The soft morning light filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow into the small kitchen as Samuel sat at the small wooden table. He cradled a chipped mug of tea in his hands, running his thumb over the lip and feeling the roughness where the ceramic had come away. The simple kitchen felt both familiar and foreign – like a space he had once known but hadn't truly lived in for a long time. It was similar to a few hotels he and Savannah had used, which was probably why it felt so familiar to him.
The battered copper kettle on the stove had served them well over the years, carrying them through the multitude of chaotic moments that had led them to Rookpoint. He had gotten used to seeing it on the stove, trusting the reliability of it to heat water for his morning teas. At one point, in a past that seemed like someone else's life now, he had been a firm coffee drinker. Now, the faintly bitter taste of breakfast tea had replaced his old, familiar lattes. He absently stirred his mug, watching the dark liquid swirling and dissipating into steam. Part of him missed his coffees-the warm, the sweetness, the comfort. He could almost taste it just thinking about it. The creaminess, the soft vanilla flavor mixing with the acrid bitterness of the coffee. The puff of whipped cream he always got on top. A fleeting thought, but the kind that seemed to catch him off guard more often than he'd like. The kind that reminded him that there was a time before, a time when things had been… easier.
Samuel pushed the thought aside. The last thing he wanted to do was dwell on what "had been". He swallowed the tea and set the mug down, looking across the table at Savannah as she rifled through one of the cardboard boxes, muttering under her breath as she sifted through books and trinkets. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, the same way it always was when she was focused on something important. He liked that about her. Liked the quiet, determined way she had of sorting things out. There was a calmness to her, even when she was surrounded by the chaos of their move.
Savannah looked up, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I think this is everything for this box," she said with a sigh of relief. "Now I just need to find a place for all these." She gestured to the pile of worn paperbacks she'd been stacking on the table, her eyes scanning the room as if wondering where to put her small collection.
"Hmm," Samuel grunted in acknowledgement, still trying to push his thoughts aside. His mind was shifting to the day ahead in an attempt to refocus itself. "I'm going to head to Ocean's Cradle this morning, check out the job Grace mentioned. See if this Marcus guy is still hiring."
Savannah nodded, but there was a hesitation in her eyes that made her look very worried. "You're really going through with it?" she asked. "The bouncer thing?"
Samuel raised an eyebrow, his voice flat but reassuring. "It's a job. They need someone, and I need the work. Besides, Grace talked about how 'serious' Marcus is. If that's the case, he won't hire anyone who can't handle themselves."
"I'm not worried about you handling yourself," Savannah replied, restacking her paperbacks as she spoke. "I just… don't like the idea of you working at a bar again. It can get… well, dangerous. You know?"
Samuel muttered something under his breath, a slight scoff escaping him. "I've seen worse than small town bars."
He wasn't trying to sound tough or macho – he didn't want her to worry. Not that he could blame her, though. Rookpoint was still new to them, and bars were bars, whether they were in small towns like Rookpoint or bigger ones like Queensburg. Still, he could handle it. He knew he could. He'd handled much worse jobs in the past few years.
Savannah didn't seem entirely convinced. "Just… be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."
"I'll be fine," he said, more gently than he had intended. "It's not like I've never worked in places like this in the past. Come on, Savannah. You know I've done my share of jobs like this before."
Savannah rested her hands on the table, looking down at her books for a moment before casting a doubtful glance in his direction. "Yeah, but… those weren't exactly the same." She paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "You've done warehouse work, barista stuff… retail. You even worked at that bookstore for a while, right? But being a bouncer? That's different."
"It's not that different," Samuel countered. His tone was steady, a mix of reassurance and practicality. "Security is security, whether it's standing at a warehouse gate checking IDs or keeping an eye on rowdy customers, the principle's the same."
Savannah stood up, crossing her arms across her chest as she faced him. "You really think a bar in a small town like this is going to be the same as watching over a warehouse at night?"
