Page 12 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Her interview at Seal Cove Veterinary Clinic had gone well—so well that they’d hired her on the spot, giving her the out she needed from her previous job, where she’d discovered the hard way, again, why fucking her boss was a bad idea. She’d vowed that would not happen at Seal Cove.

On her first day, she’d been so nervous she’d forgotten to pack a lunch, and was too broke to order out.

She’d sat in the break room anyway. Stevie, who had been on clinics that day instead of the mobile service, had taken her break at the same time.

She’d set an apple and a granola bar down in front of Angie, saying, “Hey, Stephanie Ward, but call me Stevie or I’ll cry. ”

“Angela, but my friends call me Angie. You’ll cry?”

“Do I look like a Stephanie to you?” Stevie had slid into the chair opposite Angie and opened a battered lunchbox the rest of the way.

The zipper stuck, and she swore, a low, “ This fucking thing ,” that warmed Angie to her immediately.

Truthfully, with her blond ponytail, scrubs, and eyes a blue that bordered on turquoise, she did look rather like a Stephanie.

“I’d say you’re somewhere on the spectrum between Stephanie and Steph, yeah.”

“Brutal. Well, my cousin is Steph, so. Here. I’m not gonna eat this and I am not fighting to zip this thing back up.” She’d pushed the apple and granola bar closer, not waiting to hear Angie’s reply. “Angela doesn’t give you a lot of options for nicknames.”

“You’d be surprised. Most people call me Ange or Angie, though. I’m certainly not an Angel.”

“Oh?” Stevie gave her the impish grin Angie would later come to associate with her, though at the time she hadn’t known its true danger.

What she had known, immediately, was that Stevie-not-Stephanie was going to be the first test of her resolve.

She’d be easy to flirt with. Too easy, though she also seemed too nice to fit Angie’s type.

She lifted the apple, too hungry to argue, and took a bite. It crunched satisfyingly. “Angels are boring.”

“Couldn’t agree more. What do you do for fun, not-boring-Ange?”

She’d liked the way Stevie had seized on the more intimate variation of her name, claiming her acquaintance with an ease she envied.

They’d been friends since. More than friends—Stevie was the kind of friend she hadn’t believed really existed, always there for her, always ready with a joke to crack her out of a foul mood, and always bright, sweet, and sharp.

Inviting Stevie to live with her when she inherited the house had been the easiest decision she’d ever made.

They’d lived alone for a few months then, too, before Lilian and then Morgan moved in.

Perhaps that was why the memory was on her mind.

Being alone had not been awkward then. Not like this.

When, exactly, had things changed? Long before their near-kiss, certainly. She lit the bowl and breathed in deeply, savoring the burn. Maybe there hadn’t been a single moment. Maybe it had happened slowly, a siege she hadn’t realized she was under, Stevie gradually breaking through every wall.

Or maybe it had been the first time they’d really fought, and she’d seen the flash of Stevie’s temper.

They’d both been exhausted and crabby, and it had been Stevie’s turn to do the dishes.

Or at least that’s what Angie had thought.

Stevie claimed otherwise. They’d ended up shouting at each other in the kitchen until one of them burst into laughter.

After that they did the dishes together.

But there had been that moment when Stevie’s gaze had hardened and heated, and Angie caught a glimpse of the person Stevie hid beneath her humor.

A bird tweeted out a mournful evening solo.

Could she really risk losing Stevie’s friendship, knowing she’d never maintained a healthy romantic relationship in her life?

They’d fuck, maybe even date, and then Angie would bolt like she always did unless she intentionally drove the other person away, which was the same thing in the end.

She couldn’t help it. It was unbearable, to be seen, and so she didn’t bear it.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, interrupting her maudlin thoughts.

SW: Help. I’m a third wheel.

Precisely, she typed back, how are you a third wheel, and where are you being driven?

A photograph of Morgan and Emilia walking along a beach, stained sunset gold, came in reply.

Awww , she typed. You’re like their tiny child.

SW: Shut up and bring me Marvin. I suppose you could come too.

