The final few customers trickled out of Ocean's Cradle, their voices fading into the chilly night air as Marcus locked the door behind them. The once lively bar had quieted, leaving only the lingering smells of stale beer, sea salt, and wood polish. Samuel wiped down a few tables with steady, methodical movements – his rag growing heavier with each pass as it soaked up the remnants of the evening's revelry. His muscles ached; not from the work itself, but from the tension that had lingered throughout his first shift.
"Not bad for your first night," Marcus said, walking over to the bar. His tone was calm, the words measured as he picked up a stool and turned it over before placing it atop the counter.
Samuel shrugged casually. "Wasn't much different from other jobs I've done," he admitted. "Keep things calm, deal with the loud ones, try not to let it get out of hand."
Marcus gave him a thoughtful look, his lined face unreadable. "Not everyone can handle that kind of pressure… especially here," he glanced towards Wesley, who was behind the bar counting the money in the till. The bartender didn't spare Samuel a glance, but the unspoken air of disapproval in the air felt like dead weight in the room.
"Not bad doesn't mean I like him," Wesley muttered, his eyes never leaving the bills in his hand. He slammed the cash drawer shut with a loud clang, finally leveling his eyes at Samuel. "We'll see if he lasts a week."
Samuel didn't flinch, shrugging again. He was used to people like Wesley – people who didn't trust anyone who didn't belong in their neatly ordered version of the world. Back home, he'd seen it enough times to recognize it for what it was: suspicion, not outright malice. "Guess we will," Samuel said coolly, not rising to the bait.
Marcus chuckled quietly as he leaned on his cane, a low sound that carried more weight to it than Wesley's grumbling. "Don't mind him," he said to Samuel. "He's like this with everyone who's new to town."
"So, I've noticed," Samuel said, tossing the rag into a bucket of murky water. "So… am I hired or not?"
Marcus nodded slowly, as if weighing his next words carefully. "You are. Start full-time on Monday, same hours as today."
Samuel gave a nod of acknowledgement and thanks. He was grateful – the job was steady, the pay reasonable, and that was all he needed right now. He could worry about details later.
Wesley gave an exaggerated sigh, clearly irritated by the fact that Samuel would be sticking around, and muttered something under his breath. Samuel only caught a few words—something about "outsiders", "trouble" and "pain in the ass"—but ignored it. Fighting with Wesley wasn't worth the energy. Instead, he picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. The cold air from outside seeped into the bar as he opened the door, but felt oddly refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the Ocean's Cradle.
"Good night, Samuel," Marcus called after him.
Samuel didn't respond, but gave a casual wave over his shoulder as he stepped outside. The full force of the cold hit him as soon as he was over the threshold, the breeze coming in from the ocean carrying the chill of the cold water with it. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath swirling into a faint mist before being carried away by the wind. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, starting his walk home down the cobblestone street, the soles of his boots echoing faintly in the early morning quiet.
Rookpoint at night had a different kind of life to it. During the day, it was a quaint seaside town, the streets bustling with people and the plazas filled with market stalls. Shop owners chatted with customers and kids ran along the boardwalk. But now, beneath the dim glow of the streetlamps, it felt like a town caught in time. Preserved. The buildings lining the streets were old but well-maintained, their wooden facades having endured years of weathering from the salty sea air and drizzling rain. The cobblestone beneath him had been worn smooth from the elements and the people, the curbs rounded and softened from decades of use. A faint mist clung to the ground, drifting in from the nearby cliffs where the waves crashed endlessly against the rocks below. The scent of the ocean seemed stronger at night – briny and cold, mingling with the woodsy smell from the chimneys around town. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic toll of a buoy bell echoed across the water, harmonizing with the murmur of the waves.
Samuel walked in silence, his eyes scanning the quiet streets around him. Rookpoint wasn't like other places he'd been. It wasn't like the big cities where people continued their lives after dark. After the sun set, the only place people seemed to congregate was the Ocean's Cradle or their own homes. At this early hour, the shops were all dark, their windows shuttered for the night. A few scattered lights remained here and there, showing that some life was present in the pre-dawn city. A bakery on the corner near one of the plazas had its lights on, and he could see the silhouette of a woman moving back and forth between the ovens as the warm glow spilled out onto the street. A little further on, the neon lights flickered over a small diner, though no patrons sat inside. He knew it would take time to get used to this place. It wasn't home—not yet, maybe not ever—but it was peaceful in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. The quiet here wasn't oppressive, just… different. Rookpoint had its own rhythm. Its own cadence. Slow and steady, just like the tides of the ocean it bordered.
