The moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the deck of the Ocean's Cradle. Samuel stepped outside, the wooden boards creaking under his boots as he took a deep breath of the salty sea air. Three weeks and he still wasn't used to it, but he was starting to enjoy it. The cool breeze coming in off the harbor made him feel refreshed. Alive. He carried a brown paper bag in one hand, the faint scent of roasted chicken and fresh bread wafting up from within – a packed lunch courtesy of Savannah. She'd insisted on making something for him to take along on his overnight shifts, and after a night of lugging kegs, policing drunks, and dealing with Wesley's constant bitching, he was more than ready to sit down and enjoy it.
He dropped into one of the chairs with a quiet grunt, setting the bag on the table and leaning back slightly. The deck overlooked a portion of Rookpoint's quiet streets and the harbor itself, the light breeze carrying in the salty tang from the ocean. At this early hour, the town felt peaceful – slower than the chaos of cities he'd lived in before this, and somehow even slower than Roopoint during the day.
He pulled out the neatly wrapped sandwich Savannah had prepared and took a bite, savoring the simple—yet very satisfying—flavors. Roasted chicken, cheese, and a light smear of barbecue sauce between two toasted pieces of bread. Simple, but effective. And one of his favorite combinations. As he chewed, he turned his gaze toward the street. It was after midnight, and there weren't any people on the sidewalks at this hour. He rather liked it like this. Quiet, peaceful, still – no one around to bother him, no one to make idle conversation he wasn't good at maintaining. Just the sound of the surf and a delicious sandwich.
Halfway through his lunch—or perhaps he should have considered it his dinner—he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A man approached the deck, moving with a casual confidence that bordered on a swagger, almost instantly putting Samuel on edge. He wasn't sure why; maybe it was the way the guy carried himself—like he belonged anywhere he went, even places he hadn't been before. The man stopped a few feet away from Samuel's table, giving him a once-over with sharp, calculating eyes. He was younger than Samuel had first assumed, mid-twenties maybe, with unruly dark hair and a lean frame that made him look scrawny; he barely filled out his gray overcoat.
His eyes lingered on Samuel for a moment longer than was comfortable; his posture was relaxed, almost too much so, and Samuel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Not bad," the man said casually, glancing down at the sandwich on the table. "Place like this… makes a guy wonder if it's always quiet around here."
Samuel swallowed his bite of sandwich and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wasn't about to get dragged into more of a conversation that he had to, but the man's presence and casual stance was beginning to irritate him. He was too calm, too comfortable. And the way he was eying him wasn't just idle curiosity. "Quiet enough," Samuel replied noncommittally, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "Doesn't get too busy."
The man smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, that's what the people here would like others to think. Things aren't always what they seem in a town like this, you know. Folks here know how to keep things running. Makes it easy to slip in and out if you know how."
Samuel raised an eyebrow, his fingers curling into his bicep. He wasn't sure if it was the tone or the choice of words, but something about this guy set his teeth on edge. "You're local, then?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral and guarded.
The man's grin widened just a fraction, but he didn't answer the question directly. Instead, he took a half-step forward, rolling his shoulders before popping his neck. His eyes swept over the deck, as if he was sizing it up as much as he was Samuel. "Local? Maybe. Long enough to know the ropes, at least. You, though… you're new around here, aren't you? Just getting your feet wet?" his voice held an almost mocking curiosity, as if testing how much Samuel would reveal.
Samuel unfolded his arms, resting one arm on the table and drumming his fingers lightly. "Three weeks, give or take."
The man tilted his head, studying Samuel with a half-smirk. His eyes held the sort of expression that suggested he could read more into Samuel's words. "Three weeks? Yes, I figured as much. Still getting the lay of the land, hm? Rookpoint's not exactly the kind of place where you can just blend in, especially if you're new. People notice when you don't belong."
The hairs on Samuel's neck prickled again, though he kept his expression flat. He wasn't about to let this guy needle him into a corner. "Not here to blend in," he said simply. "Just working."
The man leaned on the table across from Samuel, his grin sharpening slightly. "Just working, huh?" he asked, tapping the side of his nose as if piecing something together in his mind. "Yes, you're definitely not the first one I've seen come through here with that attitude. But hey, you've been around long enough to start getting a feel for things. Especially for someone who's not… quite from around here."