"Maybe not exactly the same," Samuel admitted, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But remember that mall gig I had? I was basically a glorified babysitter for the food court."
Savannah smiled and giggled in spite of herself. "Yeah, I remember. You used to complain about all the teenagers who would cause trouble."
"Exactly." Samuel leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on the table. "And then there was the night shift at the hotel in Queensburg. That was real fun. A bunch of businessmen getting drunk and arguing over who could expense the most room service, but nothing I couldn't handle."
"That hotel job didn't last very long," Savannah pointed out. "You quit after what? Two months?"
"Three," Samuel corrected, "and I didn't quit. The place got bought out, and the new owners didn't want the extra security anymore."
Savannah gave him a skeptical look, but Samuel wasn't done. "And let's not forget all the event gigs I've done. You know how many times I've had to stand around some random venue making sure no one sneaks backstage?"
She shook her head, laughing. "You always ended up with the strangest jobs."
"Pays the bills," Samuel said with a shrug. "And let's not forget that summer where we both worked at the diner. You were on waitstaff, and I was in the kitchen washing dishes."
"Oh, I remember," Savannah said, resuming playing with her books. "You couldn't stand the uniform."
"Because it didn't fit," Samuel growled. "But… it wasn't a bad gig. Hard work, but we managed."
Savannah picked up the stack of books, walking over to one of the small end tables. Her expression softened a bit as she placed them down, using a small plant as a bookend. "I know you can handle yourself," she said. "I just… I don't like the idea of you being dragged into something rough. Especially after… well, everything."
He didn't respond right away, but his expression grew more serious. He knew what she meant. What she didn't want to, or couldn't, say out loud. It wasn't about just having the job; it was about why they had come here in the first place. About why they were starting over, leaving behind a life they couldn't go back to.
"I get it," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "But we came here to start fresh, right? And this job… well, it's a step. A step forward. Something to keep things moving."
Savannah nodded slowly, her fingers playing with the leaves of the potted plant. "Okay… just promise me you won't do anything reckless."
"Reckless isn't my style," Samuel said, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Besides, I've got you around to keep me in check."
"Somebody has to," she said, her tone light but affectionate.
For a moment, the air between them felt lighter as the tension from earlier faded into something more familiar. They had been through a lot together – too much, really – but moments like this reminded them of why they were still standing. Why they had made the decision to leave everything behind and try again, here in Rookpoint.
"Anyway," Samuel said, rising from his chair and stretching. "I should head out. Got to go meet Marcus over at Ocean's Cradle. That bouncer position won't stay open forever, right?"
"Okay," Savannah said, watching him grab his faded leather jacket. As he made it to the door, she added. "And Samuel?"
"Hm?" he paused, turning back to look at her.
"Thanks for… you know. Everything."
Samuel's expression softened as he looked at her. "Always."
With that, he slipped out the door, leaving Savannah alone in the quiet apartment. She sighed, glancing at the half-empty boxes around her. There was still a lot to do, but for the first time in a while, she felt like they might be heading in the right direction.
She stood at the table for a while longer, the clutter of boxes surrounding her, their contents waiting to be unpacked. The apartment felt smaller and smaller as they filled it with their belongings, but she didn't mind that. She preferred cozy to spacious, and it was comforting to have their things unpacked and in place. At least, that's what she told herself. Her eyes wandered over all the boxes around the room, each one a reminder of everything they had left behind. She had tried not to think about it, but it was hard not to. There were memories tied to so many things, each object holding its own piece of the past. She could feel it now, the weight of it pressing against her chest, tightening with each breath. The memories—those little moments that had once been so ordinary—had become impossibly precious now.
She looked down into one of the boxes and sighed. There, nestled among a few folders and trinkets, was the small frame she'd been dreading. A photo. She'd tucked it away in the bottom of the box, not wanting to face it, but it had resurfaced as if it had a mind of its own. She reached down and picked up the small metal frame, turning it over in her hands as she looked at the picture.
