“Suit yourself,” he said, moving to unlock the door. “You won’t be afraid to spend the night here alone?”
“Frankly, the idea hadn’t occurred to me. Should I be afraid?”
Josep shook his head of beautiful hair. “Not saying that. It’s just unusual to get a woman by herself.” Josep stepped back so she could enter first.
She paid little attention to the tiny living space with leather bench seat as she passed through heading straight to the galley. She saw no signs of provisions. No bottled water. No fresh fruit. She opened the refrigerator to find that, not only was nothing there, it wasn’t even turned on. “Um. Where’s the stuff I ordered?”
“Let me guess. You got the food stock option.”
Glancing back toward the empty galley she said, “Obviously not, but I was supposed to.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Again. We have a kid who does the shopping and delivery.” Josep looked at his watch. “I can get his number in the office and give him a call.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, look. I’ve got an idea. Let’s make a list of the stuff we were supposed to have waiting for you. Then, if you’ll give me fifteen minutes to grab a shower, I’ll take you to dinner. By the time we get back, everything will be here.” Lana’s brow showed the tiniest hint of a scowl. “If you’ve never been to Boston, we could combine dinner with sightseeing.”
When she looked up he thought he might have seen a flicker of interest. “Did you know that five blocks from here sits the oldest tavern in Massachusetts?” He nodded and wiggled his eyebrows, which made it impossible not to smile. “We could walk. And if you’ve never had their lobster ravioli in sherry cream sauce,” he put his hand over his heart and patted, “you haven’t lived. Swear to God.”
She arched a brow and gave him a crooked smile. “Sherry cream sauce?”
“Oh I get it. You think blue collar workers know nothing about cooking with wine.”
Lana looked embarrassed. “No, that’s not…”
He laughed. “Just messing with you. Anyway, they serve it with a side of asparagus and…”
“I don’t know, Josep. I mean thank you, but I…”
“By my count you owe me three stories.”
“Owe you?” Lana would have gaped if she could speak and gape at the same time.
“Come on. How threatening could I be walking you to a tavern, eating in public, and walking back again?”
“Yes. If I buy dinner.”
He grinned. “You think I’m one of those guys whose ego is tangled up with money. Fortunately for you I’m not. I accept.”
Actually Lana had thought that who paid would be an easy deal breaker, but tried not to give him the satisfaction of showing it when he called her bluff.
“Just friends, Josep.”
He smiled. “Actually, that would be neighbors, Atalanta.”
“It’s Lana. Do you live here?”
“Yep. Right over there.” He pointed at the wall as if he could see through it. “I’ll show you on our way to dinner.” When she hesitated to respond, he said, “Be back in fifteen minutes.” Looking at the small carry-on she’d brought he said, “That should be enough time for you to get settled.”
He nodded as if it was decided, stepped off onto the pier, and was gone in a second.
Finally alone, Lana had a chance to look around. She could see that, if the boat she was on was an example, life aboard would involve a Ph.D level mastery of organization and a whole lot of getting real about what was needed and what wasn’t.
Even after spending hours looking at photos, the size of the head was still a shock. She was imagining living with one closet only two feet wide when she heard Josep.
“Permission to come onboard!” She opened her mouth to answer. “Too late! I’m already here!” Then smiled at his impudence.
When she joined him, she could see that his hair was towel-dried damp. He looked good in regular Yankee clothes: a long-sleeve shirt with the tail left out, jeans, boat shoes and hoodie sleeves tied around his neck. “Ready?”
“Quick review of the ground rules. Friends. I pay. Conversation. Nothing more.”
“Deal.”
She smiled. “Let’s do it.”
“Not so fast. This is New England, little lady.” Josep rendered what was perhaps the worst attempt at a Texas drawl that she’d ever heard and that was going some because all Texans have heard more than their share of bad ones. “You’re gonna be needin’ a sweater or jacket when the sun finishes settin’.”
She looked at him without expression. “First, I’ll get a thing with long sleeves. Second, never do that again.”
