So…the Pirates’ House is a real place in Savannah. In my humble opinion, they serve the best biscuits and marmalade, and the atmosphere is amazing. I find myself transported every time I go. Enjoy!

4

Heather

Shanghaied

I glance down into the wine cellar for the tenth time since eleven o’clock this morning.

I was at The Pirates’ House before the doors opened, and I’m ready to show off the old building with its scattering of hidden secrets.

Oma helped me into my layers of costume. I suppose it isn’t really necessary for me to go all out with pirate garb authenticity, but I figure if I’m playing the part, I may as well look the part.

To an extent.

Supposedly, Anne Bonny and Mary Read used to unbutton their linen shirts when they were going into sea battle. In an act of intimidation (or perhaps, merely, for shock value) they would show their breasts, startling the men with the realization that A) they were women, and B) they had rather distracting parts of anatomy.

I’m not willing to go that far.

I’m grateful for my linen shirt, trousers, leather boots, and overcoat as a chilly breeze drifted up from the cellar. I itch to go down. The cellar had once been part of the intricate underground tunnels I was writing my thesis on. Occasionally, ghost tours brought guests down in the dark of night in the hopes that some of the restaurant’s spectral pirates would pay them a visit. Really, the room was little more than a square now, with all the tunnel entrances closed off, but I would love to go sit there for an hour or so and just breathe the air.

“Many of the tunnels led beneath squares and streets, but this particular one,” I say, gesturing to the iron fence that blocks the steps down to the cellar, “was used for nefarious purposes.” I smile and wink at a young girl with large eyes and pink glasses. “It is believed this tunnel led straight to the river.”

One of my absolute favorite parts of Savannah history, and I catch myself before I start rambling.

“Pirates, starved for attention and lonely for company, would make port. They’d come ashore, wander into this humble abode, and buy themselves a bed in the upstairs rooms.” I point to the ceiling. “They’d also drink themselves into drunken stupors, making it ridiculously easy for other pirates to scoop them up, hustle them down into the tunnels, and whisk them away to their waiting ships. The poor drunken sailor who was fool enough to fall asleep in the tavern downstairs would wake to find himself on a strange ship with a new captain, hustled away to serve another crew.”

My guests chuckle to themselves, and I clasp my hands together.

“And that!” I conclude, “is why you should take care if you go into the bar and order a drink from Tommy. The man’s an angel, but his rum packs a mighty punch, and I’d hate for you to wake on an unfamiliar ship somewhere in the Atlantic. You’ve all been an exceptional audience!” I remove my hat and offer a sweeping bow. “Let me show you back to the entrance, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your time in Savannah.”

I love this. So much. The sound of wood planks clomping under my boots as I lead my visitors to the entrance foyer. The pictures they ask for as I pose. The very idea that we could have pirate phantoms visiting this building whenever they please.

A cold breeze rushes through the entrance way as I turn to the hostess.

“Do I have another tour, or am I able to go on a quick lunch break?” I ask.

“Miss Narcissa Kline asked for a tour. I believe she just walked through the door.”

I look to the door and feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks.

McKenzie stands with his back to the doorway. He’s dressed in a long pea coat, a thick green scarf around his throat that makes his eyes nearly glow. His hair is ruffled from the wind, and he looks… Devastating. I thought for sure the man couldn’t get any hotter than when he was drinking his latte at the café.

Apparently I was wrong.

For the first time in over a year of playing pirate, I’m self-conscious.

I’m literally dressed up like a pirate.

In front of a millionaire who may or may not be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

The woman at his side isn’t helping me feel better about myself.

She must be his fiancée. She’s dressed in a gorgeous designer two-piece with a tailored business coat, embellished with pearl buttons, closed over it. Her hair…Her hair is so beautiful it nearly shines all by itself, without any help from the lights. She is truly stunning. Exactly what I would have thought she would be as McKenzie’s future wife. And the ring on her finger…Wow. It’s a stunning piece of art all by itself.

“Hello,” she says, her voice smooth as butter. “I’m Narcissa.”

“Oh! Hi!” I wave awkwardly. “I’m Heather. It’s so nice to meet you! Welcome to The Pirates’ House. Have you been here before?”

And then something magical happens.

This beautiful woman, polished from her head down to her heels, draws me into conversation like we’ve been best friends forever. She walks alongside me on our little tour, asks intelligent questions, and looks fully into my eyes every time we talk. She is warm and inviting, making me forget that a hot guy is walking behind us every step of the way.

Honestly, I’ve almost completely forgotten about McKenzie by the time I bring them back to their reserved table.

“You’ll stay and eat with us?” Narcissa asks as she sits in her booth across from McKenzie.

“Thank you, but I can’t. Pirates get to eat in the back of the house with the other ruffians,” I say with a smile.

“McKenzie told me you’re a history major, and you want to write your thesis on the tunnels?”

I dare a glance at McKenzie and find his emerald eyes boring into Narcissa like he’s trying to burn a hole through her head. She doesn’t seem to notice…or care…and continues.

“You have such a passion for this. I never would have thought that Savannah had tunnels under the streets. It’s fascinating, really. Here.” She reaches into her purse, pulls out a wallet with gold clasps, and withdraws a business card. “If you ever need any help getting more information, like from places that are hard to get into, give me a call. I may be able to pull some strings. I know the mayor personally.” She smiles, white teeth sparkling in the candlelight of the small lamp on the table.

“That is really kind of you,” I say, taking the business card and tucking it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure! Do you work at the café tomorrow morning? McKenzie told me you make the best lattes around.”

A dull but audible “thump” sounds from beneath the table. Narcissa jumps slightly in her seat, knocking her knees on the underside of the table, and then shoots McKenzie a look that says she wants to bury him six feet under. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she turns her attention back to me, a pained smile forced onto her face.

“I don’t work on Sundays. Sorry.”

I actually feel bad about that for once. I really like Narcissa, and the idea that McKenzie thinks I make good coffee sends tiny butterflies spiraling about in my stomach.

“That’s too bad,” Narcissa pouts. “Do you have any suggestions for what McKenzie and I can do tomorrow? He offered to take me to Atlanta for shopping, but he hates shopping.” She rolls her eyes and grins. “I kind of just want to chill down here.”

“Walk the historic squares. The historic district isn’t usually as crowded on Sundays as it is on other days, though with Halloween coming up, it might be a smidgen busier than usual. There are some really nice stores on River Street. You’d be able to go in while McKenzie stays outside and gets some fresh air. Maybe that would be a win-win for both of you. Oh! And I always recommend a carriage ride.” I mess with the fringe on one of the scarves wrapped around my waist, reminding myself to shorten my talking. “They may seem a little overpriced, but they’re romantic, and it’s a pretty way to see Savannah. Just dress warm! It’s been getting pretty chilly at night.”

I remove my hat and bow low.

“So nice to meet you. McKenzie, always a pleasure. Until next time…it’s a pirate’s life for me.”

I walk off, shaking my head at myself.

Could I have come up with a cheesier line?

I glance over my shoulder, eternally grateful that McKenzie isn’t looking at me. With a ridiculous line like that, he’s probably never going to step foot in my coffee shop again.

“What’s up, Heather? Your cheeks are all red. Are you hoping the gorgeous Mr. Bristol will ‘shiver your timbers?’” Tommy, the aforementioned bartender, teases as I walk by him.

“No,” I sigh dramatically, playing along. “But he can shanghai me anytime.”

“Ooh, girl!” Tommy gasps, and we both laugh.

Though, truth be told, I don’t know that I’d necessarily mind being swept away by the man who likes my lattes and doesn’t mind my incessant babbling about history.