Every Step of the Way: (Smugglers Cove #1)

by Anna Lindgren

  “Nice one,” I call out and high-five Cammie.

  “She’s a beaut,” Ryan says as he clubs the fish once over the head.

  I turn to look at Cammie who has turned her back toward the fish and plugged her ears. I chuckle to myself and grab at her hand in an attempt to remove it from her ear.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t watch the fish die,” she says, giving me a worried look.

  “Don’t worry, we’re engaging in the most humane sustainable fishing practice available,” I attempt to reassure her.

  “Really?” Cammie asks cautiously.

  “Promise.”

  Ryan hands Cammie the fish, and I snap a few pictures on her phone and several on mine. I tell Cammie it’s because I have the better camera, but really, it’s because I want to savor this memory and have access to it.

  The setting sun illuminates her skin, her amber hair catches the light creating a glow around her face. I hand her my baseball cap to put on so her hair stops billowing across her face. She takes it and begins to laugh while struggling to hold the fish for the photo op.

  “Yeah, like that,” Ryan encourages her. “If you hold the fish out in front of you, it makes it look bigger.”

  “Sounds like you know from experience,” Cammie quips back, winking at him, her laughter consuming every part of me.

  We spend the rest of the evening drinking beer on the beach and sharing stories from Ryan’s, Hilary’s, and my childhood. Growing up in Smuggler’s Cove had its advantages. It was filled with chaos and town gossip. Lots of well-meaning individuals meddling in my life.

  “I couldn’t even speed through town without someone telling my mom,” I say during a game of “who had it worse” between Hilary, Ryan and me. I laugh as we slowly put out the fire and load back into the boat. Ryan and Hilary walk ahead leaving Cammie and I back behind on the beach while we wait for the fire to diminish.

  “Was it weird growing up without your dad?” Cammie asks, giving me a look I can’t seem to read.

  “To be honest, I never really knew anything different. I had a whole community that was parenting me in one way or another. Everyone had a hand in raising me to be the man I am today.” I smile at the memories. “What about you?”

  “I definitely didn’t have an entire community raising me.” She smiles over at me. “I think I would have liked to have gotten to know my dad, though.”

  “Me too,” I assure her. My dad had passed away when I was a young child from a float plane accident. Hilary and I share the tragedy of losing our father figures. It has been one of the experiences which bounded us together.

  Cammie surprises me by reaching out for my hand and taking hold of it––a moment of solidarity between us. I glance down toward her face and see her hair sweep across her cheek in the slight breeze. I interlock my hand in hers and hold it there, hoping Ryan and Hilary won’t bring attention to it.

  They glance in our direction and grin mischievously before returning to their secretive conversation. As the sun sets, we decide to leave the beach. I grab a blanket out of the storage box and place it across Cammie’s and my laps as we bundle up for the return journey.

  She looks over toward me, her brown hair wispy across her face, her cheeks rosy and her smile bright, and I think in this moment, there is no other place I’d rather be.

  I reach over toward her thigh, nudging her leg with my index finger, as Ryan revs the motor and throttles at full speed. She returns her hand, interlocking her fingers with mine. My head tilts toward hers in time to witness the most precious smile form across her lips.

  Her pulse hammers against her wrist as we trudge through the ocean waters as bright colors of pink and orange light up the sky and the islands that are scattered throughout the channel. Eagles fly alongside us as we slowly make our way home to Smuggler’s Cove and in the distance a pod of humpback whales breach.

  “Tail,” I shout—a game we used to play as kids anytime we thought the whale was diving down deep.

  “Damnit,” Hilary shouts as we slow down. Her humpback didn’t flip its tail, meaning that it has yet to dive deep. Ryan slows the engine to a lull.

  “Tail, tail!” Cammie squeals as she points toward something twenty-five yards from our boat. Sure enough, a humpback tail surfaces as it dives down deeply below us. Her jaw drops open as she admires the large mammals. She wraps her fingers back into my hand, and I sit there watching her, memorizing every second, every curve and dip of her face, every moment of delight because as crazy as it sounds the woman I’m sitting next to captivates me more with every second.

