Page 5 of A Shore Fling

“Okay, Mr. Critical. Actually, I’m chalking that up to a poor choice, which is why I usually avoid making hasty decisions.”

“You know, when the boat got stuck, you could’ve just radioed for help.”

“David didn’t go over that part with me.”

David doesn’t do many of the things he should.

“We’re almost back to the harbor. Once Perkins Marine tows your boat in, there are a few local boat repairmen you can call to check it out. I’m recommending you not take her for a ride again.”

“I won’t be.”

I bless myself, making the sign of the cross across my chest. “Thank you, Jesus.”

She laughs, and it’s genuine. My lips start to curve in a smile, but I stop them.

“I know you’re counting down the minutes until you’re rid of me, so I want to say thank you now while I can. I appreciate your help. I was afraid I’d have to spend the night on the island.”

“Just doing my job.” And nonsense is par for the season.

“I know, but you do it well, and that deserves to be noted.”

“Thanks.” I shrug my shoulders.

We ease into the harbor as the sun is ducking behind the pines, casting long shadows across the water. The scent of barbecue teases my nostrils, reminding me how hungry I am.

A couple of local teenage boys, with a tackle box between them, fish from the lower banking. They wave as we pass by. I raise my hand in reply.

A mix of locals and visitors mill about the docks. The harbor is one of the most picturesque places to view the sunset from. It’s also one of the most frequently photographed. If you capture the light just right, it’ll reflect against the lobster boats anchored just off shore.

One of the locals, Millicent James, sits on a bench, reading a paperback. Or should I say pretending to read while her shrewd gaze takes in everything going on around her? She’s been a fixture on that bench every night of my life, and running the local gossip mill seems to be her life’s purpose.

Throwing a line over the clear, I secure the patrol boat.

Nina fusses with her hat. “Do I look as horrible as I feel?” She unwraps the towel from her waist, exposing her wet, wrinkled shorts and untucked blouse.

Her hair radiates out from beneath her hat in wild curls like she stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

“You look like a warning of what not to do from a boat operator safety manual.”

“Asshat.”

“You asked. Didn’t the real estate website warn you about how brutally honest we are in the northeast?”

“They must’ve forgotten that part.” She slings her tote over one shoulder and her duffel over the other, but it slips down her arm, landing on her bare foot. “Fffffuuudge.”

“Fudge?” I smirk.

“I’m trying to be polite,” she says between clenched teeth.

“Don’t hold back on my account.” Hearing her let out a resounding “fuck” or two could be entertaining.

“You’re a bad influence, harbormaster.”

“Not the first time I’ve been told that.” I pick up her duffel bag and suitcase. “Better put your sandals on, or you’ll get splinters from the dock.”

“Good point.” She bends over to fasten the leather straps, and groans. “God, I hate these things.”

“Sneakers would’ve been a better choice,” I point out.

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Captain Obvious.”

Ignoring her jab, I drop her things on the dock and jump down. I hold a hand up to help Nina as she climbs out, then I carry her bags, heading toward my office with her at my side. I nod at Millicent as we pass, and she lets out an unimpressed hmph . Not that anything impresses her.

Once we reach the edge of the parking lot, I set her bags down. “This is where we part ways.”

She reaches a hand inside the top of her shirt and pulls out a cell phone. I try not to think of what other surprises she has hiding inside the wrinkled garment.

“Dammit. Does this town have cell service at all?”

“Only when you don’t need it.”

She puffs her cheeks up with air, then exhales with frustration. “I guess I'd better get walking.” Her panicked gaze flicks to me.

“Do you have the address?” It seems like a good question to ask. She did set out in a boat with no directions to follow.

“Yeah. It’s right here.” She scrolls on her phone and then groans. “I can’t pull up the email. I’m in crappy reception hell.”

“What’s the name of the house you’re renting?”

“The Rock Lobster.”

I chuckle, and she reacts as if I startled her. “What?”

“You laughed.”

I shrug. “It happens occasionally.”

Her dark eyebrows lower suspiciously. “Why did you laugh when I mentioned the name?”

“I thought of the song.”

“Do you know where the house is?” She looks hopeful.

“Yeah. You’re going to follow this road out of the harbor and take a right at the end.

Continue until the stop sign, then turn left.

That street has a hill, but there’s a killer view at the top.

Keep walking down the other side of the hill.

The Rock Lobster house is at the bottom on the right.

The front porch has rocking chairs made from blue lobster traps. You can’t miss it.”

She repeats the directions to me almost word for word, and I nod.

“I can give you a ride if you want,” I say, surprising myself.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“You'd better get going before the bird-sized mosquitos come out.”

“Excellent. Another charming thing about Havenport.”

“I hope you walk better than you drive a boat.”

She shakes her head, but I notice the corners of her mouth twitching. “You’re kind of a dick.”

“And you’re definitely a disaster.” I smirk.

“On that note…” She walks off in the direction we discussed, her bags slung over her shoulders, rolling her suitcase behind her. She pauses when she reaches the road and then glances back at me. “Thanks again, Travis.”

I tip my head with a quick nod and then watch her until she’s out of sight. I tell myself I’m just doing my job, making sure she exits my harbor safely.