Page 19 of Second Tide's the Charm
A small chuckle escapes me, despite the embarrassment. “Best not give Hollywood any ideas.”
Then her thumb hits the play button and nerves quell my laughter. I shift my focus to a nearby cabin cruiser on its third attempt at docking. The passengers in life jackets are calling out conflicting instructions to the frustrated man at the wheel, his face flushed red, and I feel my own cheeks burning as Hope watches the clip.
I know what she’s seeing. Me on the beach in red swim trunks, instructing the crowd to step back and give the animal space. Me checking in with the young angler, caught up in fishing line and fear. Me bending over the blacktip shark to pull it into the waves, off the hot sand.
Hope sucks her teeth. “Why didn’t he release it right away?”
“They wanted a photo-op.” I point to the screen, the sting of watching the video receding. “See the rest of the group there?” Hope nods. “Things got out of hand.”
The video ends and she passes back my phone. “You did good.”
I shrug. “I work with sharks for a living.”
“But you were chilling at the beach. You weren’t expecting to have to defuse a situation with a wild animal and a crowd of onlookers.” Her words are an encouragement I didn’t know I needed. “I don’t see anything to be ashamed of.”
My lips twist in a rueful smile. “Guess you didn’t read the comments.”
“About you being the world’s most eligible shark scientist?” Her smile is the slightest tease. At least she didn’t mention the ones about the red swimsuit. “That part at least seems to be true, judging by your Instagram.”
“I don’t want to be—” I bite off the rest of the sentence. I never wanted to be the world’s most eligible anything. I wanted to be taken, claimed by Hope. Now all I want is to forget about that side of me. The part that yearns for love, a relationship. Love is unpredictable and I have enough instability in my life.
I lift my hips and shove my phone in my pocket, rethinking that when I remember my shorts are still damp. “Anyway, I decided I could either wait for it to go away or make something better of it, like Marissa suggested. So I started uploading sharky content to YouTube. Shared informative videos about shark research and conservation. Grew our platform with worthy content that I could control.”
“And now this.” Hope casts an assessing glance around the boat, and I try not to squirm when her appraisal lands on me. “I can see why you’re protective of what you’ve created.” Her eyes are soft, and all I can think of in that moment is how much better it would be with her here. How much I’ve missed her. How I’m not worried about protecting my work, it’s my heart on the line. “Do you still want me to leave?”
With her here, there’s no hope of moving on. But can I put aside my feelings for her sake? We fell in love the first summer we met. Maybe this will be the summer I finally get over her.
ten
hope
Adrian hasn’t answered. He sits across from me, silent, taking time to consider what I’ve asked of him, eyes downcast and face shuttered, unreadable. Something jealousy-adjacent flares in my chest at the thought of all the fans and followers who’ve had access to him while to me he’s become a stranger.
So much has happened since I left. The internet fame. The career pivot. The how and why is shocking, but his success is no surprise. And even though he left a Mariana Trench–sized gouge in my heart, I am so proud of him. What hurts is that losing him knocked me off-course, yet he kept going without missing a beat.
Until I fell in love with him, I assumed I needed to be single to have the career of my dreams, that planning life around someone else would hold me back, and that belief never quite left, despite how different our relationship felt than what I’d imagined about love.
Ever since I learned a career in science was a possibility, I’ve been focused on getting there. I was a curious kid, especially when it came to the natural world. Always fascinated by seaweed on the beach or minnows in the shallows. Always asking why. My parents seemed content to accept rather than ask questions. Rather than careers, they both had jobs they neither loved nor loathed. Work was a way to pay the bills, to take care of me and each other.
In my mind, they settled into a boring life, one I never wanted. I equated love with stagnation, or worse, with putting dreams on hold until life intervened and took away the desire. But meeting Adrian changed all that. Our relationship didn’t interfere with my dreams or take away my desires. Not until I was ready to apply for a doctoral program.
Adrian was looking for a postdoc position, and it was the perfect time to at least try to be in the same city, or at least the same state. I was as excited to be close to him, to maybe even wake up next to him every morning. But the more time we spent planning and arranging and shifting and worrying over how to mesh our lives, the more I missed the simplicity of our relationship before we tried to arrange our lives around one another. Missed how easy it felt to love him when practicality didn’t factor in.
All my worst fears about love being a hindrance seemed to be coming true. So I started looking at universities further away, ones not previously on my radar. I even considered applying to colleges out of the country, anything to put off merging our lives like a shared calendar. I loved Adrian with all my heart, but I worried I’d be settling to work my dreams around his. I wanted to stay together, I just wasn’t sure about the next step. Except Adrian didn’t see it that way. He thought I was looking for a way out.
“You can stay.” The rumble of his voice brings me back to the present. “But if we’ll be working together, there are things we need to discuss. Because our relationship—”
I raise a hand to halt this detour into personal territory. “Is in the past. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He frowns. “We kind of do. I want to make sure this is a comfortable work environment.”
Comfortable was how we used to cuddle on the sofa after a day at sea, reveling in the miracle of air-conditioning and crushed ice, my head pillowed on his chest. Comfortable is not arm’s length, watchful and wary. But I need to adjust and accept the change. That’s why I’m here.
“I appreciate that. What can I do to put you at ease?”
“Putmeat ease?” The furrow between his brows deepens. “I was worried about you.”
That makes two of us, but not for the reason he thinks. “No worries on my account.”
