Page 39 of Second Tide's the Charm
“Ah.” That explains the question about treats. Grateful I’m not losing it, I empty my pockets and hold out the contents. “I traded shifts with Helena, sorry to disappoint. Will protein bars do?”
Hope boos, jabbing both thumbs down, her hoodie slipping over her knuckles. “Why’d you swap shifts?” She narrows her eyes. “Please tell me this isn’t Marissa trying to set us up. I told her I’m capable of handling my own life.”
Interesting to know Hope shares my suspicions about Marissa’s misguided matchmaking, but my cousin is in the clear on this one.
“Not unless she can induce labor. I ran into Helena yesterday in Publix. She mentioned she was about to ask for a trade in our volunteer text thread, but I offered to take her shift so she wouldn’t need to bother.”
“I guess Marissa’s off the hook, then.” Hope sounds faintly disappointed, and knowing she puts no stock in fate, I’m guessing she doesn’t like that there’s no logical explanation why we ended up here together. “Can’t very well blame her for my insomnia.”
A thought occurs to me, and I duck to get a better look at her face. Even in the darkness, the worry in her eyes is impossible to miss. “You read the comments, didn’t you?”
Last I checked, the response was wholly positive, but it only takes one nasty comment... My hand automatically goes to my pocket before remembering we need to preserve the darkness.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Won’t.”
Won’t? I never advised her not to, though that’s a good idea.
“But I saw the views count and now I’m pretty sure I’ll never sleep again.” She pushes both palms back over her head, dislodging the hood, and grips the roots of her hair. “Hundreds of thousands of people have seen us joking about baby sharks. That’s almost a quarter of a million humans, Adrian.”
I let out a laugh, then turn it into a cough at her side-eye.
She glares at me, eyes glinting, and it’s hard not to smile again at her ferocious expression. “Why is this funny to you?”
“It’s not, it’s just that—” I gulp down my words in a hiccup. I was about to say that she’s adorable when she’s indignant, but that’s not a workplace appropriate comment. Even if we aren’t at work, we’re supposed to be functioning as colleagues. Not people who used to make love—
“I know posting a video is just another day’s work to you,” Hope says, pulling my mind back on track. “But this is a big deal for me.” Her voice is trembling, and on impulse, I pull her into a hug.
It only takes a moment to realize my mistake, but before I can let go, she burrows into the embrace, arms tucked around me, holding tight. My eyes pinch closed at how amazing it feels to hold her again.
Her cheek is pressed against my chest, and I tip my head down toward her ear, her shea-scented curls tickling my nose. “Do you want me to take it down?” There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the video, and removing it will raise questions, but I’d do it in a heartbeat to protect Hope, to hell with the consequences.
“Mm-mm.” She makes a small sound of negation, then turns her head, tipping her forehead into my chest, and groans. The vibration cuts through the thin fabric of my shirt and ignites something dormant in me.
She pulls away to look up at me, arms still around my waist. “Why do you always smell good?” Dodging her eyes down, she frowns. “This is the same shirt from last night.”
Embarrassed, I pull away. “Figured today might get messy, so I just threw it on when I got up. Since I sleep pretty much—” I break off, horrified.
“Pretty much naked, I know.” Her eyes fly wide, outlined in white. “Wow. This has become wildly inappropriate in a heartbeat.”
“My fault.” The magnitude of my mistake begins to sink in like loose sand at the shoreline, dragging me down into remorse. “I shouldn’t have hugged you.”
She wraps her arms around herself, drawing my attention to the logo on her hoodie. I squint... Is thatmyhoodie? The one I thought got lost in a move?
“I didn’t mind,” she confesses. “But I shouldn’t have mentioned how amazing you smell. Or what you wear to bed. God.” Burying her face in her hands, she groans, then reappears with a loud exhale. “Can we chalk it up to muscle memory?”
“Something like that.” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat. “We should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the deserted beach.
The sun’s still below the horizon, but I need to get moving, to put distance between us. I step down into the sand and start walking as fast as the darkness and caution will allow.
Hope is a few steps behind, and after a moment, she asks, “Any new policies I should be aware of?” Her voice is even, with no vestiges of our encounter, and I exhale in relief. This is neutral ground.
“Not really, but I could send you the handbook to look over if you want.”
Hope chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it, since I’m sure you read it cover-to-cover.”
“When they sent the revised PDF at the start of the season, you better believe it.”
She laughs again, a warm, throaty sound against the hiss of the waves. I follow her down onto the sand and fall into step alongside her. I’m so used to threading my arm around her waist on walks like these that I have to shove my hands into my pockets to quell the urge.
