Page 37 of Chasing Sunsets

“You want a beer? I got a couple at the market yesterday,” I offer.

“Sure.”

I grab two bottles and hand one to him as I lead him back outside. “My fridge doesn’t get them real cold. I think it needs antifreeze or something. I need to check YouTube on how to add that.”

He chuckles and says, “I believe you mean coolant. We use a similar type of refrigerator on the fishing boat. It’s ammonia-based, which can be toxic, so I wouldn’t recommend trying to do it yourself. If you’d like, I can have our guy come by to check it and replace yours.”

I bite my lip. “Um, I’ll let you know.”

He gives me a stern look. “I mean it, Trouble. Don’t be hardheaded and go messing with it on your own.”

I place my hands on my sides. “Got it. Chemicals bad. No need to mansplain further,” I quip.

He places his bottle on the table between the two rocking chairs under my awning and steps toward me.

“No need to get feisty,” he says as his hands settle on my hips. “I know you’re a self-sufficient woman and all, but that doesn’t mean you can’t accept help when it’s offered.”

“Feisty?” I say as I lift my head to look him in the eye. “You haven’t seen me feisty yet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

I shake my head as he brushes my hair behind my ear.

Then, he leans in and whispers, “In that case, I look forward to seeing it.”

Anson

Ileft reluctantly. I told Dad that I would bring the boat back tonight. If I stayed any longer, I knew I would end up picking her up and carrying her back inside her RV. I would push all those paintings aside, strip her down, and see just how feisty she could get. And even though I’m pretty sure she would have let me, I know she isn’t ready. When we finally do give in to whatever this is between us, I don’t want her to have any regrets.

I back the trailer into the gate and get out to unhitch it from my truck. The floodlights on the corner of the house blink on, and Mom appears at the back door.

The trailer hitch groans as I wrestle with the coupler, trying to free Dad’s boat. My hands are slick with sweat, the night still hot despite the sun going down hours ago. I curse under my breath, wiping my hands on my jeans.

“How was the water?” Mom asks, stepping down onto the porch.

I glance over my shoulder. She’s got a glass of sweet tea in her hand, the ice clinking as she takes a sip. She’s wearing herhousecoat. Her gray-streaked hair is pulled into a loose braid over one shoulder, her expression soft but knowing, like always.

“It was good,” I say, returning my focus to the trailer hitch. “Took the boat out to the old lighthouse.”

Mom hums while leaning against the railing. “By yourself?” she asks innocently, as if Dad didn’t inform her the instant I drove away this morning.

“No,” I say. “Took Tabby.”

She makes a sound—something between interest and amusement. “Tabby, huh?”

I sigh, already regretting this conversation. “Yeah.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me struggle with the hitch before stepping down onto the grass. She sets her tea on the railing and crosses her arms, tilting her head like she’s studying me.

“You like this girl,” she says finally.

It’s not a question.

I shake my head, more to myself than to her. “Yeah, I do.”

She chuckles. “That’s a first.”

I glance at her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

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