Samuel's fingers flexed slightly, his eyes narrowing. He suspected he knew exactly where this was going, and he didn't like it. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The other man's smile flickered, just for a moment, before it returned in full force. "Well, let's see. You're obviously from out of town, but you've been here long enough that you've started meeting people and making connections. And you just so happen to be sitting here, all alone, eating a sandwich in the middle of the night. I assume the coffee shop next door didn't sit quite well with you?"
Samuel scowled a bit at the mention of the Driftwood Café, remembering Camille and her wonderfully frosty welcome. The dark-haired man let the silence hang for a beat longer than necessary before continuing. "But, you know, I think I've got it. You're the brother, right? The one Savannah mentioned?"
Samuel's breath caught in his chest, and his stomach turned. He sat up straighter, his eyes flashing with guarded suspicion. "You've met my sister?" Samuel's voice dropped to a low, controlled tone – the kind he used when dealing with people he didn't like.
The man's smile barely shifted, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes as he observed Samuel's reaction. He sat down at the table with him, his elbows resting casually on the edge of the table as if they were already old acquaintances. "Why yes, I've met her," he said easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I was down by the canal earlier this week, feeding my otters, and she came up to see what was going on. We had a little chat for a bit – she seems to have a soft spot for animals. Quite a peaceful little moment." He glanced at Samuel again, letting his words hang in the air. "She seemed like she had a lot on her mind, though."
Samuel's jaw tightened as he listened. Something about the casual way this guy talked about Savannah bothered him. Not the words themselves, but the casual mention of Savannah, the way he described her coming up to him while he fed his otters, felt too personal. Too specific. Too… friendly. He remembered Savannah mentioning a guy feeding his pet otters, but he hadn't imagined it would be a shifty little creep like this.
The man sighed, smiling that same easy, knowing grin. "Don't look so shocked. You'd be surprised how many people I meet in a day," he said. "You know, being around here, it's funny how much you can learn just by paying attention. People are open, but only if you know how to listen to them." He paused, his eyes flicking over Samuel, sizing him up like a puzzle piece. "But hey, I'm sure your sister has her reasons for being a little… quiet sometimes. She didn't say much about you, but then again, I don't think she was really in the mood for much talking."
Samuel's eyes narrowed further as the conversation took a turn he didn't like. The man was digging, probing, trying to make it sound like just a harmless chat… but Samuel wasn't stupid. This guy wasn't just talking for the sake of it – he was trying to worm his way under Samuel's skin. He took another slow breath, letting the silence stretch between them. "I'm sure she didn't tell you much," he said, gauging his answers.
The man chuckled, a soft and almost imperceptible sound, as if Samuel's response was exactly what he'd expected. "Yes, well, I wouldn't expect her to lay it all out on the table for a stranger. But you know, a town like this? It's not easy to hide everything. Not for long."
Samuel outright frowned, his suspicions skyrocketing. The man's tone had shifted again, and was far less friendly now. More calculating. "What do you mean by that?" Samuel asked, a growl creeping into his voice, his patience beginning to fray.
The man leaned back, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he looked up at the night sky. "What I mean is, it's a small town. People get to know each other pretty fast. And sometimes, they share more than they mean to. But I'm not one to judge – people have their reasons for what they do."
"You seem to be real good at reading people," Samuel said, his voice sharpening. "So, what do you want from me?"
The man's eyes twinkled, but there was a guarded edge to his expression now. He didn't flinch or back away; instead, he met Samuel's gaze head-on, as if daring him to press further. "Want? Not much. Just making sure I understand the lay of the land. Town's full of people with their own little secrets. Thought I'd take a look at the newcomer. See how he fit in with the rest."
Samuel didn't respond to that right away. He sat there, staring at the man, his mind chewing over what he had said. Something about this guy—something about the way he talked—it made him feel like he was being watched. Studied. He didn't particularly like the feeling.
The man tilted his head, eyes scanning Samuel with renewed curiosity. "You know, you're not much of a talker, are you?" he remarked, his tone light but not entirely without a sharp edge. "People who keep their thoughts close to their chest—well, it makes them all the more interesting, don't you think?"
Samuel's lips twisted into something between a smile and a scowl, his brow wrinkling. "I don't have much to say to strangers," he replied coolly, leaning back in his chair. "If that's a problem, I can always go inside… or ask you to leave. Same thing to me, really."
