The buoys are easy to find this morning, with the air clear and crisp. We pull a surprising number of keepers for a late April haul, and one trap has a twelve-incher that well exceeds the size limit of catch we’re allowed to possess. After he’s tossed back in, the next few traps are mainly little ones that are sent back as well. The day goes smoothly—more smoothly than many of the recent ones have given the lack of fog. Nils is as silent as a shadow, while Oliver is as vocal as a mockingbird. We make it back to the wharf before two in the afternoon, all of us happy to find ourselves with more free time than we’d been expecting.
“Need he—he—” Nils stops, mouth open and throat working as he slowly works the word free. I wait, knowing he’s asking if I need help, but giving him the space to finish anyway. “—help?”
His jaw works in frustration, but he gives up on the rest ofwhat I can guess he was trying to ask. I know him well enough to know that he’s going to give it up as a loss, never one to risk the stutter just to tack on a few extra words.
“No. Nothing extra needs to be handled today.” He nods, turning away to help Oliver, who immediately begins a one-sided conversation.
Roy’s boat is still out, which doesn’t much matter anyway. Usually, on a beautiful day like today, an early afternoon finish would mean that he and I would get together. Have a barbecue at my house, as he’d so flippantly joked earlier. We never really went out and did things beyond occasionally picking up a meal to then bring home and eat. Despite the attitude and the pretty face, Roy doesn’t like being the center of attention. He likes to clutch his secrets close and hold everyone at arm’s length. I, having grown up here, have no secrets from anyone. Sometimes others seem to find out things about me before I even know them myself.
Oliver, slipping off his oilers, glances over at me. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Not sure. You?”
“Well, I bought a bit of a fixer-upper, you know?” He stands, tossing the hoodie he’d abandoned mid-morning over his shoulder and wiping his cheek on the fabric. “I was thinking I might try and do some of the paving stones today since the weather is so nice. The landscaping is a mess.”
Nils looks over, frowning. I wait, giving him a second to jump in if he wants. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you need help?”
“No, I think I’ll be able to handle it myself. I watched someYouTube videos.” Oliver smiles. Behind his back, Nils’ eyes widen.
“I’ll help,” he says quietly, but nonetheless loud enough for Oliver to turn and grin at him.
“Really?” A nod. “Okay, thanks!”
Shaking my head at the pair of them, I go back to silently stowing my gear. I’m not sure why Nils’ help is more preferable to mine, but as long as Oliver isn’t having to do it all alone, I suppose it doesn’t matter. After I check the life jackets and first-aid supplies, and find them still unused and stocked full, the pair of them have gone through the rest of the tasks, and it’s time to give theDriftera final clean. I wave Nils off before he can start with the wash rag.
“I’ve got it. You guys better head off and get started before you lose the light. Call me if you need anything, Oli.” I direct this toward him because he’s the one more likely to take me up on it. Nils would sooner cut off his own hand than ask someone for help.
When the pair of them are out of sight, I start soaping down the boat, working my way from the top to the hull. Once I finish, I rinse with fresh water, watching the soap residue disappear. I don’t put too much effort into drying, deciding to let the beautiful sunny day help me with that. Instead, I hit all the glass bits with some cleaner until they shine. The sun is still high enough in the sky once I’m finished that the day feels young. I look over toward Roy’s empty slip and head for my truck. I think about Ewan and what he might be doing on a day like today. Painting? Drawing more Sharpie sea creatures?Maybe he went for a hike again. I hope he did—he looks in need of fresh air and color in his skin.
I’m still thinking of Ewan—of the heterochromic nature of his hazel eyes and the black dusting of scruff over his jaw—when I somehow find myself not driving up my own lane but stopping in front of the Kelpie Kottage. Sighing, I put the truck in park and idle at the curb, looking toward Ewan’s front door. Again, the curtains are drawn, and no light is peeking out. LA has turned him into a damn vampire.
Trying to decide whether I should knock and say hello or if I should go home and shower off the stink of bait, I idle too long and get caught. The door opens and Ewan steps out, not seeing me right away as he turns and fiddles with the door, trying to get the lock to catch. I need to take a look at that, see if I can fix it.
Rolling down the passenger-side window, I wait for him to turn before I wave. His face opens up into a smile, like the sun rising over the ocean and sending color streaking across the sky. Nobody in my life has ever been so happy to see me as Ewan. He walks toward me quickly, catching his toe on the uneven sidewalk and tripping slightly.
“Hey, Shi,” he greets me, reaching the truck and leaning a forearm against the top of the door. He’s still smiling, eyes a bright green and brown, alight with joy. “You finished hauling?”
“We are,” I confirm, tapping my fingers on the gear shift. “Where are you off to?”
“I was going to go up to the lighthouse, actually. I haven’t been since you and I went last. Figured I’d check it out, takesome pictures.” He lifts his cell phone into view, Jeep keys dangling from one of his fingers. The smile slips a little bit as he clears his throat. “Want to join?”
I absolutely want to join. I’d also like him to stop looking so nervous when he asks me questions like that. Mostly, I’d like for this damned awkwardness to stop lingering around like an unwanted houseguest. I refuse to spend whatever little time I have with Ewan tripping over my tongue and bumping into him like a pair of dancers who forgot their choreography.
“Sure. I’d better go home and shower, though. I haven’t been?—”
“You don’t have to shower!” Ewan cuts me off, eyes dropping to the neck of my shirt and skin pinking behind his scruff. I look down as well, grimacing when I see the signs of a hardworking day. I definitely need to shower and change.
“Give me ten minutes at home,” I request. “You want to meet at my place and drive to the lighthouse together?”
“Okay, yeah, that sounds great.” A pause, and then he adds, “But you don’t have to shower, really.”
“I really do. I smell like bait.”
“Mm-hm.” He hums in agreement, cheek depressed as though he’s chewing it. He’s staring at my forearm now, still resting across the console, hand on the gear shift. I fidget, trying to figure out what I’m meant to do with the attention. My first inclination is to invite him to my house and into the shower with me, which means I’ll be setting the water temperature to frigid once I get in there. Alone.
“Ten minutes,” I remind him, waiting for him to let go ofthe window and back up a step before putting the truck into drive. “See you soon.”
I shower as quickly as I can, running my fingers through my hair in lieu of brushing it, and slathering on a healthy layer of deodorant. I’m pretty sure I can still smell the bait, which means Ewan will probably be able to smell it, which means I’m going on a date smelling like dead fish. Except this isn’t a date, no matter how hard my brain keeps trying to connect the two, so really, I shouldn’t be worried about how I smell.
