I find myself dozing off on the drive and am grateful I left the Jeep at his place and agreed to the ride home. That beer hit me hard, and I’m exhausted. When he pulls the truck to a stop in front of my sleepy little cottage, I turn to look at him in the bright interior of the cab. His eyes are so dark they barely seem blue, as though they’re mimicking the way the sky dimmed as the sun fell.
Deciding that I might as well treat this exactly like what it is and be as polite as I usually would on a first date, I say, “Thank you for dinner and the ride. I had a great time.”
“Do you still want to come out on the boat with us in a couple days?” he asks, the movement of his fingers on the gear shift the only outward sign of nerves.
“I’d love to. Will you text me?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” he confirms. I pull his hand over to my side of the vehicle, our fingers a messy tangle as I give him a little squeeze.
“Drive home safe, Shi.”
He waits until I’ve got the front door open and have steppedinside before he pulls the truck away from the curb. I watch until I can’t see the glow of the taillights. Kicking off my shoes and locking the door, I yank my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor on my way to the bathroom. I manage to brush my teeth and lose my jeans before I flop bonelessly onto the mattress and sleep all the way through the night for the first time in years.
Chapter Sixteen
SHILOH
“Nice haircut,” Oliver says the moment he steps onto the boat. Nils, walking a step behind him, frowns at my forehead. He’d never have noticed.
“Thanks,” I reply a little sheepishly. I’d booked a slot at the salon for the first time in years, as though I suddenly can’t manage to deal with my own hair at home. Usually, I can. But I thought maybe a little more effort wouldn’t go amiss right now, with Ewan and me trying out being…well, Ewan and me. So, I’ve put in a good amount of care and done my best with the personal grooming; hopefully, I look a little less like an old mariner now.
“Looks good!” Oliver compliments. I sigh. That’s like a peacock complimenting a pheasant.
“Ewan coming today?” Nils confirms softly. I nod, gratefulfor the distraction from my ridiculous haircut. I scratch a hand over my beard, which also received a trim, and look down the pier toward the parking lot. No Jeep yet that I can see. Of course, it’s dark as hell, and the fog is terrible this morning, so that means very little. I sigh again, annoyed with myself. The damn haircut is throwing me off.
Nils moves down the boat to join Oliver, and I get back to work myself, wondering if those are the last words I’ll hear from him today. Even though he does know Ewan, Nils’ default is silence until he’s comfortable enough with someone to stutter. It took months before I heard him say anything to Oliver, and the first time he spoke one with a stutter in front of him, Nils had not talked again the rest of the week. Ewan will likely be more than enough to scare him into silence, which is something I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t consider when I’d offered the invitation to Ewan. I shouldn’t be making any of my crew uncomfortable.
Ewan walks through the fog right when Oliver starts humming the opening bars of his first song of the day. I hold up a hand in welcome, which Ewan returns as a little wave. He approaches me the moment he’s on the boat, dark hair a little damp from the weather and face rough with early morning shadow. He’s wearing the jacket I’d stopped by to give him yesterday, the hood of his sweater bunched up over the neckline.
“Morning,” he says, grinning, the light from the lamps reflecting in his eyes.
“Good morning,” I reply once I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. He’s swimming in my coat, the fabric lumpyand too big on him, even with the extra padding underneath. I curl my fingers into my palms to remind myself I’m at work and can’t go around stroking cheeks or tucking in wayward hoods the way I want to do with Ewan right now.
“Foggy,” he notes, breath visible in the air between us and drawing my eyes down to his mouth. Now I’m remembering why the haircut was actually one of my better ideas.
“Yeah. You already know Nils”—I gesture toward my sternman as he approaches—“and that’s Oliver Martin.”
Nils settles for a polite nod in Ewan’s direction while Oliver smiles and shakes Ewan’s hand like he’s the mayor stopped by for a visit on his way to town hall. When we make our way out into the still morning, Oliver picks up where he left off, and the growl of the engine is punctuated by the low sound of him singing. I can’t hear the words from where I’m standing at the controls, watching the monitor, but the breeze shares enough for me to still enjoy the song.
Finding the buoys in the fog requires all of our attention, and I start to wonder if I made a mistake inviting Ewan along today. It’s not a particularly fun day on the boat, and the low cloud cover is adding a deeper chill to the air in addition to the bad visibility. Even with the traps marked and tracked, we’re moving at a snail’s pace between them. Every time we reach a buoy, I watch Ewan closely as he stands with Oliver and Nils. Ewan uses the gaff hook to snag the buoy, and I attach it to the hydraulic pot hauler, Ewan already working alongside us as easily as if he does it daily. The traps are pulled onto the gunwale and emptied, lobsters thrown back into the water orkept depending on their size. A couple receive a little special treatment from Nils as he cleans off barnacles crusted along their shells before he tosses them back.
By midday, the sun has burned off enough of the fog for the gloom to recede and the visibility to increase. Oliver starts singing a song that makes Ewan laugh for some reason, and when I decide to change the routine and stop for lunch, the pair of them sit together. I sigh and shake my head. So easily replaced, am I.
“You have a good voice,” Ewan compliments him between bites of sandwich, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and ocean spray, cheeks red with exertion and hazel eyes bright with joy. I have to remind myself to blink, unwilling to take my eyes off him for long.
“Our little songbird,” Nils says quietly, deep voice nonetheless easily heard over the call of the gulls and the slap of the water against the hull. Oliver most certainly hears it, if the red flush of his cheeks is any indication, smile pleased and a little bashful as he ceases talking for the first time all day, apparently shocked into silence. Ewan looks at me and smiles, quirking a single eyebrow. I shrug, unsure, and he rolls his eyes at me good-naturedly.
“I made your salmon glaze recipe the other night, Oli.” The smile blooms swiftly on his face, cheeks compressing in a pair of deep dimples. “It was good.”
“It was amazing,” Ewan puts in, leaning his head back and tipping a handful of almonds into his mouth. I tell myself I’m staring at the movement of his throat to watch for choking.When I finally manage to tear my eyes away from him, I find Oliver’s eyes bouncing between the two of us.
“I’ve got a few other things I could share,” Oliver says. “I was avoiding drywall by tinkering with recipes over the weekend.”
Nils glances at him, frowning. “What are you drywa-a-a?—”
He clenches his jaw so tightly I’m surprised I don’t hear a tooth crack. Usually, neither Oliver nor I will finish his sentences. Although usually, to be fair, he doesn’t have trouble finishing them himself. It’s pretty rare, now that I think about it, for him to stutter in front of me, for him to struggle talking while he’s out to haul with us. Today, though, Oliver picks up the slack with a quick look at Ewan, as though knowing his presence is the reason for the discomfort.
“The cellar. Every inch of that house is a fixer-upper, which I knew when I bought it, but I didn’t know quite how much fixing that would actually entail. I’ve never watched so many how-to videos in my life.”
