"No olives."
The woman blinked.
"You memorized all thirty-eight guest preference forms?"
Storm finally looked at her.
"You didn't?"
The woman laughed.
"No, Captain."
"I'll print you another copy."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
The woman disappeared back inside, still laughing.
I couldn't help smiling.
Storm noticed.
"My sister Willow."
"The chef?"
"The best on the West Coast."
"Confident."
"Accurate."
I laughed.
"I like confidence."
"So do I."
There was no arrogance in the statement.
Just certainty.
Another sister walked down the dock carrying what looked suspiciously like a toolbox.
Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
There was grease on her cheek.
She stopped beside Storm.
"The starboard engine's happy."
"What about the port?"
"It was offended that I ignored it."