Despite the way it was worded, Angie suspected getting her to the beach had been more on Stevie’s mind than any fears about third wheels.

SW: Please?

Dammit. She could picture’s Stevie’s face, wide-eyed and beseeching, and while it was obviously an act, it always worked on Angie.

Her feet were sore after a day walking the yards, and her back was sore from spending the rest of that day sitting in a chair, and all she wanted to do was .

. . sit in their house waiting for Stevie to come home, alone with her thoughts?

Fine , she texted, I’ll be right there.

Ten minutes later, Angie tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, only to have the wind snatch it right back again.

Clouds cast swift intermittent shadows on the darkening pewter sand of the only short stretch of beach near their house not covered in rock.

Marvin bounded from one pile of washed-up seaweed to another, rooting through them in search of crabs, bugs, or dead things tangled in the green and brown strands.

Doggy breath enhancers, Stevie called them.

Angie regretted agreeing to go for a walk the moment Marvin panted in her face.

Stevie walked beside her. Morgan and Emilia walked ahead, heads bent close to each other as they strolled arm in arm into the sunset, looking like something out of an outdoor outfitter’s magazine.

Morgan had met up with Emilia after work, Angie learned since her arrival, and she had to admit she would have felt like a third wheel too with the way they were acting.

“Look at their dumb dogs.” Stevie nodded toward Kraken, who paced regally beside his person, and Emilia’s greyhound, Nell, who raced back and forth chasing gulls. “They don’t know they’re missing out on snacks.”

Marvin, as Angie watched, wolfed down something that probably smelled like fish and would definitely end up in a pile of vomit later on.

“How has he survived to adulthood?”

“Snacks.” Stevie tucked her hands into her front pockets. Goosebumps lined her arms, and the thin cloth of her simple white T-shirt could not have been very warm in the evening chill. Angie wanted to rub her hands over that exposed skin until warmth flushed the capillaries. “And me, probably.”

“I would have brought you a sweatshirt.”

Stevie flashed her a pout and shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Your arms say you’re not.” Angie poked Stevie’s bicep to prove her point.

Her skin was clear and golden with the first dusting of summer’s sun, and her muscles shifted beneath as she moved.

There was a quality to Stevie’s skin that always made Angie hungry.

She wanted to bite it and gently run her teeth along the hidden ridges of Stevie’s ribs, and then slowly sink her teeth into the meat of Stevie’s shoulder.

“My arms say they have a perfectly natural biological defense against the cold, thank you very much. And it isn’t cold, just windy.”

The wind coming off the ocean even in early July was, in fact, quite cold, and Angie felt grateful she’d grabbed a light pullover.

A few summer people and locals were also on the beach.

She could tell the summer people apart by the swimsuits, while the locals were less determined to make the most of the lengthening days.

“You could always squeeze in between the lovebirds.” Angie tucked her arm through Stevie’s and batted her eyelashes, simpering, “Oh, Morgan, I can’t bear to be more than an inch apart from you for more than ten seconds.”

Stevie snorted with laughter. “Except it’s the other way around.”

“True.”

Angie left her arm linked through Stevie’s.

Despite what Stevie might say, she was clearly chilly, and providing body heat was the least Angie could do.

Friends linked arms. It was normal. Falling asleep on a friend’s shoulder, like she’d done a thousand other times, was normal.

Holding hands . . . was not. That had been a mistake, even if it had felt like the most natural thing in the world, and she did not want to think about all the reasons why.

She opened the trunk in her mind where she shoved such things, crammed in the thought, and slammed the lid shut. She’d held Stevie’s hand. So what?

“I’m happy for them,” Angie continued, adjusting her stride to match Stevie’s. “Don’t get me wrong, but—”

“It’s weird.” Stevie’s ponytail whipped into the back of Angie’s neck, raising goosebumps of her own.

“It is.”

They walked in silence, listening to the gulls and the chatter of the waves on the beach and the occasional bark of a dog.

“How are you doing?” Stevie didn’t look at her as she asked the question.

