She appears beside me, leaning in to scroll through the images herself. “What are you working on so intently anyway?”
Without thinking, I nudge her hand aside and close the email. The new tour script pops back up, filling the screen.
Her eyes dart to it and before I can shut the laptop, her curiosity shifts to confusion. “You’re rewriting the tour? Why?”
I’d have to physically shove her aside to keep her from scanning the rest of it, and at this point, I don’t care that much.
“This is for Tate,” she says, frowning, and then with an almost accusatory note in her voice adds, “and you took out almostallof the historical facts.”
She looks at me again, her sea-glass eyes sharp and searching, close enough that I catch the darker green ring circling the outside. “That was the best part of the tour.”
I hold her gaze longer than I should. “Yeah, well, you might be the only tourist who thinks that way.”
She breaks the connection effortlessly, turning back to the screen and scrolling farther down. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
I could argue. Tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But at this point, it’s easier to just show her.
Without a word, I reclaim the trackpad, open the latest reviews, and move back to let her read them for herself:
Pretty mermaid but the guide talked too much about boring history stuff. I’d rather listen to a Wikipedia article read out loud. Captain was funny.
I came for mermaids, not a dissertation on 18th-century shipping regulations. My kid asked if we were being punished. Honestly, it felt like it.
They shouldn’t call it a mermaid tour. All you do is listen to some guy talk about history for an hour and catch a glimpse of a mermaid at the end. Rip-off.
We thought this would be the highlight of our trip, but it was a mess. The live mermaid was the only good part, she looked amazing and stayed in character the whole time. The guide, though? Yikes. I think I fell asleep. I don’t know why they don’t have the captain do the whole thing. He was great.
I’m torn. The mermaid was incredible, and the kids were mesmerized. But the guide gave a full-on history lesson. He even had a bit of a spat with a girl on our tour, which was uncomfortable. Would I do it again? Probably not.
She draws back when she’s done, quiet. “I guess this is what you guys were fighting about yesterday?”
I cut a glance toward her.
“I could see you from the parking lot,” she explains. “Seemed like things were a little tense.”
I hesitate. I didn’t plan on talking about this with anyone, especially not her. I’m still pissed at Tate for not telling me the second my dad came to him. He said he didn’t take my dad’s idea seriously and wasn’t sure I’d care either way. Right now, that doesn’t feel like a good enough excuse.
“It’s fine. We worked it out.” Maybe not entirely, but I know we will, because that’s what we always do. Plus, I don’t get to stay madat him when I didn’t even bring it up with Eryn, even though she essentially did the same thing.
Besides, it’s not really either of them I’m truly mad at.
“The reviews are clear about what they want,” I say.
When I don’t say more than that, her gaze lingers on me, softening like she’s piecing something together. “It wasn’t your choice, was it? Poseidon? He’s your dad, right?”
I haven’t explained that I’m not the one making decisions around here, but it sounds like she doesn’t need me to.
“You look a little like him,” she adds. “Just in the eyes.”
That’s not something I want to hear.
“Is there anyone else from your family that helps run the museum?”
I don’t want to go down this conversation trail. “Just us. Look, I really need to finish this, so can you just—” I gesture toward the shelves she’s supposed to be inventorying.
She doesn’t move. “I’m sorry for arguing with you on my tour. I wasn’t thinking about it impacting someone else’s experience so much that they’d leave a review about it. I was just trying to distract my stomach at first, then sort of test you, you know?”
“Glad I passed.” My tone is flat, but the corner of her mouth tugs up.
