomping through the hallway and up the stairs signaled the rest of the team was finding their way to their rooms, but Graham didn’t follow. Instead, he lingered in front of the entryway, his expression unreadable but undeniably focused on me. Finally, he put his mug down and turned to go. “Catch you later, Picasso.”
I glared at the spot where he’d been standing, biting back the urge to hurl a cookie at him. His footsteps faded down the hall, but somehow, he left behind this charged air that clung to the kitchen like a stubborn fog.
Mom’s voice broke the silence. “He’s… interesting, isn’t he?” She walked through the kitchen and began gathering up the dirty cups and plates and piling them haphazardly into our ancient dishwasher. Like a lot of things at the B&B, it was on its last leg, but still somehow managed to get the job done. I followed her lead and began to gather up some more dishes as well, shaking my head as I noticed what a mess of crumbs and spilled tea and hot cocoa they had all left behind. Boys. Gross.
“Interesting?” I repeated, grabbing another cup from the table and squeezing it into the overstuffed machine. “He’s about as interesting as a dead capelin rotting on Wild Cove beach in August.”
She chuckled, cramming the overstuffed dishwasher closed, and hitting WASH with a determined punch. Much to both of our surprise, it started up on the very first try. “Oh, come on, Isla. He’s just trying to find his footing. It’s not always easy being out of your comfort zone. You know that. Remember how you felt when you spent the summer with Auntie Liv in Calgary?”
I scoffed. “Yeah, except I wasn’t a walking ego trip like he is.”
Mom’s smile softened, but her gaze lingered on me, her eyes doing that thing they always did when she was reading me too well. “Don’t write him off so quickly, Isla. Sometimes the people who get under your skin are the ones worth paying attention to.”
I swallowed hard, her words landing uncomfortably like they knew something I didn’t. “Oh come on Mom,” I chastised jokingly, “don’t play that whole, ‘he’s mean to you because he likes you’ card on me. It’s 2024, and boys will be boys is highly overrated as an excuse for being a… 'see you next Tuesday'.” I grinned at her brightly, knowing that she would have my head if I ever dared to swear in front of her, but that euphemism was one that I had learned from her, so she couldn’t hold it against me.
“Isla, you are so stubborn. I don’t even think he’s being mean, I think he’s just giving back what you’re putting out, and you don’t like it.” She challenged, one eyebrow arching perfectly as if it was a punctuation on her sentence.
Well, she had me there, Graham most definitely was fighting fire with fire. It didn’t matter though. I had way too much on my mind to worry about what he thought of me. I had to focus on the important things, helping Mom, my application to art school, watching paint dry, and anything at all that would eat up some of my attention.
Because the last thing I needed to pay attention to right now was Graham Fletcher.
As I worked, I began to feel a curious sensation crawl up my spine, the kind you get when you feel like you’re being watched. I shrugged it off at first, it seemed to me that all eyes were on Noah. But then I spotted him. The one and only, Graham Fletcher, leaning against the counter like it was a throne and he was the king. One hand cradled a mug, the other sprawled casually on the countertop, every inch of him exuding that maddening, effortless confidence that people like him seem to be born with. Taking up more space than he had any right to, in my home. It irked me to a level that I couldn’t hardly put into words. His dark eyes flicked away from mine, venturing around the room, sharp and assessing, until they landed back on me. A slow smile spread across his lips and I noticed the curious glance at the pencil that I had forgotten I had used as a hair accessory.
Dammit.
The rest of the team was still gathered around Noah, chatting and laughing uproariously at something he’d said about accidentally (on purpose) flooding the boy's bathroom at school. But not Graham. No, he didn’t join in all the fuss. His focus was locked on me, a mix of amusement and challenge tugging at his expression.
“Let me guess,” he said, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, though it carried a bite that cut through the warm hum of the room. “You’re the town’s resident artsy ‘too-cool-for-you’ girl?”
The words hung in the air, dipped in just enough smugness to make my stomach twist. I stepped up to the counter, snagging a cookie from a plate that had been abandoned. “Let me guess,” I replied, keeping my tone as sharp as his. “You’re the team’s resident pain in the a—”
“Noah!” Mom’s voice sliced through the tension, bright and commanding as she beamed at my brother, who continued to commandeer the room like a stand-up comedian on a sugar high. He nearly took out a chair in his rush to grab another handful of cookies. “Why don’t you stop showing off and show our guests to their rooms instead?”
