Page 52 of Second Tide's the Charm
“You offered to get me a rideshare. And earlier, you stormed off—”
“I did not storm off. I walked away to preserve my dignity.”
“Okay, we’ll go with that,” she says, smiling. Her lips are glossy and I catch a fruity scent whenever she leans close. Mango, I think. “But we’ve got to figure out how to act normal around each other.”
I’m not even sure what normal is in this situation. “We did today.”
She meets my eyes. “Until we didn’t.” Something in the bold way she meets my gaze, like she’s not shying away from the memory of my mouth on hers, has me hot in a second. Which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid.
Her tongue darts out, moistening her lips. “And now being at Horizon Line with you... Gosh, I can’t even remember the last time—”
“Dad’s birthday,” I say, then wish I could take back the words. It was a surprise party for his sixtieth, and Hope flew in for the weekend and helped decorate the restaurant. She climbed on my shoulders to hang streamers from the rafters. Kept trying to use my head for balance and I told her I was going to go bald if she kept yanking on my hair.
I swipe a hand over my head, locs gathered half-up. Guess it’s good I was wrong about some things.
“How is he? And your mom, is she—”
“Good. Both good. Trying to talk them into retiring, but according to them, they’ll quit when they’re done, and not before.”
She chuckles. “Sounds like them. And Marissa said they’re all aboutShark Science Crew, which of course, they love you,” she says. “Not that it isn’t amazing in its own right.”
I brush that off. “I upload videos of my day job. Nothing revolutionary.”
“It is, actually. Can you imagine if we’d had access to something like this as kids?”
“That’s exactly what keeps me going on days I want to give it up and go back to the way things were. The realization that some kid might see a guy who looks like him doing shark research and realize he can too.”
I’ve told this to a lot people—in interviews, meetings, conferences—but confessing it to Hope feels different. Despite all the good that came before, I worry that all she’ll ever see is the man who gave up on a relationship with her.
She tilts her head, expression thoughtful. “Do you ever take out anyone who’s not a researcher?”
“No. We only work with scientists or groups from colleges. Why?”
“What if we did? Give kids a chance to go out on the boat. Experience fieldwork for a day.”
“Kids?” I lean back with a half-grimace. “I took Marissa’s eight-year-old nephew mini golfing once and it was rough. I can’t imagine taking kids out on the boat.”
“Teenagers,” she clarifies. “High schoolers. Give them a taste of a career with sharks, not the sensationalized stuff that’s often portrayed on TV.”
That sounds like a huge undertaking. But I don’t want to discourage her from voicing her ideas, and it’s a good one, just not sure one I’m sure we’ll be able to manage right now.
“You should bring it up to Marissa. She has more experience with outreach programs than I do.” Her day job is with an ocean nonprofit, and they might be able to partner with us for something like that in the future.
Hope glances over her shoulder. “I will, thanks. Though maybe not right now.”
I look toward my cousin and see she’s pulling out more chairs, and Gabe’s waving people over. Hope doesn’t make a move to join them, and I’m guessing her extrovert batteries are used up.
More time together might not be the best idea, but I can’t flip off caring about her comfort like a light switch. “Looks pretty packed over there. You want to chill here?” I nudge out the barstool next to me, quirking an eyebrow at Hope.
She mock-groans. “Am I that obvious?”
“Not at all, but I know you.”
Her lips press tight, but then a half smile appears. “Guess that’s not always necessarily a bad thing.” Oh, but it is. Bad for my heart. But this is my chance to prove we’re stronger than the attraction.
She climbs onto the stool, and I take a seat at the other one. Picking up the menu again, she points to a drink. “What’s a Paradise Tea?” The noise level in the restaurant has picked up, and she tips toward me, the glint of a gold necklace drawing my eyes down to the glossy skin exposed by her low neckline.
Co-workers, I remind myself. No. More. Kissing.