The photo was from a few years ago, on a sunny afternoon when everything had still felt… whole. Savannah, her sister, and Samuel had taken it at the lake on a spontaneous trip, just the three of them. The sun had cast a golden glow over everything while the wind tugged playfully at their hair while they stood in the tall grass at the water's edge.
Savannah and her sister, Sophia, were standing side-by-side in the picture, their arms around each other as they laughed. Samuel stood just behind one hand resting on the shoulder of each of the girls, his expression gentle and reserved… but with the hard edge that was always in his eyes. It had only been a few years, but he looked so much younger in the picture. Like he was still figuring out how to fit into their world. But it was Sophia's gaze that caught her attention the most. In the photo, she wasn't looking at the camera. She could have cared less. Instead, her eyes were fixed on Samuel as he stood with them, the soft curve of her smile making it clear just how much she cared for him.
The way Sophia's gaze lingered on Samuel was absolutely unmistakable – it was a look of complete adoration. It wasn't something Savannah saw her show to others, but with him, there had always been that undeniable warmth in her eyes. A warmth that Sophia reserved only for him. The memory of how that moment had felt flooded back to Savannah – the way it had been so natural. So simple. There had been no uncertainty in that picture, just the three of them together. As it should have been. A rare and fleeting moment when everything felt right.
Savannah swallowed hard, her eyes lingering on the image. There was a part of her that hated how easy it had been to see Sophia's affection for Samuel back then. How much it had been a part of their shared life. But it wasn't just Sophia's love for him that hit her now. It was how much she had also loved him too, even if she hadn't known how to show it. She felt her throat tightening as she took a deep breath. She had promised herself that she wouldn't dwell on it. That she would focus on moving forward, on making this work. Rookpoint was supposed to be their fresh start, their chance to leave the past behind. But some days, like today, the past had a way of creeping in. Of rearing its ugly head and reminding her that some things didn't heal as quickly or as easily as others.
She was just about to set the photo down, to push the memories back into the box where they belonged, when a soft knock sounded at the door. Savannah jumped, blinking quickly as she wiped her eyes, not realizing they had become damp. She cleared her throat, trying to collect herself, and placed the photo gently back in the box before quickly crossing the small living space and opening the door. The hinges creaked faintly as she opened the door to reveal Grace, her silvery hair catching the light as she stood there with a soft smile on her face. Her eyes were wide and gentle, as if she had simply wandered over by accident.
"Oh, I hope I'm not disturbing you," Grace said, her voice airy and lilting. She didn't seem to notice Savannah's flushed cheeks or the slight tension in her shoulders. "I thought I'd bring you something – just a little welcome gift. I meant to do it yesterday but… well… you know how it is. Sometimes I forget where I've left things." She giggled softly, her gaze unfocused for a moment, as if the thought had wandered off to some faraway land.
Savannah smiled, though it was faint. "No, you're not disturbing me at all," she said, her voice a little quieter than she had intended. "It's just… been a busy morning, I guess."
"Oh, I can imagine! New place and all." Grace's gaze flicked around the room, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to shimmer with a quiet curiosity. "You're unpacking! That's always the most exciting part. So many little memories tucked away in each box. It's like opening little treasures, isn't it?"
Savannah winced slightly, but couldn't help but smile at the way Grace spoke – so light and unburdened, as though she didn't have a care in the world. "I… suppose it is," she agreed. "Though, it can be a little overwhelming at times."
"Of course, of course, but look at how much space you have now!" Grace said with a gentle wave of her hand. "And you'll fill it up with new memories. It'll be a beautiful thing, just wait and see." Her eyes sparkled as she said this, her dreamlike tone making everything sound so simple; so full of possibility.
"I hope so," Savannah said softly, feeling a twinge of unease mixed in with her faint ray of hope.
Grace nodded sagely, as though she understood. Then, with a bright, sudden smile, she held out a small basket. "I brought you some fresh pastries from the bakery down the street," she said with a flourish. "I know it's nothing big, but I thought you might like something sweet to start the day."
