Page 51 of Second Tide's the Charm
I venture a glance and see she’s got what I call her yearbook smile on: too many teeth and frozen eyes. We’re screwed.
Once again, I wish I would’ve stayed home. Not only did I miss the chance to network, making the evening pointless, but Rhonda knows Hope and I too well. She’ll see right through us.
Surprised Gabe hasn’t chimed in to rescue me, I glance around and find him at the table where Marissa’s saying goodbye to the others. A moment later, my pocket buzzes and I pull out my phone.
Gabe: I told them we had car trouble. You can follow up over email.
Adrian: Thanks, I owe you one.
Gabe: I saw you clock Hope in that dress. Co-workers, remember?
My face flushes, and I scratch at my beard. Once again, my body not catching on that the attraction to Hope is a dead-end road.
“Everything okay?” Hope asks.
“What? Yeah.” I tuck the phone against my chest, worried she saw. “Did you want to go say goodbye to the others?”
“I already did before I went to the bathroom. It would be weird to go back over there now.”
“Gotcha.” I blow out my cheeks, at a loss what to do. I did not expect to be alone again with her so soon, but I’m starving, and I doubt Gabe plans to leave without eating. Sure enough, I turn and see the other biologists are gone, but their seats have been taken by a couple of Marissa’s friends. My cousin’s an extrovert, while I’m somewhere in the middle. I love to be around people if I know them well, but I’m okay with long stretches of solitude.
Hope’s a straight up introvert though, and I turn back to find her shoulders drooping. I lean down and say, “I didn’t drive, but I can order you an Uber.” Her eyes swing toward mine. “If you wanted to get out of here, I mean. It was a long day.”
The rattle of shaken ice interrupts us, and I glance over to see Angie on the other side of the bar with a cocktail shaker. “Hope Evans,” she says. “About time you stopped in.” Angie pours a lurid green cocktail, and a server takes it away. The surly general manager at the previous establishment, she stayed on when Rhonda took over and ended up buying into the restaurant as co-owner a few years back.
“How’d you know I was in town?” Hope asks.
“This guy’s Insta.” Angie hitches a thumb toward me, and I distract myself from all this embarrassment by imagining all the ways I’ll make Marissa’s life miserable for suggesting we come here tonight. “Rhonda is fully addicted to the shark content.”
“You bet I am.” She reappears and places a menu in front of us, for Hope’s benefit, since I’ve got it memorized. “Not every day a kid I’ve known since he needed swim floaties makes it big. And the sharks are way cool.”
Angie grimaces. “To each their own. Leave the ocean to the fishes, I say. I prefer a cabana in the shade any day.”
“Ooh, cabanas. Now there’s an idea.” Rhonda’s eyes take on a dreamy look and Hope turns to see what she’s looking at.
“Stop with that nonsense,” Angie says, tsking. “We don’t need to do any remodeling. Bad enough you’re experimenting with drinks and plastering our logo on everything.”
“It’s called branding,” Rhonda retorts. “Adrian knows all about it, right?”
Fighting to keep a straight face, I hold up a neon logoed cocktail napkin that would look more at home at a Myrtle Beach boardwalk bar than this cozy spot in Murrell’s Inlet. “These are new.”
A tiny snort comes from Hope, and I catch her eye, giving a small shake of my head. If she loses it, I will too. Angie grunts in apparent disgust and stalks off, muttering to herself.
Rhonda leans across the bar to whisper, “To be honest, I could care less about innovating. But Angie’s reactions are priceless, and our customers don’t care about this stuff one way or the other, so what’ve I got to lose?”
Hope lets out a laugh and Angie pops back through the swinging door to the kitchen, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the merriment. Whistling, Rhonda bobs her gray brows with a conspiratorial smile and moves off to take someone’s order.
“Glad to see Angie’s scowls aren’t reserved for me,” Hope says.
“Nah, she distributes those as a sign of her esteem, like Marissa.” The bar area has cleared out, but rather than head back to the table, Hope lingers, and I take the chance to say, “She’s happier with you here. Marissa, I mean.” I don’t know if my cousin would love me saying this, but it’s true. “She has a bunch of work friends, but not all that many close friends. She’s missed you.”
“It’s good to spend time with her again.” Hope puts her finger on the napkin I set down, spinning it. “And it’s nice to talk to a friend about sharks without their eyes glazing over.”
I know she’s making light of it, but while many of my friends are in marine science, I get the same feeling at family reunions or the rare times I run into someone from high school, like my career is a novelty. A lot of people don’t care about sharks beyond the headlines they see on the news.
Hope’s gone quiet, analyzing the water-stained menu in her hands. “I know it’s easier if I go, but leaving without Marissa would make a scene and—”
“Why do you think I want you to go?”