  I steal a glance and notice her eyes bright and blue against the blue of the sky. She notices me staring, and she squeezes my hand. I squeeze her hand in return, validating that whatever she feels, I feel it, too.

  This is different, and at the same time, it’s incredibly familiar.

  After the whales move through, we kick the motor back into high gear and make it the rest of the way home. We pull into the harbor just after dark. I hop off the boat and tie us off to the cleats.

  I put my hand out for Cammie as she hops off, but she doesn’t take it, reminding me, as always, of her independence. Ryan helps Hilary out of the back of the boat as she climbs across his lap. He seems to enjoy it a little too much.

  “Well, what are we doing now?” Hilary asks.

  “The only place open this late is the Fish House,” Ryan says.

  “I’m in if you two are,” I look toward Cammie.

  Cammie and Hilary look at one another, deciding on if they want to spend leisure time at their place of employment.

  “Hell, let’s do it,” Cammie says.

  Once we unload the gear and fillet the salmon, we walk toward the Fish House, the four of us laughing as we continue to tease one another. We can hear music blaring from the speakers at the Fish House before we approach, Cammie begins to dance and twirl along the boardwalk.

  Hilary laughs and claps along, absolutely loving this inebriated version of her friend who has decided to let loose. Ryan and I join in on the dance moves, giving our best disco skills despite that not being the music choice. I’d do anything, even bust a move, if it meant continuing to watch Cammie toss her head back with laughter.

  Cammie continues to dance around in circles with her hands above her head. Her body moves in a slow deliberate roll, her hips shifting side to side. I can’t take my eyes off her. I haven’t seen this carefree side of her yet and I’m addicted to every piece of it.

  “Sounds like Jace is playing.” Cammie grabs Hilary’s hand with excitement. It does sound like Jace. He’s had a knack for playing venues since we were in school together.

  Upon entering the Fish House, I grab our group a round of drinks. I steal a look over at Cammie, Hilary, and Ryan as they find the only empty table in the house. Cammie lights up the entire place when she moves through, saying hello to everyone and passing out hugs like she had just gotten married.

  I physically feel my body shake off the emotional ties as I remind myself that Cammie is occupied by her past.

  I grab the drinks off the bar top and weave my way through the crowd of people to the far back corner table near the wood stove. I set down the drinks before tossing myself into the chair next to Cammie.

  She smiles over at me as she grabs her drink. Her stormy blue eyes begin to feel trusting––trusting in the smallest sliver, but I’ll take whatever I can get. Jace makes a muffled announcement over the microphone, and music begins to play soft and slow.

  “I love this song,” I hear Cammie mutter as she peers toward the makeshift stage. I trace the outline of her profile, admiring her features and round cheeks. The glimmer in her eye that speaks to me, telling me there is more here I need to explore.

  My hand reaches over toward hers, clasping it in her lap. “Want to dance?”

  “Oh,” She looks around the table and then the bar to confirm that no other people are dancing. “No, that’s alright. Thank you,
though.”

  “Come on.” I nod my head toward the direction of the music.

  She continues to look uncertain, but when her eyes meet mine, all bets are off. “I’ve got you,” I say.

  With a long sigh, I hear the word I’d been holding my breath to hear. “Alright.”

  Her voice, so small and tempting, causes a sensation to spread across my chest and low into my gut. I stand then turn to reach out for her hand, and she places it in mine. She shakes her head in a reminder of how crazy this all is, but I don’t care, I only care about keeping that damn smile on her face and that light laughter in my ear. I take a few steps away from the table but remain in the back part of the Fish House.

  I don’t need to show Cammie off and have her take the heat for whatever this is. In fact, I want to keep this private between the two of us. Or as private as it can be. I want to see where it can lead without the pressure of what could be.

