Page 9 of Second Tide's the Charm
“Never,” she says with a visible shudder. The distraction worked, though. At Gabe’s prompting, she takes off her high heels and climbs onto the boat with only a brief hesitation.
Desperate to get the morning back on track, I turn toward where I left my laptop. “I want to show you around, but first, let’s go over some num—”
That’s when I hear the splash.
I spin around, horrified. My sister will never speak to me again if she’s gone overboard. But Iris is safe on deck, Gabe at her side. They’re gaping at the water with matching looks of dismay. I spring into action, setting down my laptop and grabbing a personal flotation device from under the seat.
More splashing, then someone surfaces near the dock. I hurl the throwable cushion in their direction and leap overboard. Chilly water envelops me, bubbles brushing my chin as I breathe out to keep my nose clear. I kick my way to the surface.
“I can swim!” the person yells, and swivels toward me, arms churning the water into a brownish-green froth.
I recognized her voice in an instant, but that doesn’t lessen the shock when I swipe the brackish water out of my face and my gaze collides with indignant, copper-brown eyes.
“Hope?” The second time I’ve said her name today, twice more than the past two years combined, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I’ve conjured her out of saltwater and memories.
five
hope
My last thought before plunging into the murky water is that if I owed Marissa for offering me a job, we’re officially even, because knocking me into the marina? Not what I’d call Southern hospitality. I’m pretty sure she was trying to spin me around to go back the way we came, but why? Doesn’t matter anyway—good intentions are no consolation, considering I ended up in the water, fully dressed.
Today was supposed to be all about me getting my bearings before meeting Adrian. Groggy from the cross-country drive, I arrived at Marissa’s condo well after midnight and crashed on the air mattress, but nerves woke me up early. She told me Adrian had an appointment so we’d have the day to catch up and go over the project in more depth.
At least he’s not here to see this disaster. Embarrassing enough to fall off a dock without my ex-boyfriend around to witness. I kick my way to the surface, feet heavy in my sandals, and come up for air, doing my best not to swallow disgusting marina water. A situation not helped when a PFD smacks one of my flailing arms.
Pumping my legs to spin myself around, I catch sight of a huge guy leaping off a nearby boat. The surface explodes in a splash that sends a wave of water up my nose and down my throat. I gag against the influx of salt and silt. Stinging, my eyes pinch shut.
The would-be rescuer surfaces just in front of me, and I’m still coughing, but annoyed enough to shout, “I can swim!”
My eyes are burning, but I force them open to get my bearings, blinking against the glint of sunlight on the water. The man’s face is blurry and unexpectedly close. I rub the back of my hand across my face, and the stunningly handsome face of my long-lost boyfriend comes into focus. Here, in the water, so close I can hear the rasp of his inhale, is the man I lost my heart to.
Adrian’s midnight-dark eyes meet mine, emotions churning in their depths. Surprise, concern, and...tenderness? A burst of visceral longing shoots through me, so raw it sucks the breath from my lungs.
To compensate, I drag in a gulp of air, but my mouth is so close to the surface that I inhale water instead. I gag and splutter and something bumps my arm. I recoil at the unexpected touch, but it’s only the floatation cushion.
Coughing, I swat it away. Not the most mature move, but the reality of seeing Adrian again has me discombobulated. “Get that thing out of my face!” Flail, splutter.
He shoves it back toward me. “Just take it!”
“You know I’m an excellent—” flail “—swimmer.” Splutter, cough.
My chin dips under the murky water again. Turns out it’s tough to stay afloat when you’re in shock and gagging on seawater. His arm comes around my waist and tugs me upward. I gasp and find his face inches from mine.
“Take,” he says, panting, “the cushion.”
I take it.
He releases me but stays close, treading water with steady pumps that send pulses of water against my shins. His knee bumps mine and he pulls back, eyes wide. Droplets glisten in his long, black lashes and hang suspended like crystals in the trimmed beard that adorns his once-clean-shaven jaw. Locs frame his face, the ends dipping into the water. His new look doesn’t align with the Adrian of my memories, and I blame the incongruity for the uneven tempo of my heart.
His lips are parted, breath coming fast. Which is weird, because Adrian’s as good a swimmer as I am, if not better, and the water is calm.
“Are you okay?” The question slips out in a rasp, my throat hoarse from coughing.
His thick brows pull together, lips pursed, and there he is, the sweet, serious man I remember. “Me? You’re the one swimming in a marina.” Eyes narrowed, he asks, “Don’t you know there’s a risk of electrical shock?”
“Because I woke up and chose this,” I deadpan.
Irritated, I let go of the cushion and swim for the dock. My baggy tee creates a lot of drag, and each stroke threatens to dislodge my shoes, but I kick hard to put distance between us. When I reach the ladder, I grab hold and haul myself out with zero grace. Worth noting: if this entry back into shark research doesn’t work out, I absolutely don’t have a future modeling for sexy poolside music videos.