As he walked, Samuel's thoughts drifted back to the bar, to Marcus's quiet approval and Wesley's open distrust. He'd been through similar situations before – new towns, new jobs, new faces. People in small towns like this were always slow to trust outsiders, and he really didn't expect Rookpoint to be any different. Trust, though, wasn't something he was focused on right now. He just needed stability; a place to start over. Somewhere he and Savannah could rebuild without the weight of their pasts dragging them down. A place where maybe, someday, he could take a breath and feel like he was happy again.
He was nearly halfway home when he heard a sudden rustling in the alley to his right. He slowed, instinctively tensing as he scanned the shadows for the source of the sound. Before he could react, something large and fast bolted out of the darkness—a blur of fur and energy—heading straight for him.
"Whoa, what the fu—" Samuel managed to shout before the creature barreled into him, sweeping his legs and sending him crashing to the ground. His back hit the cold cobblestones, knocking the air out of him as he landed squarely in a large puddle with a wet SPLAT. Cold, muddy water soaked through his jeans in an instant, somehow slithering beneath his leather jacket and chilling him to the bone. He coughed as he tried to sit back up, drenched and stunned. A massive dog, easily the size of a small bear, watched him from a few feet away before bounding out of sight, tongue lolling out of its mouth. "What… the hell?" he asked, wiping water off his face. Before he could fully stand up, he heard rushed footsteps pounding down the alley from where the dog had emerged.
"Yo! Gambit! Get back here!" The voice was loud, with a twangy accent that struck Samuel as Southern, and carried a hint of exasperation. The next thing he knew, a man came charging out of the alleyway at full speed – and promptly fell over Samuel's outstretched legs. "Whoa—!" His cry was cut off as he went sprawling, colliding with Samuel and carrying them both down into the puddle again.
For a moment, there was only silence. Just the sound of their breathing and the distant crashing of waves. Then the man groaned, pushing himself up onto his hand. He was soaked from head to toe, muddy water dripping from his coat and hair. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he let out a loud, hearty laugh.
"Well ain't this some shit?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear. "Man, that's what I get for runnin' after that fool dog! You good, man?" he asked, his voice irritatingly casual despite the situation, the words rolling together in an easy, laid-back rhythm. He was tall – easily over six feet – and built in such a way that made him look both gangly and muscular. A chaotic angle of long, damp dreadlocks framed his sharp features, clinging to his neck and shoulders in thick ropes. Samuel caught a glimpse of bright beads woven into some of the strands, which added to the wild, untamed vibe. His grin was infuriatingly wide and easy, showing perfect white teeth, as if the whole ridiculous situation was nothing more than an amusing hiccup in his evening.
Despite the chill, he wore a faded flannel shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, and a frayed pair of jeans that were tucked into a pair of heavy work boots. A simple leather cord around his neck held a crudely carved wooden pendant and a few more beads. Samuel couldn't decide, looking at him, what annoyed him more: the man's obnoxiously cheerful, upbeat attitude, or the fact that he seemed completely unfazed by being drenched in freezing water. The guy looked like he belonged in some rough-and-tumble traveling crew, not chasing an overgrown mutt through back alleys.
"No. I am not 'good'," he said bluntly, his tone flat and even. "I'm soaked, I smell like garbage, and now I get to walk home like this." He pushed himself to his feet with a grimace, water dripping from his jacket. "And all because you can't control your damn dog."
The other man stood up too, picking up a pair of fingerless gloves that he'd dropped during the collision and shaking water out of them. Despite Samuel's words, he didn't lose his grin. Instead, he glanced over at the dog—who was now sitting a few feet away, wagging its tail as if nothing had happened—and shook his head. "Aw, c'mon now, don't be mad. Gambit's just got a lotta energy, ya feel me?" He reached down and patted the dog's head, seemingly oblivious to Samuel's rising irritation. "Ain't no harm done, right?"
Samuel's jaw tightened. "No harm? You knocked me into a puddle."
"Nah, he knocked you in the puddle," the other man corrected, jerking his thumb at Gambit. "I just, uh… finished the job, I guess?" he laughed again, as if it somehow made things better.
Samuel stared at him, nonplussed. "You think this is funny?" he asked, trying to keep his anger under control.
"Lil bit, yeah," the man admitted with a shrug, his infuriating grin still firmly in place. He wiped his hands over his face, flicking water to the side before starting to wring out his dreadlocks. "I mean, look at us. We both look like we got dragged outta the ocean, man. Ain't no use getting' mad over it."
