Page 30 of Second Tide's the Charm
“You tried. You stepped up when no one else would—”
“And I botched it.” I look away, toward the horizon, indistinct with vapor. “I’d never failed that badly. And it was so public.” And personal. Science and math have always been my strength. The knowledge I acquired, a badge of honor. “I let down my colleagues and my hometown.”
“Then did them proud by sticking around when you wanted to leave.”
His words resonate with deeper meaning. I stuck around when it came to my career but took the easy out on our relationship. But doesn’t that prove I was right? We’re better off apart, with him finding a woman who’s all in, not harboring doubts.
“I wish you’d reached out,” he says quietly.
“And told my estranged boyfriend I’d screwed up so he could give me some version of ‘I told you so’?” I know he worried that I’d lose my momentum by moving in with Zuri. That I should find a way to help her without uprooting my whole life. And he was right.
“We’ll never know, since you didn’t give me the chance.”
I didn’t expect him to challenge my assumption. To act like my version of our breakup is somehow lacking. “Maybe you could’ve checked in. Maybe you would’ve known, if you hadn’t left me to figure it out on my own.”
“I’m not,” he says through his teeth, “the one who left.”
My hands are fisted, face flushed, and I want nothing more than to stare him down until he sees things my way. But we set a boundary. I close my eyes, inhale. “No more rehashing the past, right?” His jaw pops, beard a glossy shadow, then he nods. “I only told you this because it’s relevant to my employment.”
Not true. I told him because sharing is easier than withholding when it comes to him. Because the ache of holding back was a physical pain. But it’s a pain I need to endure to keep my heart intact.
“Then as your co-worker,” he says, emphasizing the term, “I feel compelled to remind you that you don’t have to do this. Given what happened, I don’t even think it’s wise—”
“Are you questioning my abilities?” Exactly why I didn’t want to tell him. Now he knows my weakness, the portion of my life I’d prefer to omit from any job application.
“No. I’m worried that this will negatively affect you. You’re right about how public it is, about the possibility for notoriety.” He looks me straight in the eye. “You don’t have anything to prove.”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought. And while this is hard for me, I want to be a part of what you’re doing. I want to show my face, to share my passion.”
“If you’re certain—”
“I’m certain. I can’t go back in time and change what I did then, but I can make a difference here and now. If even one little girl sees this and decides that her dream of being a scientist is attainable, then it’s worth it.”
He sits back, the worry lines in his brow easing away. “Just know that you can always change your mind. If you start to feel uncomfortable, let me know.”
A ball of fizzing emotion burns in my chest. “Thank you. But I want to do this.” A thought occurs to me. “And unlike my talk at town hall, I’ve been preparing half my life for this.”
He laughs, the first one all day, and the tension between my shoulder blades slips away. I thought telling him would make me feel exposed, but it’s the opposite. More like I’ve stepped under an oak tree in a rainstorm and can finally catch my breath. Sheltered. Safe.
“In that case, let’s try this a different way.” He picks up the tripod and hops over the side of the boat and makes his way to shore. With nimble movements, he sets up the tripod in the sticky mud and mounts the camera. He must sense my eyes on him because he raises a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell Gabe. He told me not to let this leave my hands, under any circumstances.”
That pulls a laugh out of me, and he looks gratified. He comes back over to the boat and climbs aboard, muddy water streaking down his calves. “We’ll just be filming from the waist up,” he says, when he catches me looking.
He plops down on the seat right next to me. I inhale sharply, muscles tight. “Gotta stay in frame,” he explains, and I nod like it’s totally normal for us to be touching. If I was hot before, now I’m sweltering. His body is sinfully sexy.
I tug my gaze up from where our half-bare thighs are pressed together. “Now what?”
Unexpectedly, Adrian leans sideways, his arm pressed against my shoulder. For a fleeting moment I relax against him, his solid presence a reassurance. Only a moment, then logic takes over. He didn’t sit by me to cuddle. We’re at work.
He raises his phone. “Selfie?” And there it is. The reasonable answer. “We can share it before the next video, generate some buzz about the new researcher on our team.”
I nod in agreement, words impossible with him so close, and lock eyes with on-screen Adrian, glad the camera can’t pick up infrared heat like night vision because I would be a blaze of flustered orange-red next to his cool purple.
He tips his head so close that his beard brushes my cheek. “Say ‘spreadsheets are overrated’!”
“Hey!” The shutter noise clicks and I hitch my shoulder into his. “That was uncalled-for.”
“Oh yeah?” He shields the phone with his palm and shows me the photo. Our smiles are wide, and unlike most posed pictures, mine looks genuine, not forced. “Perfect shot,” he says. “I’ve learned some photography tricks while you were gone.”