“Sure thing!” Noah said, already halfway out the door with a mug in one hand and a fistful of cookies in the other. He waved to the group of hockey players. “Let’s go, guys. I’ll show you where the best beds are, you guys can fight over the master suite, that one has its very own fireplace and everything. It doesn’t work mind you, BUT it looks super cool.”
The players shuffled out, their heavy feet thumping across the kitchen floor. But Graham stayed where he was, his gaze still pinned to me. His smirk remained; it was the kind that made you want to simultaneously throw a snowball at him and sketch it because it was so irritatingly perfect as it tugged at the corners of his mouth. He raised his mug slightly in a silent toast like he was acknowledging the tension simmering between us.
“So, what do you do for fun around here anyways?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I tightened my grip on the cookie, the edges crumbling slightly under my fingers. “Fun? We don’t usually have much of that.” I retorted, my eyes narrowing. Then I remembered my promise to my mom. Nice. I had to try at least.
“Well, we go for walks, try not to fall off Tickle Bridge on windy days, all kinds of adventures.” I eyed him up and down, wondering if he would catch on to my sarcasm or if I was hiding it as well as I hoped.
His eyebrows shot up, his smirk deepening with curiosity. “Tickle Bridge? What the hell is a Tickle Bridge?”
I rolled my eyes as I reached for another cookie. “Townies,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, the grin pulling at his lips even more now, like he was trying not to laugh.
“Nothing,” I shot back, spinning away from him before my cheeks could betray me with any more heat.
The sound of heavy footsteps clomping through the hallway and up the stairs signaled the rest of the team was finding their way to their rooms, but Graham didn’t follow. Instead, he lingered in front of the entryway, his expression unreadable but undeniably focused on me. Finally, he put his mug down and turned to go. “Catch you later, Picasso.”
I glared at the spot where he’d been standing, biting back the urge to hurl a cookie at him. His footsteps faded down the hall, but somehow, he left behind this charged air that clung to the kitchen like a stubborn fog.
Mom’s voice broke the silence. “He’s… interesting, isn’t he?” She walked through the kitchen and began gathering up the dirty cups and plates and piling them haphazardly into our ancient dishwasher. Like a lot of things at the B&B, it was on its last leg, but still somehow managed to get the job done. I followed her lead and began to gather up some more dishes as well, shaking my head as I noticed what a mess of crumbs and spilled tea and hot cocoa they had all left behind. Boys. Gross.
“Interesting?” I repeated, grabbing another cup from the table and squeezing it into the overstuffed machine. “He’s about as interesting as a dead capelin rotting on Wild Cove beach in August.”
She chuckled, cramming the overstuffed dishwasher closed, and hitting WASH with a determined punch. Much to both of our surprise, it started up on the very first try. “Oh, come on, Isla. He’s just trying to find his footing. It’s not always easy being out of your comfort zone. You know that. Remember how you felt when you spent the summer with Auntie Liv in Calgary?”
I scoffed. “Yeah, except I wasn’t a walking ego trip like he is.”
Mom’s smile softened, but her gaze lingered on me, her eyes doing that thing they always did when she was reading me too well. “Don’t write him off so quickly, Isla. Sometimes the people who get under your skin are the ones worth paying attention to.”
I swallowed hard, her words landing uncomfortably like they knew something I didn’t. “Oh come on Mom,” I chastised jokingly, “don’t play that whole, ‘he’s mean to you because he likes you’ card on me. It’s 2024, and boys will be boys is highly overrated as an excuse for being a… 'see you next Tuesday'.” I grinned at her brightly, knowing that she would have my head if I ever dared to swear in front of her, but that euphemism was one that I had learned from her, so she couldn’t hold it against me.
“Isla, you are so stubborn. I don’t even think he’s being mean, I think he’s just giving back what you’re putting out, and you don’t like it.” She challenged, one eyebrow arching perfectly as if it was a punctuation on her sentence.
Well, she had me there, Graham most definitely was fighting fire with fire. It didn’t matter though. I had way too much on my mind to worry about what he thought of me. I had to focus on the important things, helping Mom, my application to art school, watching paint dry, and anything at all that would eat up some of my attention.
Because the last thing I needed to pay attention to right now was Graham Fletcher.
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