Samuel crossed his arms, the cold seeping deeper into his soaked clothes. His instincts roared at him to snap back – to tell this idiot exactly where he could shove his nonchalant attitude – but Samuel took several long, deep breaths. This guy was annoying, sure, but there was no real malice in him. Just a kind of loud, boisterous energy that Samuel was really, really not in the mood to deal with right now.
"Anyway," the man said, shaking out his sleeves and sending droplets of water flying in every direction. "My name's Malcolm. Malcolm Summers. Most folks 'round here just call me Mal." He jabbed his thumb at the dog again, who had taken it upon himself to sniff a nearby crate with exaggerated interest. "That big ol' fool's Gambit. Don't mind him – he's friendly. Real friendly. Just don't know his own size half the time."
Samuel didn't reply, dragging his hands over his own face and shaking water off his jacket. He gave Malcolm a pointed, irritated stare in the hopes that his silence would get the message across: he was not in the mood for this.
Malcolm either didn't pick up on it or didn't care. "So, uh… you new in town, huh? Thought I hadn't seen you before." He tipped his head, studying Samuel like he was trying to place him. "Yeah, you got that 'fresh off the boat' look goin'. Not literally, o' course, but you know what I mean."
Samuel clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment before replying. "I'm not looking to make friends. I'm just trying to get home without freezing to death."
Malcolm chuckled, unfazed. "Cold don't mess 'round here, huh? Yeah, you gotta get used to it if you're gonna be stickin' 'round Rookpoint. Wind comin' off the water? Man, cuts through you like a blade." He gave another exaggerated shiver for effect before turning his attention back to Gambit, who was now pawing at the crate. "Hey, Gambit! Leave that alone! Ain't nothing in there but somebody's old fishin' junk."
The dog paused, gave Malcolm a questioning tilt of his head, and then promptly resumed pawing. Malcolm sighed, shaking his head before turning back to Samuel. "Anyway, I'm in the, uh… service business, y'know? Discreet deliveries, odd jobs, acquisitions, no questions asked. Ain't no job too small or too weird, long as the price is right." He flashed Samuel a cheeky, conspiratorial wink. "You need somethin' moved, fetched, or… borrowed, you hit me up. I'm your guy."
Samuel gave him a flat stare. "I don't need anything. And if I did, I could get it myself. I wouldn't call you."
"Aw, c'mon now," Malcolm said, unfazed by Samuel's blunt response. "Everybody needs somethin' at some point. No shame in it. I'm just sayin', you keep me in mind. Word 'round here is, Mal don't miss." He grinned wider. "Don't mean to brag or nothin' but my clients? They swear by me."
Samuel could feel his patience wearing thinner by the second. His clothes were soaked, the night air was freezing, and now he was stuck listening to this idiot's endless chatter. "You done yet?" he asked, his voice hard.
Malcolm blinked, as if genuinely surprised by the question, then let out a loud laugh. "Man, you ain't the friendly type, huh? That's cool. I get it. New town, new folks, gotta keep your guard up. I respect it. But don't worry – you'll warm up to ol' Malcolm soon enough. Everybody does."
"Wouldn't count on it," Samuel muttered, turning away and marching off, ready to be done with the whole encounter. Malcolm didn't seem to notice—or maybe he didn't care—that Samuel was clearly done. Instead, he fell into step beside him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walking next to him like they were old buddies strolling through town. Infuriatingly, his grin hadn't wavered an inch.
"So, where you stayin' at? One o' them cottages by the cliffs? Or maybe you found somethin' by the boardwalk?" he asked casually, as if Samuel hadn't just tried to end the conversation.
Samuel shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "I… seriously?" he asked, incredulous. "You're still talking?"
"Course I'm still talkin'!" Malcolm laughed, unfazed. "Ain't no sense walkin' all quiet, especially when you just met someone who can hook you up with whatever you need. Consider this… the 'welcome to Rookpoint' special, free o' charge!"
"Would you be quiet!?" Samuel snapped, his voice sharper now. "I don't need anything. Least of all, some guy who doesn't know when to shut the hell up!"
Malcolm whistled low, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Damn, man, you really got somethin' stuck up in there tonight, huh?" Relax! You actin' like I kicked your cat or somethin'."
"I don't have a… ugh!" Samuel bit out through gritted teeth. He stopped abruptly, turning to face Malcolm head-on. "Look, I don't know what your deal is, and I don't care! I've had a long night. I'm soaked. I'm freezing. The last thing I need is you running your mouth like we're best friends! So do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone!"
