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Eighteen

Stella

In Teddy’s defense, I’ve hidden my emotional devastation well.

None of my friends witnessed the tears, the pints of Ben he hasn’t bought me treats in a while.

I grab the maple bacon donut—my favorite—and take a big bite while Teddy stows my gear in the trunk.

We already hauled out our boat, a retired Coast Guard vessel renamed the Lucky Strike , and tackled the laundry list of repairs during weekends and evenings this past month while we waited for our search permits to be granted.

Those came through a few days ago, and just in time since Lucky Strike is now sound and ready for our cruise down to Key West, where we’ll meet Zoe and Gus.

Teddy settles into the driver’s seat and takes a swig of coffee. “Tell me you’re not eating the maple bacon, Stell.”

“You got it for me, right?” I mumble, mouth full. “These are I’m sorry I’m a thoughtless dumbass who agreed to let the man you hate come spend a month on our boat donuts, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Teddy says, and takes hold of my wrist to bring the donut I’m clutching within biting distance. “And maple bacon is my favorite. The peanut butter and raspberry jam with chocolate drizzle is for you.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I say, just as he rips off a large portion with his teeth.

He navigates out of the apartment complex and turns right, the opposite direction from the marina. “Jeez, take the donut if you need it that badly. You don’t have to go back to the store,” I say.

“I’m full,” he says.

“Then what are you doing? The marina is back that way.” I take a sip of my coffee, wincing at how bitter it is without cream.

“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve only lived here my whole life, friend. The airport is this way.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What’s at the airport, Teddy?” I ask, though I really don’t want to confirm the sneaking suspicion I have.

“I think you mean who . And I’m concerned, Stell, that you might be losing your touch. How can you solve ancient mysteries and understand the complexities of storms and sea currents and sediment, but not have the common sense—”

I want to give him a shove, but he’s merging into rush hour traffic, so I control myself and interrupt instead.

“It’s not a lack of common sense. I know the answer, even though you never bothered to share this information with me—very conveniently, I might add. I just don’t want to acknowledge it.” And I thought he’d be meeting us in Florida.

“Do I need to remind you that you said it was fine? That’s a direct quote.”

I grit my teeth. “It is fine.”

“It’s just occurring to me that this might be one of those cases of a person saying something is fine when actually they mean that it’s absolutely anything but fine.

Is that what is happening here? I mean, I could always just leave him at the airport, but he is one of my oldest friends and he asked for help.

Also, I basically can’t tell him no. I really did almost drown him in the Monadnock golf cart crash of 2008. ” Teddy sighs.

“Don’t leave him at the airport,” I say through my teeth.

Though it would be poetic justice. “I can handle a month of Huck; a couple of extra days makes no difference. Like I said, it’s fine.

It’s no big deal. I couldn’t care less, really.

What’s a little water under the bridge when there’s treasure to be found? ”

“That’s my girl,” Teddy says, and taps the bill of my hat. “Are you going to eat the last of that donut?”

I pop the remaining bite into his open mouth.

“You made sure that he knew what he was getting into, though, right, Teddy? That it’s possible we won’t find anything?

And that boats and diving can be dangerous, and we work during hurricane season, so we could encounter rough weather and have to head in or potentially capsize or sink? And there are sharks? Huge sharks?”

“Wow, you make it sound so irresistible. If it weren’t for your charm, I might want to bow out myself for this season.

But yes, I did let him know these things.

There was even paperwork for him to sign to the extent of he can’t sue us or our insurance company if he experiences demise or dismemberment. ”

I work hard not to make a poor-taste joke about Huck’s potential dismemberment. “And you warned him about seasickness, because, honestly, Ted, I’m willing to let the past be the past but I’m not dealing with puke of any kind on my deck.”

“Scopolamine patch—he’s already got it. I was very clear about your deep disdain for anyone who vomits onboard.”

“Wonderful. Just so we’re all clear that he gets no special treatment.”

Teddy pulls up in front of arrivals. “No special treatment. You have my solemn oath. My word is my bond and all that shit.”

Despite the terminal expansion at the Wilmington airport, it’s still not too busy here, especially at this time of day, which makes it impossible not to spot Huck when he emerges from the building.

Then again, he isn’t the sort of guy who blends into a crowd.

That tall frame, black hair, and pale electric blue eyes, the jawline so sharp he could cut someone…

Huck’s impossible to miss. He’s dressed for the locale, in a pale blue T-shirt and light tan Bermuda shorts with boat shoes, but other than his clothes, he looks the same as he did when I last saw him in Iceland.

My mouth goes dry. I’ve been thinking about this moment for weeks, ever since Teddy announced that Huck would be joining us.

I didn’t expect him to look this good.

Never mind that I’d practically fainted at the sight of a cardboard cutout of the man at the bookstore.

Seeing Huck in real life—here in North Carolina, getting ready to climb into Teddy’s car, was not something I could’ve prepared for.

And I know. I tried. I have rehearsed this moment what feels like a million times.

Teddy hops out to greet Huck and grab his bag.

I watch them clap each other on the back in greeting in the side mirror.

Then I catch a glimpse of my own reflection.

My hair is fine, French braided and tucked beneath a trucker hat.

It’s the kind of hair that says, I could not care less about how you think I look , while also looking cute.

Reflective polarized lenses obscure my eyes, and that’s a good thing.

I have a million more freckles than when we last saw each other, and as usual I’m in desperate need of some lip gloss.

I reach into my belt bag for a ChapStick but can’t find one.

Typical. Why the state of my lips would matter to Huck Sullivan, I have no idea nor should I care, but that doesn’t stop me from rooting around in Teddy’s glove compartment in hopes of a hidden stash of Carmex.

The door to the back seat opens and I take a single deep breath.

I can do this. The boat, the hunt, that’s where I’m comfortable, where I’m in charge.

It’s my safe place. Nothing and no one can change that, ever.

So this is all fine, cool, copacetic, and I am calm, collected, and not nervous in any way.

Nope, I am excited. If all my research since I left Iceland is right, I am this close to finding the Stolen Treasure of the Sea People tucked away on a Spanish ship called the San Miguel that sank more than three hundred years ago.

So Huck’s here. You know, I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.

Maybe he’s lucky. The first time we found treasure he was with us, so who’s to say that lightning won’t strike twice?

Maybe Huck is our own personal rabbit-foot.

Not a man who made me think there was something between us and then left while I was asleep.

Stop it, Stella. Go back to the rabbit-foot thing. That was good. It was helping. Huck, hot pink. Soft fur. Aww, isn’t he adorable, the bookseller is saying. A little lucky charm. I just want to pop him into my pocket and buy lottery tickets with the Bookish Babes.

“Hi Stella,” he says, and damn if his voice isn’t subdued and deep and sultry in a way that completely obliterates my lucky charm tactic and raises goose bumps on my arms beneath my sweatshirt.

It makes me furious, at my body for betraying me, but mostly at him.

“Thanks for letting me come along. I know that this might be—”

Teddy chooses this exact moment to slam down the accelerator and screech into traffic, causing a near miss with an Uber and forcing Huck and me to grab on to the nearest vehicle fixtures for dear life.

“You need some ChapStick, Stells,” Teddy says, louder than he needs to, and tosses me a little pot, totally unfazed by the near miss.

While Huck scrambles to put on his seatbelt, I take a moment to send a thanks to the sky for Teddy, his absolutely horrendous driving, and the impeccable sensing of my needs and perfect timing to stop the conversation I’m not ready to have yet, not now, maybe not ever.