  I stop near the windows and turn to pull her toward my chest. I clasp her right hand in my left and drop my right hand to rest gently against the small of her back, cognizant of how close I am to touching the swell of her hips. She tilts her head back and laughs as I pull her toward me then spin her out.

  “Where did you learn to be such a good dancer?” she asks.

  “A man never reveals his secrets,” I quip.

  She continues to search my face for the meaning hidden behind my eyes. The intent I’m not willing to say aloud as to why I can’t find a way to stay away from her. How I feel drawn to her even when I’m not near her. My thoughts are filled with questions and desires, emotions I’ve never felt before in my entire life. As I hold her here against my chest, I realize that we fit together. Lock and key.

  I swallow down the words that are bubbling up in my throat, knowing I am peering into the face of a wild animal. Asking her for a shot, for trust, for anything, will send her bolting for the mountains.

  “What?” I give her a wry grin.

  She squints those storm-ridden dark-blue eyes. “Just trying to figure you out,” she says using my words against me.

  “Well, what can I help you figure out about me?” I ask as I spin her around.

  “I’m not sure,” she says as she shakes her head, not able to place her finger on it. I know the feeling. I’ve felt the same way since I first laid eyes on her.

  “When you find out what you want to know, just ask.”

  She scoffs. “Yeah, right. And how do I know you aren’t going to lie?”

  I stop our sway and stand straight as a board, placing two fingers to my forehead. “Scout’s honor,” I say as I salute.

  She tosses her head back in laughter, and I regain my hold on her body, smiling at the way that sound has become music to my ears. “No, because I don’t like liars,” I continue. “I’m always honest when things are important to me. And you…” I swallow as I pull her close enough to whisper low into her ear. “Are special.”

  Her body tenses at the word, her skin erupts with goosebumps, the gentle moan from her lips encourages me on. I drop my head slightly, my mouth hovering just above hers. Her breath enveloping me with a sweetness I need to taste. My nose pressed against hers as I savor every moment of contact but before I press my mouth to hers she drops her hands to her side. I pull back far enough to see her doe-eyed look. Her dark hair shifts as she looks around, trying to regain her senses, but when her eyes lock on the exit I watch her escape out the door.

  I quickly shift gears and walk back toward the table and grab my wallet and keys.

  “Where’s Cammie?” Hilary asks, not able to place her.

  “She’s walking home. I’m going to make sure she gets there okay.”

  “Alright.” She seems unfazed and continues to discuss the importance of sustainable fisheries in the tourism industry with the table next to her and Ryan. I smile and wave at him before turning to go.

  I nearly run out of the bar, bumping into people as I weave through the tight spaces between them. Once outside, the cool air pricks my skin, a reminder of how warm it had been inside. My eyes adjust for a quick moment before I spot Cammie walking along the dock, pulling her sweatshirt back on over her head.

  I jog to catch up to her, falling in at her side while she pulls her arms through the sleeves, one by one. “What was that?” she growls.

  “What was what?” I ask.

  “Why did you say all those things?” She glares at me, noticeably upset by my actions.

  “What things, specifically?” I rack my brain.

  “The part about how I’m special,” she shouts, nearly waking up the entire town. “Why did you try and kiss me?”

  I reach for her hand, but she rips it out of my grip.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my face to the boardwalk.

  She crosses her arms. “Why did you hold me like that? Back there, when we were dancing.” She seems confused—shocked—that any man would be gentle with her. Caring of her needs, seduced by her presence, infatuated with her mind, body, and spirit.

  I step toward her, but she steps away. Don’t go, I’m not ready to lose you yet, I think. Instead, I make the compromise.

  “I crossed a line.” I look back toward her. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Good,” she says, although her face wavers with disappointment. “I don’t know how else to say it, Jake.”

  “Say what?” I ask.

