Page 31 of Second Tide's the Charm
While you were gone.A causal reference to a period of our lives that feels both astronomical and insignificant now that I’m back. Insignificant in that his presence is familiar as breathing. Astronomical in how different our relationship is now—from sharing our hearts, our bodies, to each touch being a risk.
“Shady tricks,” I say, but when he answers with a laugh, it’s impossible not to join in. “Dissing the hallowed glory of well-calibrated data?” Mock-censure tinges my words. “My, how the years have changed you, Hollis-Parker.”
He chuckles again, and I love that sound. No point in denying it, when my own cheeks are aching. I haven’t smiled this much in years; I’m out of practice.
“Not my fault you’re easy to tease.” He bends down, riffling through a bag at his feet.
“Says the man with a list of pet peeves a mile long.”
“Hyperbole is on that list.” Adrian sends a grin over his shoulder, and my instinct is to swat him playfully, but physical touch is a definite no-go. Banter, however... That’s acceptable within the confines of a work relationship, right? I ignore the voice that tells me we’re veering toward flirting, because right now I’m having too much fun.
Instead, I make a check mark in the air. “Noted. Make that a mile-and-a-half-long list.”
He shakes his head, then straightens up, a small remote in his hand. “I know this is counterintuitive, but I think things might go more smoothly if we do this together. You good with that?”
Without giving myself time to overthink it, I nod, and he scootches in a little closer. His hip is snug against mine, and the urge to lean into him is so strong, I overcompensate by tilting away.
He licks his lips, which yes, please. But I mentally scold myself to quit staring. “Are you...” he begins, but I cut off the question with a brusque nod. This will be fine. I’m fine, he’s fine as hell, we’re all fine. Just two co-workers. Working.
“Ready,” I say, cutting off my internal monologue.
“Remember, no one’s here but us.” He clicks a button and a red light by the lens flicks on. “I’m here on the beautiful Winyah Bay with the newest addition to our team.” He smiles at me, and I wave at the camera—should I be waving? Too late. “Marine biologist Hope Evans will be joining our crew for the summer.”
The summer. That’s it. Three months to pay my dues and put all of this—the messy emotions, the stagnant career—behind me.
“She’s new to our team,” Adrian continues, “but an experienced researcher, and we’re lucky to have her.”
His words shouldn’t be sentimental, but I can’t help but remember how lucky I used to feel with him in my life. Like I won the relationship lottery.
“The feeling is mutual,” I say. “Spending an entire season doing fieldwork with sharks is a lifelong dream come true.” Before I get all sappy, I launch into the meat of our talk. “Today we’re going to chat a little bit about the life cycle of sharks.”
I maintain eye contact with the camera, looser than the first few takes. “Hear the wordsharkand you might think of coral reefs or the vast blue of the open ocean.” I can’t help the smile that always rises at the thought of the stunning diversity of sharks. “But you might not hear the wordsharksand think of estuaries, the brackish water that forms from freshwater mingling with saltwater.”
I pause to keep myself from talking too quickly, and Adrian presses his leg against mine in silent support. Instead of getting tongue-tied at the unexpected contact, I relax against him. We might be strangers now, but we weren’t always, and my body remembers.
“I guess my new crewmates thought it would be fitting for me to be eased back into the ocean since I’m from the Midwest. A small town in southwest Michigan, right on the lake.”
“And yes, she does mean The Lake, capitalized,” Adrian chimes in. “I learned pretty quickly when I visited that if locals are talking about the lake, they mean Lake Michigan.”
I frown, turning to him. “Do we want people to know you’ve visited my hometown?”
His mouth falls open. “Shit, no. You’re right. Gabe can edit that out.” He cracks a smile. “Second day and you’re already nailing this. I’d better step up my game.” On another guy, it might be a line, but this is Adrian. Sweet, encouraging, earnest.
It’s nice to be on good terms again. To see him at his best, not his worst. Maybe if I remember why I fell for him, I’ll be able to forgive myself for staying hung up on him long past when it was good for me.
He starts recording, and I share the part about my hometown again. Out of habit, I hold up my left hand, fingers pressed together and thumb out. Using my other hand, I point to the approximate location of my hometown. “This is where I’m from, right by Lake Michigan, but I’m no stranger to saltwater. It feels good to be back to studying elasmobranchs. That’s the class of cartilaginous fish that includes sharks, skates, and rays,” I add, unsure how technical they get in these videos. “But after a few years working up north, returning to the salty waters of the Atlantic was a big transition.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Adrian says. “She was out with us earlier this week and did a shark work-up like she never left.”
My cheeks get warm at the unprompted compliment and how he kindly omitted failures that came after. “Even though I didn’t need to be eased into the vast ocean, some young sharks do. The brackish, sheltered waters of the estuaries are a pupping ground for many species.”
“Though ground might not sound like the correct term for a watery environment—” Adrian leans over and drags his fingertips through the silty water “—pupping ground is the term used to refer to areas where juvenile sharks spend their formative years.”
“A shark nursery, pretty much.”
Adrian points a dripping finger at me. “You promised.”
“But it fits so well.”