The man laughed, a low and amused sound that seemed far too relaxed and casual to match the intensity in his eyes. "Not a problem at all. Just makes me wonder why someone like you ends up in a town like this." He gave a casual wave to the surroundings – to the deck, the town stretching beyond it, and the sleepy streets. "Rookpoint's the kind of place people come to when they're looking for a fresh start… or when they're running from something. So which is it for you?"
Samuel's eyes hardened. He didn't like the half-accusation, but he wasn't going to take the bait. "I'm here to work," he said flatly. "And this town's as good a place as any for that."
The other man leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers before setting his chin on them. "Work, hm? And what kind of work is that, exactly? Bouncer, right? For someone who's so… low-key, I'd expect you to be a little more in the background. But you seem to be making a lot of noise for a guy who just wants to blend in."
Samuel shook his head. "You've got the wrong ideas," he said. "I'm just here to do a job."
The man's grin widened, as if he'd scored a hit, and he leaned back as if satisfied with the response. "Fair enough. I get it. You're not one to share much." He shrugged, almost as if conceding the point, but Samuel still got the distinct feeling that he had learned something. "But then, that's how you get by in a place like this, right? Keep things quiet. Keep your cards close. I respect that." He paused, as if thinking, before continuing – his tone becoming a bit more matter-of-fact. "Me, I'm a marketing consultant," he said, almost as if this introduced him. "Advertising, connections… People tend to need those things, especially in a small town like this. You know, the kind of work where you just listen to the right people and make sure the right deals go down. Keeps the wheels turning, and it keeps me busy."
Samuel couldn't stop his upper lip from curling into tight, almost imperceptible sneer. "Marketing consultant, huh?" he said, skeptical. "Funny. You don't look like the kind of guy who spends his days making brochures and running ads." His eyes flicked over the man as if appraising him in kind before narrowing again. "I don't buy it."
If Samuel's words bothered him, he didn't show it. He didn't flinch, he simply regarded Samuel with that same, ever-present smirk. "Not everything is as it seems," he said smoothly. "Marketing's about more than just selling a product. It's about understanding people. Connections. Who's talking to who, who's doing what—and when—and who needs services."
Samuel drummed his fingers on the table, the sound echoing in the quiet air. He leaned forward, staring the man down as he spoke. "Yeah. I'm sure it is. But something tells me 'connections' around here don't come from handing out fliers and running TV spots. So, what's really going on? You're not some ad guy. Not with all that talk about the 'right deals'. Sounds more like you're in the business of dealing something else. Drugs, maybe?"
The man's eyes lit up with surprise, and then amusement. A short, clipped laugh escaped from his lips as he returned Samuel's stare, almost as if he had been issued a challenge as opposed to an accusation. "Oh, my friend," he said slowly, savoring the words. "I have to hand it to you—most people wouldn't go straight for the jugular like that." He chuckled again, shaking his head. "But still… a drug dealer, really? That's the best you've got?" His expression was laced with amusement, his eyes twinkling and dancing. "I think you've watched one too many bad cop shows."
Samuel held his stare. If anything, it got colder. "You can laugh it off, but I'm not stupid. I've seen guys like you. The 'consultant' types who like to hide behind smooth talks and vague answers. The people who aren't want they say and definitely aren't want they claim to be." He dropped his voice even lower, each word spoken with quiet, deliberate precision. "I've seen the way you stare at me. Like I'm some puzzle you need to solve. And that means you're either digging for something or selling something."
The man's smile relaxed, but the gleam in his eyes intensified. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "if I were a drug dealer, I would probably have a lot more clients around here. And a lot more trouble. But then I wouldn't be able to sit here like this, would I?" he gestured at the quiet, peaceful scene around them, the sleepy street stretching out under the moonlight. "I'm just here to… make things easier. For some people, anyway."
Samuel's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything.
"You've got an answer for everything, don't you?" he asked, the cold suspicion in his eyes sharpening. "Fine. If you're here to 'make things easier', what's your name?"
The man's smirk grew, as if he'd been waiting for the moment Samuel would ask that question. But before he could answer, a familiar voice cut through the night air behind Samuel. "Hey, Samuel! Break's over!" Marcus called, sticking his head out from the doorway of the Ocean's Cradle. "The last boat is coming in for the night, and we're going to have a crowd when they do."
Samuel turned, shooting Marcus a quick nod, his frustration barely hidden beneath a tight expression. He turned back to the man… only to find the chair empty. He was gone. No parting words, no footsteps retreating into the night. Just… gone. As if he'd never been there at all. Samuel blinked, forcing himself to loosen his jaw. He scanned the street, as if expecting to see the man somewhere, but the dim glow of the streetlamps didn't reveal any sign of the stranger.