  She sighs, her face turned up toward the sky. “I can’t be the person you think I am,” she huffs. “The person you want me to be doesn’t exist.” I walk alongside her as she continues to process her thoughts. “I’m not broken, I don’t need fixing.”

  “I’m not trying to fix you.”

  “It sure feels like it,” her head snaps towards me.

  I run my tongue against the inside of my cheek, thinking of the right words to say, to remind her in a time where she feels invisible that I still see her. Instead, the words come up empty and the reminder from my parents that actions speak louder than words replays in my mind.

  I bow my head with a plea. “Let me walk you home.”

  “I can do it on my own,” she says.

  I step toward her, and she stops. “I’m walking you home, as friends.” This time I say it with authority and watch as she pauses beside me.

  “Fine,” she says, with momentary relief. I still have a chance to see beneath the layers of hurt she hides behind.

  We slowly walk up the boardwalk, the night lights of the town barely illuminating the street below. I attempt to lighten the mood by switching topics. “So, have you always had a thing for 90s all-boy rock bands?”

  The laughter spits out of her at my reference to Jace’s music. “Wow, calling me out.”

  “Sure am,” I say as I shove my hands into my pockets, creating a boundary so I won’t reach out and reach for her.

  “I guess I always did like them when I was growing up. I would say it was more the 2000s, though. Linkin Park, Yellowcard, Green Day, Snow Patrol. Even a little Slipknot,” she says, her teeth pressed against her bottom lip.

  “That’s badass,” I reassure her. “Your taste in music was a little questionable, but I, too, liked Yellowcard,” I say, resting my hand against my chest in playful shock.

  “I always just felt like I related to the lyrics. Even when I was in school with Hilary, we would drive around and just blast ‘For You, and Your Denial’. Have you heard that one?”

  I think on it for a moment before belting out the lyrics, “They’re watching you break down. Hate me all you want, I’ll be okay. I’m half the world away. I’m letting you go now.” I butcher the tune as I strum the final chord on my air guitar.

  “Yes,” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “I love that song.”

  I laugh and fall in beside her. “Seems like it’s pretty fitting to where you are now.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “That you moved all this way for an adventure. To see what you wanted out of life.�
� We continue walking along the boardwalk, the town lights glimmer off the water.

  She sighs. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” She turns toward me with a tired smile. “I guess you’re right.”

  Eight

  Cammie

  Jake continues walking beside me, he strides once for every two of my steps. His tall, strong body and broad shoulders shade me from streetlights as we continue walking along the boardwalk. I slip away from Jake’s side, seeing if he will notice as I move toward the ramp leading down to the dock we walked on a few nights ago. I see him pause a few steps ahead and turn back to look for me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks in a soft, assuming voice.

  “I always go this way.” A lie, but I don’t want the real reason to discourage him.

  He lifts one side of his lips into the most seductive smirk as he moves closer to me. One stride, two, and then he’s upon me, staring down into my mischievous eyes. His eyes glimmer with the same mysterious light as mine. I reach for his hand, “I want to show you something.”

  I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m taking him. I just know it’s important to be here with him. That we are both exactly where we’re supposed to be, where we are right now, in this specific moment.

  Curiosity gets the better of him, he smiles cautiously and places his hand into mine. I feel the rough skin of his hands from his long days of work, his callouses finding mine as he burns his dimpled smile into my memory. A souvenir I won’t be able to forget even in my dying days.

  I take hold of his hand and run down the ramp, giggling like a schoolgirl as we race down one of the piers. I find the boat, Timid Pete, and turn to look at Jake. His smile has dropped into a flat, tight stare.

  “Get in,” I demand of him.

  He looks at me hesitantly but obliges as I untie the skiff from the cleat. It’s nearing midnight, and the sky is as dark as it will get this time of year. I hop into the boat and push off from the dock, grabbing an oar to steer us out of the harbor, ensuring not to wake up any townspeople that sleep inside their houseboats. Once outside the perimeter of the harbor, I turn to pull the motor eliciting the rev of the engine.