Malcolm blinked, surprised at Samuel's outburst. For a moment, it seemed as if he might have actually gotten the message. But then that ever-present grin crept back onto his face. "Man, you're really somethin' else," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "Most folks would'a just smiled, nodded, and gone on their way. But nah, you wanna throw hands with words. I respect that." He chuckled to himself, clearly entertained by Samuel's rising temper.
Samuel clenched his fists at his sides. "I'm about to start throwing punches," he warned. "I'm telling you to back off and leave me alone."
Meanwhile, Gambit, oblivious to the tension between the two men, trotted up with something clamped in his jaws – a soggy piece of rope or perhaps an old fishing net, judging by the way it dripped water. He plopped it proudly at Malcolm's feet and wagged his tail like he'd just fetched buried treasure. Malcolm glanced down at the dog, his grin somehow widening further. "Lookat that. Ol' Gambit's tryin' to contribute to the conversation." He knelt down and gave the dog a hearty pat on the side. "Good boy, Gambit. Always workin', always hustlin'." He picked up the 'treasure' and threw it at a nearby trash can, missing by a wide margin.
Samuel felt his eye twitch. "I don't have time for this," he muttered, turning on his heel and marching off down the streat.
"Yo, hold up, man! You walkin' off mad for real?" Malcolm called after him, straightening up and jogging a couple of steps to keep pace. "C'mon, don't be like that. You're new here. I'm just tryin' to be neighborly, y'know?"
Samuel stopped abruptly again, spinning around so fast that Malcolm almost ran into him. "Neighborly?" he asked incredulously. "You wanna be neighborly? Fine. Then stay out of my way and keep your damn dog on a leash!"
"Whoa, whoa," Malcolm said, raising both hands again in that same easygoing gesture. "Ain't no need to get all heated. Gambit's just got spirit, that's all. Don't mean no harm." He paused looking Samuel over more carefully. "But you… you got somethin' heavy on your mind, huh? That's why you out here lookin' all stormcloud and thunder?"
Samuel's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. The last thing he wanted was to be psychoanalyzed by some stranger trying to dig into his life, like he owed him an explanation. Malcolm tilted his head, for a moment resembling his dog, and his grin softened slightly. Not enough to stop being irritating, but enough to seem genuine. "Hey, look. I get it. You had a bad day, you don't know me, and you wet, cold, and mad 'cause o' this whole mess." He nodded toward Gambit, who had retrieved his prize and was happily chewing on it at Malcolms feet. "So I'mma let you be. But you ever need somethin' – and trust me, everybody needs somethin' eventually – you know who to look for. I'm always 'round."
Samuel didn't bother responding. He just scowled once more and walked away without a glance back. This time, Malcolm didn't follow.
Samuel trudged up the narrow staircase leading to the apartment above Green Legacy, his soaked clothes still clinging to him like a second skin. His boots squelched wetly with each step, droplets of water marking his progress up the creaking wooden steps. By the time he reached the landing, he was cold to the bone, thoroughly miserable, and in no mood for anything other than dry clothes and collapsing into bed. The door creaked as he opened it, the warmth of the apartment wrapping around him like a reward for making it all the way back. The small living space was cozy, and Savannah had done an excellent job of unpacking. Her books were all in their proper places, their personal knickknacks arranged on the tables and some of the counters. The old heater in the corner rattled faintly, pumping out enough heat to warm the apartment in defiance of the cold outside.
Despite the early morning hour, Savannah was still awake. She was curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in his appearance – drenched from head to toe, mud-streaked jeans, and an expression of pure, simmering irritation. "Samuel! What happened to you?!" she asked, setting her book aside and rising quickly. Her voice normally seemed to carry a hint of concern for him, but now she sounded flat out worried. She crossed the room in a few steps, her brow furrowed as she reached for his soaked jacket. "You're freezing!"
"Yeah. No kidding," Samuel muttered, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it onto the floor with a wet plop. He pulled off his equally soaked boots, adding them to the growing puddle by the door. Freezing was an understatement. He felt as if he had ice in his veins. Like no amount of heat or warmth would ever dispel this chill.
Savannah grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and handed it to him, worry etched onto her features. "Sit down. I'll get something warm!"
Samuel took the towel with a mutter of thanks and sat down heavily on the worn-out couch. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the day, and the radiator's warmth did little to chase away the chill still clinging to his skin. Or the irritation coursing through his veins. It wasn't like he'd forgotten how he got so wet in the first place.
