Carmen stepped back and looked at Hank. “You too,” she said. “You ever need someone to run interference with a sponsor or tell a pushy fan to back off, you call me. I have a scary voice.”
“I’ve heard it,” he said. “I’m grateful it’s never been directed at me.”
“Keep it that way,” she said.
She offered her hand; he took it. Instead of shaking, she squeezed hard for a second, warrior to warrior, then let go.
“See you around, James,” she said.
“Count on it,” he replied.
Carmen nodded at Colby, pulled her jacket back on, the Dragon logo bright for one last time. As she walked away, Bree imagined painting over it in white, then in a color that belonged to Carmen alone.
“You okay?” Hank asked quietly.
Bree watched the door swing shut behind Carmen. “I will be,” she said. “Right now I feel… heavy and light.”
“Sounds about right,” he said.
Colby closed his tablet. “I’m going to head back to the warehouse and measure that upstairs wall again before Jason puts anything in stone,” he said. “If we’re dedicating it to Bryn, I want the proportions right.”
Emotion pinched her throat. “Thank you,” she said.
He shrugged, almost shy. “Feels important,” he said, then slipped out with a wave.
That left her and Hank in the corner, the café’s quiet chatter filling the spaces their friends had left.
He slid back into his chair, turning it slightly so his knees brushed hers. “I’ve got meetings with the Cup accountants this afternoon,” he said. “They want to go over prize distribution, taxes, all that fun stuff. After that, I’m free. You got any plans that don’t involve tracking illegal vendors?”
She smiled. “Actually, I had this idea about you taking me on a real date,” she said. “No warehouses, no mayors, no cops. Just you, me, something Copper Moon-y.”
His mouth curved slowly. “I think I can arrange that,” he said. “You like boats?”
“As long as they stay on top of the water,” she said.
“There’s a rental place down by the south pier,” he said. “Small day boats, nothing fancy. We could take one out, poke around the shoreline, pretend we’re the kind of people who know how to relax.”
She tilted her head. “You sure you remember how?”
“I’ve got a vague recollection,” he said. “You willing to help me remember?”
She reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around his. “Always,” she said.
He squeezed back. “All right then,” he said. “You’ve got a date with the harbor.”
Chapter 20
Hank stood at the edge of the south pier and tried not to think about all the ways a boat could go wrong.
The rental outfit was a low, weathered shack with peeling blue paint and a hand-lettered sign that said HARBOR HOPPERS. A row of small day boats bobbed at the dock, their hulls knocking gently against rubber bumpers. A teenager in a faded life jacket sat on a stool out front, scrolling on his phone.
“You the guy who called about the afternoon slot?” the teenager asked without looking up.
“That’s me,” Hank said.
“Boat’s fueled and ready,” the kid said, jerking his chin toward a twenty-foot center console with a small outboard. “Keys are in it. There’s a chart and a radio; if you get into trouble, call Harbor Patrol on sixteen. Bring it back with the prop still attached, and my boss will love you forever.”
“Solid motivation,” Hank said.
