Page 21 of Second Tide's the Charm
Nice of him, but before I can reply, Adrian hands me the thin tape measure, and muscle memory takes over, guided by my years of study. I put the tape on the shark’s snout and stretch it carefully along the length of its body and relay the number to Adrian, who scribbles it in a notebook, hand clamped to keep the pages from blowing in the breeze.
Marissa’s frown of concentration hasn’t downgraded to a scowl, which is a good sign. We’ve never worked together but she’s got a no-nonsense reputation, and I don’t expect her to cut me any slack just because we’re friends. I work around her to wrap the tape measure around the shark’s trunk and call out the measurement.
“Got it,” Adrian says. On paper, this first trip out with him should be weird, but in practice it’s anything but. No time to worry about awkwardness when you’re dealing with a live animal and every minute counts. I step back at Marissa’s direction and switch tasks with Adrian—me taking notes, him stepping in for blood draw.
After taking a tissue sample, he beckons me forward to demonstrate the procedure for implanting the dart tag used for this species. It’s a quick procedure that doesn’t harm the animal and allows for monitoring on the abundance of this species in the area and will be used for a variety of studies if the shark is recaptured. Then it’s time to release the shark.
Simple. Straightforward. Fantastic.
My smile is so broad my cheeks hurt. Just a routine work-up, but I’m elated. Energy buzzes through my veins, and the salty ocean air is electric. My limbs are abuzz with adrenaline, but my head feels clear in a way I haven’t experienced in years. Adrian steps up next to me, and when he sees my face, a wide grin spreads across his cheeks. Even with his eyes hidden behind reflective blue sunglasses, I can feel the warmth of his gaze.
“Like you never left.” Adrian holds out his palm for a high five and I slap it without thinking. The casual contact has my blood buzzing for an entirely different reason than a moment ago, and I yank my hand away, but his touch tingles on my skin, like tiny aftershocks.
His smile fades, replaced by a neutral expression. “Ready for the camera?”
I take another step back, queasy all over again. What if the camera had captured my reaction to that brief moment of connection? What if everything I feel for him will be visible on the screens of the thousands of people who watch the video, and worse, what if holding back while working together leaves me craving him more than ever?
eleven
adrian
Three times today I’ve touched Hope. Once to steady her when she was flustered in the water—an instinctive grab to pull her to safety, which I barely had time to process. Once when she had that close encounter with a cooler—and awkward as the moment was, the way she clung to me afterward nearly undid me, all soft curves and wary trust.
And just now, a high five, the most platonic of all touches, and yet when our palms met and my fingertips grazed the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist, it was enough to ignite a hunger that’s lain dormant for years. A forbidden attraction I absolutely cannot indulge.
Instead, I kept to the boundaries of our arrangement, remaining solidly in colleague territory by tossing out the first thing that came to mind...an offhand, rhetorical question. Given her performance with the first shark, I assumed the camera would be a nonissue. Turns out I was wrong.
The moment Gabe started filming, Hope’s confidence evaporated. We had the good fortune to catch another shark shortly after the first—a juvenile dusky. Small enough to handle with ease, but when I glance over to see if Hope’s ready to lend a hand, she’s frozen, eyes locked on the camera like it’s about to leap from his hands and pounce.
“Hope,” Marissa says, her voice tight with tension, “time to get started.”
With a shaky nod, she steps forward, but her movements are unsteady, like she’s in a daze.
“Tape measure,” I prompt.
“She knows,” Marissa snaps, and I wince. I was trying to help, not undermine Hope, but I get it. I need to chill. My own nerves kick into high gear with a new awareness of being filmed. How will my interactions with Hope translate without context? Our first day of field research together and already the cracks in this arrangement are showing like a leaky fiberglass hull.
“Maybe you should do this one,” I hear Hope say, and turn to find her holding out the tape measure toward Marissa. This is a woman who I’ve seen do a work-up on a five-hundred-pound tiger shark without batting an eyelash, and yet when she holds out her hand, it’s trembling.
“Sure.” Marissa gestures toward me. “You assist Adrian then.”
Great. This is a small shark, less than a meter, which means she’s going to have to get close to me. Not a problem with anyone else, but I don’t want Hope on this boat, let alone in my space. “I’ve got it,” I tell them, but Marissa frowns.
“Stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.” During our quick exchange, Hope’s come over to crouch next to me, and my whole body is tense. I will myself to calm down, not wanting to startle the animal with my nerves. “Really, I’m good here. You’ll need to take notes.” Preferably from the other side of the boat, practical or not.
She nods, looking more composed, and rises to her feet, then takes a seat and sets the open laptop on her bare knees. I swallow and look away.
My cousin leans around me to measure the shark. Under her breath, she asks, “You cool?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. Not only do I need to keep my composure around Hope, I need to do it convincingly. If there’s a whiff of something off between me and the newest addition to the team, we could lose credibility. I need to make sure no one speculates about our history, or who we are to each other. I worked too hard to build this platform to screw things up, and much as I don’t want her here, I couldn’t bear to have Hope’s reputation called into question. The line between who we were to each other and our working relationship needs to be clear as the south Florida waters where we met.
“Uh, Marissa, what’s your password?” Hope holds up the laptop. “Lock screen.”
“Are you serious right now?” Marissa asks. Her voice is tight with tension, but I can’t fault her intensity. The shark is top priority and right now, we’re not working as a team. “Just use the notebook.”
Marissa wraps the tape measure around the shark’s body and calls out a girth measurement to Hope, who mutters, “Shit.”
