Page 44 of Half Baked

I feign offense but can’t stop the smile plastered on my face. “You doubt my ability to save him?”

“I doubt Ivy’s agreeableness to this, that’s all.”

“So, you have faith in me.”

I’m not joking anymore, my gaze searching those brilliant cornflower blue eyes.

She raises an eyebrow. “You must be good at this, I mean you do say that you did it in the Coast Guard.”

“A compliment from Poppy Wheeler? This day just keeps getting better and better.” I reach out and cup the back of her head, my thumb coming forward and trailing along her jawline. “I hope you have a good day too.”

Something between a huff and sigh escapes her, and I take my leave quickly before I do something stupid like try to kiss her goodbye. I point myself in the direction of my waiting helicopter, a spring in my step the whole way.

It’s a warm, pleasant morning, the humidity of the day not yet setting in. Families are starting to mill about outside the summer cottages lining the shore. There’s laughter and the bark of a dog drifting through the air. It’s these people I’m here to serve, so they can come back to the cottages at the end of the day, happy and together.

Rounding the corner, the white and red aircraft awaiting me comes into view. Jamie and Nash are in their flight suits, walking around the bird for the safety checks. Nash looks up as I approach, and his eyes widen. “You’re not in your gear yet?”

“It will take me one minute, and I’ll be done with my list first, mark my words.”

“There are two times you shouldn’t brag about how fast you are—when you’re doing safety checks, and when you’re making love.”

“I have gear to check over, not a metal bird.” I head toward the door to go into the lockers. “But I’ll keep that in mind on my next date.” As I start pulling out my gear, Nash’s chuckle echoes through the helicopter bay.

We move through all the pre-flight steps with ease, like we’ve been operating as a team forever. With coordinates coming in from Tripp, Nash and Jamie navigate us out to sea in no time. The water sparkles below us, swells looking more like ripples from our height. I love being in the water, but soaring above it like this is a close second.

My father used to accuse me of taking the easy way out, of wishing to be a beach bum. But to become a Coast Guard rescue swimmer, I had to go through a training with one of the highest attrition rates in the military. The wash out rate is 85 percent.

“Roger, mayday located.” I hear Nash’s voice crackle through the coms. “Man overboard at one o’clock.”

In the blink of an eye, the helicopter is in position and dropping. “Roger, position’s good. Easy down.”

“Easy down.”

“Easy down.”

It repeats like this until they’re at the standard fifteen feet above the water.

“Man overboard at your three o’clock,” Wes confirms. At this height, he becomes the aviators’ eyes for what’s going on in the rescue. Taking a seat at the open door and getting into position myself, I spot Tripp in the water, kicked back and floating like he means to be out here. I smirk, hoping the sea spray from the helio is whipping him in the face.

I was trained to do a free fall drop into open water. It’s faster than me trying to get hoisted down, and every second counts in a real mayday call out here. I give Wes my signal and then launch myself out of the helicopter like I’ve done so many times before. Above me, I know Wes is informing them that the swimmer is deployed.Swimmer away. And thenswimmer okayonce I’m back up above the surface and swimming towards Tripp.

The force when I break through the water from the air is expected. I train for that impact. I train for times that the swells vary in a storm and the helicopter might think it’s at fifteen feet, but then things shift once I’m in the air and I’m dropping anywhere from fifty to seventy feet to reach the water.

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” Tripp shouts as I near him. He’s clearly enjoying himself, maybe he’ll give up the sheriff job and be a rescue boat operator for me after all.

In the meantime, Wes has gotten the basket down to us on the hoist, and I watch Tripp jump in like one would settle onto a comfortable couch. I give my signal for them to begin the hoist, and he’s lifted into the air. I know he wasn’t expecting how rough this part is, and I plan to give him shit for it later.

Like a well-oiled machine, we get Tripp back to land flawlessly. Now we just need to walk through a handful more scenarios this well. But we have before; it’s not our first timerunning drills. “Back to the boat,” I tell him once on shore, pointing towards the harbor.

As we take off again, I notice a crowd forming on the wharf to watch us. And we put on yet another beautiful show for them. Then another.

It’s our final trip back, and the boys land us smoothly back at the department. Our runs were solid today, and the briefing will be a positive one once we get in.

I start peeling off the layers of my wet kit as I cross inside our station. We officially moved in this week, and I’m headed for the showers. Allowing this new reality to sink in once under the spray, I take my time and let the warm water run over my muscles. Even at the heat of summer, the waters out that far in the sea are chilling. Today felt good, and I’m grateful for the ability to put this all together. I’m grateful to get to do this as my day to day.

With a briefing to lead, I turn off the water and dress quickly. I throw on a hoodie and shorts to head back to the common area. Beckett is waiting with the team when I return, a mischievous spark in his eye. Pulling out a seat beside him, I ask, “What’s with you?”

“What’s with you not telling me the truth before about you and Poppy?”

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