Damn dog.
Savannah disappeared into the kitchen, the soft clinking of the kettle filling the silence as he rubbed at his long, untidy hair with the towel. She reappeared a moment later, watching him as he tried to dry off his face with frustrated, jerky motions. "Seriously, what happened?" she asked. "You look like you got into a fight with the ocean and lost."
Samuel let out a short, humorless laugh, flopping back against the couch and glaring up at the ceiling. "Might've preferred that, actually," he said. "At least the ocean doesn't talk your ear off."
She tilted her head in confusion. "Talk your… ear off? What do you mean?"
"I mean, after getting chewed out by that dick Wesley all day, I had the privilege of meeting the loudest, most annoying guy in town," he growled, gesturing vaguely towards the door as if the object of his ire was on the other side, waiting to torment him again. "Some guy named Malcolm and his oversized dog decided to use me as a crash pad."
Savannah returned to the kitchen, pouring steaming water into a mug and dropping in a tea bag. "Wait—what? He landed on you?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he began toweling off his arms. "His dog—big enough to pull a sled, by the way—comes charging out of an alley with no warning. Knocked me straight into a puddle. While I'm sitting there, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened, he comes running after the dog, trips over me, and lands in the same puddle."
She emerged with the tea, offering him the mug. Her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying—and failing—to suppress. "Oh no…"
Samuel shot her a pointed look, though he didn't seem truly angry. Just exasperated and uncomfortable. "And then, instead of apologizing like a normal person, he just starts laughing. Treating it like it's just a minor inconvenience and then spends the next five minutes telling me about his 'business'. Discreet deliveries and odd jobs or whatever."
Savannah perched on the edge of the couch and bit her lip in a valiant effort not to laugh. "He didn't even apologize to you?"
"Nope. Just kept running his mouth like we're best friends," Samuel muttered, wrapping his hands around the mug and letting the heat seep into his hands. Heaven. Pure heaven. "And that damn mutt. Gambit. Didn't even blink after knocking me to the ground. Just went and started digging through trash like nothing happened. Happier than a bug at a bake sale."
Savannah finally lost the battle with her laugher. It escaped, light and brief, before she quickly covered her mouth. "I-I'm sorry, Samuel, but… the way you tell it—"
"It's not funny."
"It kind of is," she protested, reaching over and taking the towel before helping dry his hair. Her touch was soft and methodical, a harsh contrast to his own peeved, quick motions. After a moment, she folded the damp towel and set it aside. "Well. That's no good. I'll make you something to eat, but you should at least shower and change out of those clothes before you die of a cold."
Samuel narrowed his eyes and scowled. "I'm fine," he muttered, grabbing the towel again. "Just need to dry off a bit more."
"You're dripping on the couch, Samuel," Savannah said, her voice gentle but firm as she took the towel back from him. "Go on. I'll have something warm ready for you by the time you're done."
With a sigh that carried all the weight of the world—or at least of his thoroughly ruined day—Samuel forced himself off the couch. He snatched the towel back from Savannah, draping it over his shoulder as he plodded towards the hallway. "Fine. But I'm not done with that guy," he muttered. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna clean his clock. Who even does that? I mean, shows up, ruins your day, and then acts like your buddy? Guy's got more nerve than brains…"
Savannah bit back another laugh, watching as he disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. She could still hear his voice, albeit muffled, as he continued complain in the bathroom. "And that dog! More like a freight train with fur… haven't even been in this damn town a month and I'm already a target for a loudmouth and his oversized pet bear." The bathroom door clicked shut, drowning out any further rambling.
She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she moved into the kitchen to find something for him to eat. Despite his gruff, no-nonsense exterior, there was something that had always been undeniably endearing to her about the way he ranted when he got mad. Especially when he clearly didn't mean half of what he said. He'd been like that for as long as she'd known him, bouncing between his usual blunt (and often sarcastic) responses or full-blown comedic tirades if he got mad. And somehow, he managed to make everything he whined about sound unintentionally hilarious.
For a moment, she heard his voice in the bathroom before the shower turned on, and caught him doing an exaggerated impression of this Malcolm character. "'Oh, keep me in mind if you ever need something moved.' Yeah, I'll keep you in mind… if I ever need a punching bag. Stupid son of a—" the water muffled his voice completely from that point. Savannah couldn't help herself anymore, and leaned on the counter as she laughed as quietly as she could.