"Sounds like we both spend our time looking for what's underneath."
"Maybe." She hands the portfolio back to me, and our fingers brush in the exchange. A small contact. Meaningless.
Except my skin remembers the warmth of hers long after she pulls away.
The afternoon passes in something approaching peace. I show her the engine room, the bilge pumps, the emergency equipment lockers. She asks intelligent questions and remembers the answers. By dinner, she can identify the navigation lights of an approaching vessel and knows the VHF channels for Coast Guard emergencies.
Night falls soft and purple over the marsh. We eat on deck, grilled shrimp and vegetables, the citronella candle doing its best against the mosquitoes. Sera has pulled her hair back in a loose knot, exposing the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat.
I make myself look at the water instead.
"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is lower now, softened by the darkness.
"You can ask."
"When you looked at me yesterday, after I got off the plane. What did you see?"
I take my time answering. "A woman who didn't want to be there. Who was furious at circumstances beyond her control. Who looked at me like I was part of the problem instead of part of the solution."
"And now?"
Now.
Now I see the way the candlelight catches the gold in her hair. The intelligence in her green eyes. The strength it takes to maintain her composure when her entire life has been upended by forces she can't fight.
"Now I see someone I underestimated."
She makes a sound that's almost a laugh. "Is that a compliment?"
"It's the truth."
Sera stands, collecting our empty plates. She moves past me toward the galley hatch, and I catch that scent again. Lemon and something underneath. Something warm.
"Ford."
I look up.
She's stopped at the hatch, plates in hand, her face half-shadowed by the cabin housing.
"Thank you. For showing me the maps. For treating me like a person instead of a problem."
"You're not a problem."
"I know." A small smile curves her lips. "That's what I mean."
She disappears below, and I sit in the darkness listening to the marsh come alive around us. Frogs and insects and the occasional splash of something hunting in the shallows.
I don't let myself think about the curve of her smile.
I don't let myself imagine what it would feel like to taste that lemon scent on her skin.
I don't let myself acknowledge the way my blood runs hotter when she's close.
Two weeks.
Twelve days left.
I've survived worse things than wanting something I can't have.