Savannah's stomach gave a small, grateful rumble. "Oh, thank you, that's so kind of you!"
Grace's smile widened, and she handed over the basket with a giggle. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little something to welcome you. I'm sure you two will settle in just fine. And if you ever need anything, just knock on my door downstairs, okay? I'm usually around… though sometimes I wander off without thinking."
Savannah smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
"I'm sure you will!" Grace said brightly, giving her a quick nod before turning to leave. "Well, I'll let you get back to your unpacking. I'll see you soon, I'm sure."
"Thank you again, Miss Grace," Savannah said, stepping back to close the door. She looked down at the pastries in the basket and couldn't help but smile a bit, feeling a little bit lighter than before.
Samuel made his way down the narrow street, the faint but unmistakable tang of saltwater lingering in the air. The road wasn't particularly busy – Rookpoint didn't seem like the kind of town where mornings were rushed affairs. Instead, it moved at its own pace: slow and steady, just like the ocean lapping at the harbor just beyond the last row of buildings. Seagulls wheeled overhead, calling out to one another and diving at the shore, their bodies silhouetted against the white puffy clouds above.
His boots echoed against the cobblestone street as he ventured down to the last street by the docks towards a pair of establishments that looked out over the wharf. One of them was a cozy café with a rustic sign swaying gently in the breeze. The scent of fresh coffee hung in the air, warm and inviting, and it stirred up memories he didn't particularly want to dwell on. It had been a long time since he'd had one of his favorite lattes – probably about three years now – and even longer since he could enjoy one without feeling the familiar tightening in his chest. He hadn't realized just how much he missed that specific blend of warmth and sweetness until the scent from the café teased at his senses. For one wild moment, Samuel considered walking in and ordering something, but shook the thought off. Not today.
The next building down was a far different scene. The building was larger and sturdier with weathered wooden siding that had probably seen years of salty air and rough coastal storms. It loomed over the café like a predatory beast, like a bear ready to lunge. A carved wooden sign mounted above the entrance bore the name Ocean's Cradle in bold, elegant letters, and the wooden deck was lined with a few tables and chairs – mercifully empty at this early hour. A single lantern hung by the door; the glass panels fogged from years of exposure to the sea air.
Samuel stopped in front of the bar, his eyes taking in the building before approaching. It was quieter than he expected, but he supposed that the morning hour might have something to do with it. Places like this usually didn't come alive until nightfall, when the town's working class came together looking for a place to unwind. Considering how many piers for fishing boats there were, he could imagine a bar full of tired, exhausted fishermen at the end of the day. He ran a hand over the back of his neck before adjusting his leather jacket and stepping up onto the wooden deck. The boards creaked slightly under his boots as he approached the entrance.
He barely made it to the door before he felt a pair of eyes on him. A moment later, the door swung open and revealed a man blocking his way. He had an air about him – lean, sharp-eyed, and hawkish – that gave him the impression of constantly scowling or glaring. He wore a faded leather apron over a dark shirt, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. The look in his eyes was anything but friendly, and the way he sized Samuel up made it clear that he wasn't exactly thrilled to see an unfamiliar face walking up to the bar's door.
"You lost?" the man asked, his tone clipped and cold.
Samuel met his stare evenly, unfazed. "No."
The man's deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decide whether Samuel's bluntness was confidence or just plain arrogance. "We're not open yet."
"I'm here about the job," Samuel replied, keeping his voice steady and even. "I heard someone named Marcus was looking for a bouncer."
The man didn't budge. If anything, his expression hardened further, if that was even possible. "Marcus doesn't hire people we don't know." There was a steely edge to his voice that went beyond simple caution. This wasn't someone who was merely wary of strangers – this was a man who didn't like them. Period. Samuel could feel the hostility hanging around him like a storm cloud waiting to burst. His gaze remained unwavering, his arms crossed firmly as he sized Samuel up, his posture as stiff as the boards beneath their feet. "I don't know who you are," he said at last, stepping forward slightly, "but Marcus doesn't need anyone, especially people who waltz up like they're already part of the place. Scram."
