Page 2 of Researching the Pole

“Of course, Doc.” He smiled warmly.

My heart joined my stomach. Wow, when had he become so interested in academic stuff? And that killer smile? No wonder the girls were crazy about him. He must have no lack of girlfriends now. I was too busy for dating, but he made me wonder. What kind of woman would a man like him be interested in?

“The challenge will be getting close enough to record without interfering with their behavior,” he continued, oblivious to my state of mind. “As you know, they’re territorial, aggressive, and they vocalize in water. Look out there. That’s barely above freezing. Most recording equipment can’t handle the conditions.”

I stopped walking and stared at him. “How do you know so much? I thought you were just a diver.”

“I’ve been following your publications.” He said it casually like it was no big deal.

Following my publications? Grant Reeves had been reading academic journals? The guy who used to copy my homework had been tracking my career? My head spun.

“That’s why you need a dive partner who knows these waters.” Grant’s expression turned smug. “I’ve been working Antarctic stations for three seasons. I know where they hunt.”

Was he trying to sell himself? Because I was already sold. I had prepared to ‘educate’ my diving partner. I didn’t expect someone to have actually read my work.

Grant led me down the path to our cabin, carrying all my equipment with ease, talking about safety protocols, while I tried to reconcile this competent, professional version with my memory of the cocky teenager who’d dominated our high school basketball court. This Grant moved with purpose, was intelligent, measured, and pointing out wildlife as if he actually cared about me.

“Main station’s over there,” he said, nodding toward the cluster of orange buildings as we passed. “But they’ve assigned you the research cabin for privacy. Less disruption to your work and the recordings.”

Ah. Right.

“Welcome to our temporary quarters, Doc.” Grant opened the door to a tiny cabin.

The way he said ‘our’ sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. What the hell was up with me?

He set my equipment down gently in the living room that was also a kitchenette. “The mess hall in the main building serves all the meals, but we can make tea and coffee and heat up food in the cabin here.”

I surveyed the kitchenette area next to the only table in the cabin. Immediately, I mentally marked it for setting up my recording equipment. On the counter top of the kitchenette sat a basket stuffed with my specific blend of herbal tea. I was sure that brand wasn’t available here in this remote corner of the earth.

Possibly reading my confused expression, he commented casually while continuing to unload all the equipment gear. “I stocked the kitchen with your favorites. But like I said, let me know if you need anything.”

Grant knew my tea preference? How? “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” His voice was quiet.

My heart did an odd thing.

“Welcome to Antarctica, Adrien.”

Oh! Oh, this was not good. I didn’t at all like the way my brain immediately extrapolated that welcome to a whole lot more.

***

After I shed all the extra winter jacket, mittens, and cap, I put some water to heat for a cup of tea. All the while, I watched him from the corner of my eyes. Grant was spreading topographical maps across the dining table and pulling out depth charts I hadn’t seen before.

“I am thinking we can scout the northern coastline,” he said, tracing routes with his finger. “Ice conditions have been stable for the past week, and I spotted seal activity in this area during my dive this morning.” He looked up at me. His competence was unsettling—this wasn’t the same guy who’d struggled through equations while I’d quietly done most of the work. “How does that sound? What’s your preferred deployment pattern for the hydrophone array?”

I blinked. He was seriously freaking me out now. He didn’t just ‘read my publications’. He had to have understood them! No one ever asked about my deployment preferences. Usually, I had to spend some time just to get divers to understand why precise positioning mattered.

“Triangular grid, minimum fifty-meter spacing,” I said automatically.

“Solid.” He marked something on the map. “We’ll just need to compensate for drift and set the anchors deeper than standard protocol.”

“That’s…” I cleared my throat and dipped my tea bag into a cup of hot water. “That’s exactly right.” Grant Reeves understood oceanographic drift calculations. Why was that so…hot? No, not hot. I mean he was a guy. A dude. I just meant… attractive in a completely platonic way, of course.

“I did my homework.” Grant looked up at me and winked. My pulse stuttered.

Needing to do something other than gawk at him awkwardly, I carried my cup and moved deeper into the cabin. There was a small bedroom with a single bed and an attached bathroom. I turned to look for the second bedroom but…