"Is… everything good out here?" Marcus asked, stepping out onto the deck and leaning on his cane. He glanced at the empty seat pulled out across from Samuel, and then raised an eyebrow. "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," Samuel replied curtly, standing up from the table. "Just… some guy talking nonsense."
Marcus gave a thoughtful hum, crossing his arms. "Rookpoint's got a few characters like that," he said. "You get used to it. Besides, if it was anything serious, you'd know. People here don't stay quiet about trouble."
Samuel didn't respond, still scanning the street as if the enigmatic stranger might reappear as suddenly as he had vanished. Finally, he shook his head and let out a low breath before following Marcus back into the bar. But even as he returned to work, the man's cryptic words lingered in his mind like a splinter he couldn't seem to pull free. Something told him that this wasn't the last time he would run across him.
The rain had picked up out of nowhere, and while it wasn't quiet a storm, it still drummed steadily against the front windows of the Ocean's Cradle, making Samuel very glad he'd chosen to take his lunch when he had. Samuel stood near the bar, arms crossed, scanning the room with practiced vigilance. The dim lighting of the bar cast long shadows across the floor, mingling with the warm glow of the hanging lamps. It created an atmosphere that was as familiar as it was monotonous. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before leaning his shoulder on the pillar at the end of the bar. There wasn't much going on tonight – just a handful of regulars nursing their drinks and a few others scattered around the room engaged in quiet conversations. The main rushes were over, and now it was the stragglers leftover as the bar wound down. This was good – a quiet night meant no trouble, and no trouble meant that his shift would end on time.
Still, his thoughts drifted as his eyes followed the raindrops running down the glass windows. The walk home was only a few blocks, but with the rain coming down, he knew he was going to be damp by the time he got there. Not that a little rain was going to ruin his evening. He'd dealt with a lot worse.
"Expecting trouble to burst through the door, or are you just bored out of your mind?" Wesley's voice cut through the low hum of the bar like a knife, sharp and cold.
Samuel didn't look at him right away. Instead, he shifted his gaze to a pair of patrons laughing quietly in the far corner before lazily turning to look at the bartender. Wesley was wiping down the counter, his eyes never fully meeting Samuel's, but the disdain was evident in his tone. Wesley never said much to Samuel, but when he did, it betrayed his deep-rooted distrust and dislike. "Just keeping an eye on things," Samuel replied, his voice calm and even. He didn't engage in Wesley's attempts to needle him.
Wesley gave a short, humorless laugh as he tossed the towel over his shoulder. "Yeah. Sure. Big bad bouncer keeping the peace. Real exciting stuff."
Samuel didn't bite. He knew better. Wesley didn't like him, and that had been clear since the start. Maybe it was because he was new, maybe Wesley was just a dick and didn't really like anyone. Either way, Samuel wasn't going to start something over a few snide comments. It would take a lot more than that to get under his skin.
The door creaked open, drawing Samuel's attention back to the front of the bar. A gust of cool, rain-scented air swept into the room as a newcomer walked in. He was broad-shouldered, with a sturdy build and a calm, collected presence that made him stand out from the usual patrons. His damp coat hung heavily on him, and his dark hair glistened wetly in the light from the overhead lamps. He looked to be in his late thirties, his face framed by a well-groomed beard that didn't hide the faint lines of experience etched around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Samuel sized him up in an instant – a habit, nothing personal. Solid frame, steady gait, sharp eyes… not someone looking for trouble, but someone who could probably handle himself it came his way.
The man took a moment to shake off the excess rain before making his way up to the bar. He didn't rush, his movements deliberate and measured, but he also didn't waste time. When he reached the counter, he gave Wesley a nod and leaned slightly on the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood. "Evening," he said, his voice deep but friendly. He had a faint accent Samuel couldn't quite place. "Rough weather out there."
"Yeah, you don't say," Wesley replied flatly, grabbing a clean glass. His tone wasn't hostile exactly, but it didn't exactly radiate friendliness either. "What'll it be?"
The man glanced at the menu hanging behind the bar, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before nodding to himself. "Plate of those garlic chicken wings," he said. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing options in his head, then added, "and a rum. Dark, if you have it."