Samuel stood his ground, not the least bit intimidated. "I'm here to speak to Marcus about the job," he replied flatly, staring back at him. "And I don't need a formal invitation. I need a chance to speak to Marcus about the position."
The man's eyes narrowed even further, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn't move immediately, but Samuel could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, a telltale sign that confrontation was building. "You think Marcus has time to talk to just any stray who strolls up here?" he snapped. "I don't know what you think this is, but we don't have the luxury of playing games with strangers. If you wanna work here, you're gonna need to prove you've got the guts for it. And even then, Marcus—he's not in the habit of hiring on a whim. So, unless you've got some sort of—"
"Wesley."
The interruption was sharp, and came from inside the bar behind the man. The voice was deep and steady, carrying an air of authority that broke through the cloud of tension.
Wesley, the man in the doorway, stiffened at the sound of his name. His gaze flicked back over his shoulder for the briefest of moments, his expression flickering with a sour pang of annoyance before turning back to Samuel. "Just trying to make sure we're not wasting valuable time," he muttered, but there was no real conviction in the words. He was clearly irritated, but his stance shifted slightly, as if he wasn't entirely prepared to confront whoever was behind him.
"Are you done?" the voice spoke again, this time carrying a bit more patience. It was the kind of tone that expected no argument, and there was no mistaking that it belonged to someone who had been in charge for a long, long time. It carried a kind of firm, parental authority that didn't leave room for argument.
From the dim interior of the bar emerged a man of average height, with thinning blond hair and wiry shoulders. He walked with a confident stride despite the cane in one hand, and gave off the air of someone who had seen a lot and had little patience for games. His hair was neatly combed and held back with a gilded hairband, and his eyes had a steady, watchful gleam. He wore a simple white work shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show arms that had known years of hard work.
He stopped just behind Wesley, his gaze sliding briefly over Samuel. "Wesley, you know better than to stand guard like that," he said mildly, his voice taking on a tone that didn't need to rise to make itself heard.
Wesley stepped aside reluctantly, muttering something under his breath as he moved away from the door, clearly not pleased but complying with the unspoken order. The man turned his attention to Samuel next, his expression shifting from neutral to a warmer, more direct one. "You must be the one asking about work." His tone was even, but there was something about it that made Samuel feel like he was being appraised all over again.
"Yeah," Samuel said, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "I'm here for a job. I was told this bar was in need of a bouncer?"
"Marcus Walters," the man said, offering his hand with a small, almost apologetic smile. "I own the Ocean's Cradle. Sorry about the… frosty reception. Wesley doesn't exactly warm up to newcomers. He's lived in Rookpoint his whole life."
Samuel shook his hand briefly. "Samuel Carter."
"Well, Samuel Carter, welcome to the Ocean's Cradle. Come on in, let's talk."
Samuel stepped past Marcus and into the bar, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he took in the space. The interior was rustic, but well kept – wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling, a bar that ran along the side of the room, and a lingering hint of salt from the sea outside hung in the air. Various maritime decorations were scattered around or hung from the rafters; old fishing nets, buoys, harpoons, and ship instruments had been positioned in such a way as to lean into the marine atmosphere. Samuel could imagine the area becoming a lively hub as the sun set, but for now it was calm. Peaceful, almost.
Marcus stepped around Samuel, gesturing to one of the tables near the window, where the light from outside filtered in. "You're here about the bouncer job, right? Well, let's have a chat." He waved his hand toward one of the chairs. "Sit. You can have a drink, if you like, though I'd recommend water considering the hour."
