Page 64 of Second Tide's the Charm
“What I’m about to tell you is definitely one of them,” I admit, watching her. Does she think I’m talking about dating mistakes? Despite our honesty pledge, that’s a question I dare not ask her, no matter how much I’m dying to know. “It was after I broke up with the girl I dated before you, in undergrad.” Feels weird to acknowledge our relationship aloud, but maybe it will get easier. It can’t get harder, that’s for sure.
“Maggie Aimsley?” she asks. “With the bangs?”
Her comment pulls me back to the time we helped my parents clean out the garage and discovered the yearbook my mom insisted I buy to commemorate senior year. “Her, yeah. After she dumped me, I taught myself to play acoustic guitar.”
We’ve reached my SUV, and she turns to me. “How is that a mistake?”
“The mistake was deciding to showcase my newfound skill at a campus open mic night, where I introduced myself using a stage name.”
“Dare I ask?”
I hang my head and mumble, “Leopold Dogfish.”
“Adrian.”
“I know.”
“Adrian!” She’s bent double laughing, and that almost makes the shame worth it. Almost. “Also, since we’re confessing, you should know you didn’t have to mutiny today. I’m happy to let you drive the boat anytime you want.”
“You’re just now telling me this?” She readjusts the books in her hands, glaring at me over the stack, eyes sparkling penny-bright in the hazy afternoon sun. “Gabe told me weeks ago, but I was curious if you’d confess to winding me up.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I didn’t know how to without mentioning, y’know...”
“The compromising circumstances?”
Heat rises up my neck, reaching my ears, but it’s nothing compared to the flame of desire. “Yeah, that.” Now all I can think of is her parted lips and breathy moans, my blood stirring at the thought. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So all this time you knew I was messing with you about captain privileges?”
“Yup.” Her lips curve in a sly smile and she pokes my chest, right above my heart. “You’re lucky I like you, Hollis-Parker.”
Lucky, indeed.
Day Nine of the “Friendship Experiment” is going much better than previous trials of Strangers and Strictly Business. Things are easier now that we aren’t tiptoeing around each other. The pent-up urge to be with her hasn’t gone away, but it is tempered by being near her.
The storms that came through last week gave way to clear weather, and with possible tropical storms predicted for next week, we’ve gone out to tag every day, filming different stages of the process, and I’m happy with the amount and variety of sharks we’ve caught. Happy too that the change in weather aligns with a shift between Hope and I, a familiar pull that we’ve stopped resisting.
It’s been over a week, and somehow we’re moving closer without crossing any lines, like a clock edging toward noon, the hands coming full circle to meet at the center. Instead of avoiding me onboard, she’s been seeking me out—offering me first pick of scones when she brought in a box of treats from a local café, or staying late with me to stow supplies. Now she’s joined me on the bench where I’m organizing data while we motor up the ICW to film with a researcher who’s using drones to study sharks.
Elbows on her splayed knees, her fingers work to undo a tangle of line, the white rope a contrast to her brown skin, deepened to bronze from hours on the water. She lifts her chin, looking out across the bow, and tendrils of dark curls flutter along her cheeks, the baby hairs at her nape curling charmingly upward.
She catches me looking and instead of a glare, bumps her bare knee into mine and gives me a grin that’s an invitation, not an admonition. Tipping closer, she looks at my laptop screen. “How’re those notes coming along, Leopold?”
She’s taken to calling me Leopold ever since I told her about my embarrassment of a stage name. I try not to have flashbacks to our first few months of dating, when she used my last name as a pet name, but it’s hard not to draw comparisons. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
She shakes her head, and I catch the coconut scent of her sunscreen. There’s a small daub of cream along her temple that I resist the urge to rub in. “Never.”
“I performed exactly once, in the college’s union building. Must you keep the memory alive?”
With the utmost dignity, she presses a hand to her heart, and my eyes drop to the dip of her collarbones, glowing under a fine sheen of sweat. “It is my solemn duty.” She drops the pose and grins. “Also, I may have mentioned it to Marissa.”
“How dare you?” I groan but can’t keep the smile off my face. “I thought we were friends.”
“Marissa and I are friends too,” she says. “No secrets among friends.”
I have plenty of secrets, like how I agreed to friends because I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me. Like how at night, I lay in bed in the waterfront house I never dreamed I could afford, and it feels empty without her.
“Fair’s fair, though,” she says, returning her attention to the knot. “It’s not a secret, but something you didn’t know about me is that I finally learned how to ride a bike last year.”
“How is that embarrassing? It’s an accomplishment.” She never wanted me to teach her because she said she didn’t have time or money for hospital visits.