Angie didn’t answer right away. She knew what Stevie was asking, and knew she shouldn’t blow her off, no matter how tempting. What exactly could she say, though, that left them both safe from the venom in her veins?

“Okay, I think.” There. Only mildly evasive, and conveyed any number of things. She was okay. Better than okay, some days, as long as she was with Stevie. The rest of the time could fuck right off and leave her alone. “Might need you to help me put a tarp on the roof later.”

“Come again?”

“That’s what she said,” Angie responded.

“Well done. Seriously, though? No roofers available?”

“Not for a while,” she lied. She hadn’t called any. No point in inquiring about a service she couldn’t afford.

“I mean, is that safe?”

“No.”

“Are you going to do it anyway if I say no?” Stevie asked, frowning.

“Yes.”

“Angie—”

“You don’t have to—”

“Of course I’ll help. Don’t you dare do it by yourself.” Stevie stopped walking to glare at Angie, who warmed beneath the clear concern. “Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Stevie took a deep breath, muttering, “God, you’re gonna kill me one day.”

“You’ll like it.”

Stevie harrumphed. “And Lana? How are you . . . about that?”

The emotions Stevie was clearly trying to suppress thickened her voice.

Her face remained impassive, so obviously a mask Angie wanted to lift it from her face and toss it into the waves.

She deserved to see Stevie’s face twisted with jealousy and hurt.

She deserved to suffer from her own actions because nothing hurt her quite so deeply as the glimpses of hurt she’d seen beneath Stevie’s shining persona.

She worried her lip between her teeth. The worst part was how badly she wanted Stevie to snap, finally, and say the things she knew had been piling up behind Stevie’s blue eyes for over three years.

The thought sent simultaneous bolts of pain and desire through her, and she tightened her grip on Stevie’s arm.

“I haven’t texted her,” she said, answering the question Stevie had asked while she turned over the questions she hadn’t asked, chiefly among them, Why her, and why not me?

“Good.” A pause. “Has she texted you?”

“I’ve been deleting them unread.”

Stevie did look up at her, now, those turquoise eyes bright with something terribly like hope.

“Hey,” Emilia called from a few yards ahead. “Check it out.”

Angie followed Emilia’s arm out to sea, where a massive sailing vessel churned up a visible wake against the dying light, its white sails bellying with wind. Exchanging one last glance, they broke into a jog and caught up with Morgan and Emilia.

“What kind of boat is that?” Angie asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Emilia. “A tall ship of some sort, but I can’t tell all the different makes apart from this distance. She’s gorgeous, though.”

“She is,” said Morgan, and Angie thought that if Morgan was looking at Emilia when she said it like some idiotic character in a romance she would throw sand in their faces, but Morgan stared at the ship with the same fascination as her girlfriend.

Angie elbowed Stevie and rolled her eyes at the couple.

“There’s a raised mast joke in there somewhere,” Stevie whispered in her ear, “because they both have a hard-on for boats, and I do not get it.”

Angie wondered if Stevie felt the shiver ripple through her body as Stevie’s breath heated her through and through.

“It’s supposed to warm up again this weekend,” Stevie continued, unaware that Angie’s mind was leading her into dangerous territory. “Morgan said she’d take us out on her boat if you wanna go. That is, if you can stand how annoyingly attractive she is near water. Ugh. Look at her. It’s gross.”

Morgan’s attention was still taken up by the tall ship. The wind ruffled her curls, and Angie, who was not blind even if she wasn’t interested in Morgan in that way, had to admit she looked in her element. More importantly, she looked happy.

“Eh, she’s okay, I guess.”

Morgan had told her to think about what she was doing with Stevie. The trouble was she didn’t want to think. Thinking got her into trouble. For Stevie, though, she’d try, because Stevie deserved the chance to look as happy as Morgan did right now with Emilia beside her.

She would not get that chance if Angie dragged her into one of her toxic cycles. Hating herself, she withdrew her arm from Stevie’s and bent down to examine a shell, as if anything else could possibly interest her when her ear still tingled with the suggestion of Stevie’s lips.