Page 40 of Second Tide's the Charm
Our steps take me away from the dune. White-frothed waves sweep toward us out of the gloom, then retreat. We keep our eyes down, searching for tracks that will indicate a turtle’s journey from water to a nesting sight. Our goal is to find any nests, then alert Evan and Myra, the biologists who lead the group, and they’ll mark them.
Permits allow the scientists to approach turtle nests for conservation and research purposes, and the group’s efforts often draw crowds, which gives us the chance to explain the ins and outs of sea turtle conservation, as well as the importance of not disturbing the animals.
“Found any nests this year?” Hope asks casually.
“Yeah, lots. I’d have to ask what the official tally is.”
“Not the group, I meant you personally.” Her tone gives nothing away, but I recognize the challenge in her words.
I shake my head, then realize she didn’t notice with her focus on the sand. “Not yet. But I don’t volunteer that often.”
“Mm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stops and looks up. “Nothing. Just was thinking of that summer we volunteered together in Florida. I found way more nests than you. Wasn’t even close.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You make it sound like a competition.”
“If it was, I would’ve won.” She starts walking again, head tipped down, but I see the grin lifting her cheeks, and with the memory of her earlier vulnerability fresh in my mind, I suddenly want nothing more than to keep her smiling.
“Let’s make a bet then.”
“I haven’t done this in years,” she says.
“Sounds like you started something you can’t finish.”
“There’s no way to predict who will find the most nests. It’s totally up to luck.”
Walking with my eyes downcast, I ask, “How do you know I haven’t done observation on this particular stretch of beach and noted the most common nesting areas?”
She glances over at me sharply. I haven’t, nor have I asked the biologists running this program, but her shoulders are more relaxed, and if this is getting her mind off the video, I count it as a win. Besides, we’re not crossing any lines here. Just two scientists making a friendly, professional wager.
“You’re bluffing,” she says.
“Is that a no to the bet?”
She crosses her arms, the bulky hoodie swallowing her frame, and while I wasn’t sure it was mine before, I am now. This whole situation is wreaking havoc with my emotions, bringing me back to a time and place when we were together.
“Okay, we’ll test your theory.” Hope lifts her chin and looks up at me. “Give me a number.”
I shove my locs back, out of my face. She’s calling my bluff. “It’s notthatprecise.”
“Every hypothesis needs to be tested.” Tingles dance along my spine at her teasing tone. We might be joking, but the connection simmering between us is very real. To acknowledge it would be crossing a line, but I can’t ignore the feeling.
“Think of the science,” she says.
“That’s all I think of.” Lies. I can recall many times when I haven’t thought of science, like when she was underneath me, lip caught between her teeth, or on top of me, fingertips trailing down my chest...
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is veering into dangerous territory. “You know what? Never mind.” I suck in a deep breath and start walking again.
She keeps pace with me, abuzz with energy in the purple predawn light. “So you’re not willing to test your hypothesis?”
“It’s not a—”
“Knew you were bluffing,” she says, and I stop in my tracks.
Planting my feet, I face off with her. “Winner buys breakfast.”
