All three snap back into action, moving even more quickly until they whip a knitting needle and a ball of wool from the captain’s pocket and start knitting at a furious pace.
I stand stiffly, feeling my shoulders ache with tension as I wait to see how she reacts. Surely, this’ll be the tipping point that pushes her over the edge?
But Reva just laughs, interlinking our fingers together. “So how long do you think it’ll take us to get to Deadwood Cove?”
“A couple of days at most,” Finch replies, grinning. “We could be there tomorrow, if we have the right conditions.”
“As long as the cove doesn’t move before then.”
She lets out a long sigh, and I wrap my arm around her, tucking her into my side. “I guess we’d better hope that our luck holds out until then.”
I glance up and meet Aster’s eye and I’m confident we’re both of the same mind. I’m feeling pretty damn lucky right about now.
Chapter 28
Reva
Later that night, I’m wandering through the ship’s passageways like an errant ghost with nothing better to do. My nap from earlier royally messed up my sleep cycle, and even though my head and eyes ache with fatigue, falling asleep feels impossible.
It’s difficult to tell which of the sensations fighting for dominance are from missing Noush and which are from the fevered anticipation of finally knowing where Kit and Noush are.
Once again, I wound up spending my afternoon back in the med bay. My head started pounding as one of the crew turned up with a busted hand and wound up staying for over an hour as he enthusiastically told me about all the truly filthy things he planned to do as soon as the curse was broken. By the time we were done, I had another couple of crewmembers lined up and waiting. Only one had anything wrong with them, while the rest wanted me to write key phrases down for them for the planned port stop in Newton Regis for once we get Kit back and the curse is broken.
It was pure smut. Pickup lines and compliments that they all seemed to think they could bandy about and have people flocking to them.
They were a good distraction. And their attitude left me feeling more buoyant, considering they all seem so certain that the end is in sight. They’re all fully convinced that we’ll reach Deadwood Cove in a day or so, and then life can move on.
So now here I am in the middle of the night with my hand aching from hours of carefully spelling filthy phrases, hoping a cup of tea might help to soothe everything else and let me get some sleep.
Considering the late hour, I’m expecting the kitchen to be empty at this time of night. But things are never fully quiet on the ship. There always seem to be people up and about and tonight is no exception.
There are lights on in the kitchen, and the kettle is already steaming as I freeze just beyond the doorway, spotting both Torin and Captain Finch sitting on opposite sides of the table. The captain’s stormy eyes meet mine and he gives a tired smile.
“All right, love. Trouble sleeping?” He murmurs. Once again, he’s not wearing his hat, and his tentacles give me a little wave of their own. They’re friendly little things, considering he spends so much time covering them up.
“Yep, thought I’d see if a cup of tea would help.”
“Well, sit down.” He gestures casually to the seat opposite him. “Torin’s just making some.”
Torin grunts, skirting around me with his powerful body almost brushing mine. His big hand trails gently over my lower back as he gently nudges me toward the seat. Plopping down, I shift Torin’s reading glasses out of the way and eye the pen and paper sitting beside an empty mug. My brain’s been so skewed after how I spent my afternoon, I’m shocked to find actual plans and diagrams instead of smutty poems.
When I chuckle to myself, I’m aware of two sets of curious eyes on me.
“Something funny about our plans for Deadwood Cove, love?”
My eyes bulge out of my head as I realise that was exactly what I was chuckling over. “Uh, no. I was just thinking that the crew have been using their paper stores for something very different.” At theirbemused expressions, I quickly fill them in on how I spent my afternoon after leaving the captain’s office.
“Ah, they’ve got a competition going on who can do the best wooing with words,” Torin says. “Makes sense that they want to do it in the correct language.”
“They should have just asked to borrow some of the terrible poetry that Torin writes when he’s drunk,” Captain Finch replies.
“Hey,” Torin grumbles as he sets down three steaming mugs of tea while we both smirk up at him.
“You write poetry?”
“He steals and regurgitates bad poetry with a few terrible tweaks,” Finch clarifies.
One of his tentacles reaches out and plucks a bottle of whisky from his pocket, which he sets down in front of me. Another gently brushes the inner skin of my wrist, making me jump at the unexpected contact before he slaps it away.