Wesley didn't bother to reply beyond a curt nod. He set about filling the order with the same efficient detachment he used with most patrons. Meanwhile, the man settled onto a stool near Samuel, stretching his shoulders as if shaking off the damp chill of the rain. He glanced around the room, taking in the other patrons and the atmosphere. His eyes, sharp and observant, lingered on a few of the knickknacks around the bar before turning towards Samuel.
Samuel stayed quiet, watching the man from his peripheral vision. The man was sizing him up, much like Samuel had done to him. There was no hostility in it, just a quiet assessment. He didn't seem to be looking for a fight. If anything, he seemed more curious than anything else. Wesley placed the glass of dark rum on the counter with a clink, momentarily disrupting the man's appraisal of Samuel. He picked it up, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before taking a slow, thoughtful sip. "Mm… good stuff," the man said, setting the glass back down on the bar. He didn't say anything else for a moment, sitting in silence as if lost in thought, before taking another sip of the rum and turning toward Samuel, lifting the glass and offering him a small, friendly nod.
"New bouncer, huh?" the man asked, his voice carrying a laid-back, relaxed tone. Although it was a question, the way he said it made it seem more like an observation. "I can tell by how you carry yourself. You've got that watchful look. Not the first time you've stood guard, I take it?"
Samuel nodded back to him. "You could say that," he replied.
The man's lips curved into a smile, as if a puzzle piece had just clicked into place for him. "Name's Wayne. Wayne Redding," he continued, setting down the rum and offering Samuel his hand. "I own the Driftwood Café next door. Just got back into town a few hours ago."
"Samuel Carter." Samuel took the man's hand and gave it a firm shake. Wayne's grip was firm, but not forceful. Steady. Like someone who had done this before. It told him a lot about Wayne's character: tired, sure, but there was something very solid behind the handshake. A quiet authority. "Been over there once," Samuel said, his tone steady as Wayne picked up the rum again. "Just once." His eyes narrowed a bit as if the memory itself was enough to draw irritation back into his blood. "Figured I'd stop by and see what the place was about."
Wayne tilted his head slightly, perhaps sensing something was amiss. "What happened?"
Samuel's expression darkened, just a fraction, as he leaned back on the pole. "One of your gals over there wasn't exactly in the mood for company close to closing time," he said. "Gave me a bit of a rough go of it for just wanting a cup of coffee. Seemed to think I was a troublemaker of some sort."
Wayne's smile softened into a quiet, apologetic chuckle. "Camille. She can be like that," he admitted. "She's not big on small talk, especially when she's tired. She runs a tight ship over there, which is why I leave her in charge when I'm not working… but she doesn't always have the best bedside manner. Something we're trying to work on." He leaned in a bit, as if trying to ease the tension in Samuel's posture. "She means well, but she's got a lot on her plate. Especially keeping Nat in line."
Samuel nodded, but it didn't change his opinion. He wasn't exactly buying the whole bit about her meaning well. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't sure what it was, but Camille's attitude had just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the cold reception. Maybe it was the way she'd jumped to conclusions so quickly. Either way, it wasn't an interaction he was eager to repeat.
Before he could say anything to Wayne, Wesley appeared with a basket of sizzling garlic chicken wings. The aroma hit Samuel immediately – rich and spicy, a little smoky, and downright delicious. His stomach growled in spite of himself. Wesley set the plat down in front of Wayne with his usual unbothered air, barely acknowledging either of them. Wayne didn't seem to notice Wesley's frosty demeanor. His face lit up like a child on Christmas as soon as the wings were in front of him. His eyes sparkled and gleamed with anticipation, and he didn't hesitate before picking up one of the wings and blowing on it. The skin was crisp and golden brown, and the sauce was glistening with a savory sheen. He took a small bite, sighing happily as the smoky flavor hit his tongue.
"Now this," Wayne said, his voice muffled through a mouthful of chicken, "this is what I've been missing." He gave a satisfied hum, his eyes closing briefly in contentment before he nodded his thanks to Wesley. "These are wings worth coming back for."
Wesley gave a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement, his back to the counter. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just eat 'em before they get cold."
Wayne laughed, snatching up another wing without hesitation. He ravenously devoured it, savoring each bite as if he hadn't eaten a good meal in days. Samuel, still leaning on the post, found himself watching Wayne with mild amusement, though his irritation from the earlier conversation was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. Finally, after finishing a few more wings, he wiped his fingers on the napkin before leaning towards Samuel again. "You know, Samuel… I really think you ought to give the café another shot."