As Samuel took a seat, he gave a slight nod of respect. The bar had its own charm; simple, but grounded in its own way. He wasn't surprised that it would need a bouncer – from his limited observations, there wasn't another bar along the waterfront, which would make this place a magnet for the locals. Marcus took a seta across from him, leaning back slightly and resting his cane against the edge of the table as he studied Samuel with the same careful, almost analytical look. His eyes, steady and unfaltering, seemed to weigh Samuel's every movement. After a brief pause, Marcus cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. "Alright, Samuel. Let's get down to it." His voice was firm, but not unkind. "You're looking for a job here, so I'm guessing you're new to town, yes?"
Samuel nodded. "Yeah, just moved in a few days ago."
"Right." Marcus didn't press further, but his gaze shifted slightly, as if he was assessing the unspoken details in Samuel's response. He folded his fingers together before continuing. "And I am guessing you've got experience with this kind of work? Bouncer, security… that sort of thing?"
Samuel paused, weighing his words as his fingers drummed lightly against the wooden table. "Yeah. Worked a few places. Did some security work. Some other odd jobs here and there." He kept it simple, not offering up too much. He didn't want to divulge his entire history to Marcus right now.
Marcus gave a nod, listening closely but not pressing further. "Odd jobs, hm? And how long have you been doing these odd jobs?"
"Off and on for a while," Samuel replied with a shrug. "I work to pay the bills, nothing fancy. If a job doesn't pay my bills, I either find a second one or move on. Nothing personal, nothing against them."
"Fair enough, I suppose I can't fault you for that." Marcus didn't seem too bothered by Samuel's responses. "You mentioned being new to Rookpoint. This isn't exactly a big place, but we get our regulars. People who have been here a while. You think you can handle being an outsider in a town like this?"
Samuel's expression didn't change, but there was a brief flicker in his eyes. He met Marcus's gaze without flinching. "I've handled worse," he said, keeping his voice even and steady. Almost matter-of-fact.
Marcus raised an eyebrow at that, his lips curling into a half-smile. "I'm sure you have," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Wesley. The bartender was busy polishing glasses behind the bar, his icy glare fixed in Samuel's direction. It didn't go unnoticed. Marcus sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before continuing. "As I'm sure you can guess, he's not exactly a fan of outsiders. But he'll get used to you. We all have to, if you plan to stay."
Samuel didn't respond to that. He wasn't sure if Marcus was trying to bait him or reassure him. He stared back at Wesley for a moment, but didn't do anything to acknowledge the other man's simmering discontent. Marcus cleared his throat before continuing. "Alright. Let's talk wages, then. Starting pay would be thirteen an hour. I can give you a trial shift this weekend, to see how well you fit in. Friday night, around eight – prime time, when things start picking up around here. You'll be expected to handle the usual stuff: keeping the peace, making sure no one's causing trouble, and just looking out for the bar." He looked Samuel over again, appraising him once more. "You think you're up for that?"
Samuel gave a short nod. "Yeah. I can handle it."
"Good." Marcus nodded in approval. "Alright then, Friday night at eight. Show up a little early, and I'll go over the rest with you then."
Samuel nodded in turn, though his eyes darted briefly toward Wesley. The scowling bartender was still staring in his direction, one lip curled in a disdainful sneer. There was no doubt in his mind that the other man was none too happy with the decision, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. Samuel had learned long ago not to let this sort of thing faze him. Wesley's bad attitude wasn't his problem.
Marcus stood and walked behind the bar, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice water before coming back and placing it in front of Samuel. "Wesley's just… protective of the Ocean's Cradle. But he'll come around. You just focus on the job, alright?"
Samule didn't say anything for a moment, but he took the glass in hand. He met Marcus's eyes again, nodding in agreement. Details didn't matter much to him – what mattered most was the work, and that was something Samuel was good at. "Alright," he said at last. "I'll be here Friday night." He took a sip of water to punctuate his statement. He could see Wesley glaring at him still, but at this point it was more amusing than threatening. This was just another job. Samuel stood up, downing the rest of the water before setting the cup back down.
Marcus gave him a friendly smile. "See you Friday, Samuel. Don't worry – we'll get you settled in."