Samuel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him warily. He wasn't in the mood for a sales pitch—he wasn't even sure why Wayne was pressing the issue. He exhaled, shaking his head to make it clear he wasn't interested. "Nah, I'm good."
Wayne didn't seem deterred. Instead, he grinned wider, leaning in just a little closer, as if trying to draw Samuel into the conversation. "I get it," he continued, his tone low but persuasive, "you had a rough go of it last time. But come on—I know Camille can be a little… rough around the edges, sure. She's not always great at first impressions, but you can't hold it against her forever, right?"
"I can, actually," Samuel said, his expression hardening at the mention of Camille's attitude. The memory of her snapping at him before he even had a chance to explain himself left a sour taste in his mouth. "She wasn't exactly the most welcoming. Made it pretty clear that she didn't approve of me as part of the clientele."
Wayne's smile faltered a bit. "Yeah, well… that's unfortunately Camille for you… but she's not as bad as you think. I promise. Trust me on this, Samuel, if you come by again, I'll make sure she knows you're a good guy. I'll set it up – hell, I'll throw in a free coffee for you. And a pastry too." He lowered his voice a little more, his tone almost pleading. "What do you say? Give it another shot? One more time, no pressure?"
Samuel wasn't easily swayed, and he wasn't about to let one off-hand invitation push him back into something he wasn't ready for. "I told you, I'm good," he said again, shaking his hand. "I'm not exactly looking to make friends with some chick who thinks I'm a thug."
Wayne leaned back, looking momentarily defeated, but his expression quickly shifted back to one of determination. "I get it, I do," he said, his voice even, "but you've gotta understand that it's not about making friends. It's about the coffee. It's about the atmosphere. The peace. The place's got a heart and soul and vibe all its own. You don't get that everywhere. And honestly? You look like the kind of guy who would enjoy a good cup of coffee. I'm not saying you have to stick around all day, but just pop in for a quick one." He glanced down at his wings and then back up at Samuel. "I know you're working hard, and it's early in the morning for this, but next time you get a break—just swing by. Grab a seat. I'll make sure Camille knows you're just looking for a cup of coffee."
Samuel's jaw tightened slightly. He wasn't sure why Wayne was so insistent on this. It wasn't like he had a vendetta against the café, he just didn't want to deal with Camille's attitude again. But something about Wayne's persistence, his genuine desire to make it right, tugged at something inside him. He didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to feel a little bit of the weight of his own stubbornness. Wayne's offer—the free coffee and pastry with the promise of no drama—was tempting. Really tempting. Still, he wasn't ready to jump at the bait. Not yet.
Wayne, sensing Samuel's hesitation, leaned in again. "Look, I'm not trying to get you to be a regular, or ask you to come in every day before your shift or anything. Just once. Come on in and you'll see, I promise. I'll have a word with Camille, get her to tone it down a little. Just… give me one more chance. Please?" He grinned, the easy charm returning to his face as he continued. "And if you don't like it after that, you don't have to go back. But I think you'll see the place in a whole new light. Camille's got a good heart… she just hides it behind a tough exterior."
Samuel hesitated, his fingers drumming against his arm as he considered Wayne's words. The idea of giving it another try wasn't exactly appealing, but Wayne's insistence was hard to ignore. Plus, it wasn't like he had a lot of better things to do with his time – other than working, he either went home and slept or helped Savannah around the apartment. Finally, after a long moment, Samuel sighed, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. "Fine," he said, his voice reluctant but not entirely dismissive. "I'll give it a shot. But don't expect me to stick around if she gets all snippy again. I'm not interested in getting dragged into a fight."
Wayne's face lit up. "Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" he slapped a hand on the counter in triumph, causing a couple of patrons nearby to glance over curiously. "I knew you'd come around. Alright, I'll make sure Camille knows to lay off. You won't regret it."
Samuel shot him a quick, amused look. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get too ahead of yourself, Wayne. Let's see if you can calm the ice queen first."
Wayne's grin didn't fade. "I'll handle it. Trust me, it'll be worth it."
Samuel gave him a flat look but couldn't help a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, alright," he muttered, "I'll stop by next time. But don't expect me to become a regular." Wayne's laugh was light and easy as the man dug into another wing, clearly pleased with the success of his persuasion. Samuel didn't know what to make of it yet, but for some reason, he had a feeling that the next visit to the Driftwood Café might not be as unpleasant as the last.