He laughed.
On their way out of the marina, Josep pointed to a thing that was essentially a wooden box floating on the water. “That’s me.”
She had a hard time processing the fact that he seemed proud of it. “Oh. That’s, ah, nice location.”
“It’s not the Onassis yacht, but I like it okay. Suits me.”
“Well, then. There you have it.”
The Warner Tavern turned out to be an unassuming three story, yellow clapboard structure, but it was in exceedingly fine repair considering that it had stood on the spot since 1780. The menu proudly stated that both George Washington and Paul Revere had been there.
When their drinks arrived, Josep said, “There are so many things I want to know, but the one that has me most curious is how you came to be planning to move to Boston and be a Constitution Marina live-on without ever being here before? Have you ever lived on a boat before?”
She laughed out loud. “Hardly. I’ve been on a ferry crossing between Scotland and Norway. Tried skiing at a lake near my grandparents’ house when I was fourteen. Let’s see. Oh yeah. I did the party boat evening cruise out of Galveston.” She did a little dance in her chair. “I like to move it, move it.”
His face was impassive, but his eyes definitely accused her of being insane.
“Did you lose your job?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Nope. Quit my job. And, look, that was one free personal question. I warn you. The next one may get you a bloody nose.”
He grunted. “Texans are violent.”
An image of Stuart with blood dripping down his shirt flashed across the screen of her mind and she grinned. “Better believe it.”
“Alright. So I’ll avoid the why for now. Fact is, making a decision to move to a city where you’ve never been and take up a lifestyle you’ve never tried is…, let me find the right word because I like my nose like it is.”
“Rash.”
“Thank you. Rash it is.”
“Yeah, but maybe once in a while a conscious decision to act in a way that seems rash is the best option.”
“That’s an interesting bit of philosophy. Clearly you wanted a change. So how did you end up deciding what form that change was going to take? I mean you could just as easily have ended up being a Black Jack dealer in Las Vegas or checking lift tickets in Keystone.”
“TV.”
“TV.”
“Yeah. I was surfing and stopped on the Home Show. There was a guy who lived on his boat. Liked the look of it. Liked the sound of it. Here I am.”
“I admire a decisive woman.”
Lana smirked. “Not crazy about nosey men.”
He chuckled. “I’ll ask the questions. You get to decide what you will or won’t answer and whether you will or won’t tell the truth.”
“First you.”
“What?”
“How did you come to be a guy who does maintenance and repair on other people’s yachts?”
He rotated his tumbler where it sat a few times before finally saying, “Fair enough.” His face split into a grin. “How ‘bout them Red Sox?”
“Is that football or baseball?”
He groaned and shook his head. “I guess the wedding’s off.”
It was intended as a purely lighthearted joke, but there was nothing light about the em
otion that crossed Lana’s face. She recovered so quickly he almost wondered if he’d imagined it, but he hadn’t . And there it was. She’d been hurt by some asshole. So badly that she threw over everything that meant home and ran. Josep didn’t know Lana at all, but he knew enough to hope that the guy, whoever, wherever, was suffering.
“So what’s the plan?”
“The plan?”
“You said there’s a boat out there somewhere waiting to be purchased?”
“Yes. Would you like to consult?”
Josep’s expression changed altogether. “Absolutely. What do you need?”
“I need to find a boat that I can afford to buy and maintain, maybe custom renovate the interior a little to make it right for me. Then I guess I need to get lessons on boat operations.”
“This has got to be the strangest idea in the history of boating. You know that, right?” She looked out the window as the last bit of daylight savings was fading away. “Sounds like fun.”
“How much do you charge for consulting?”
“How much do you want to spend?”
“Damn. A negotiator. I hate negotiators.”
“Then you’re a man hater, lady. ‘Cause men like to dicker. It’s recreational for us.”
“Okay then. Like any reasonable person, I want to spend no more than I need to. So I want to spend nothing.”
“Alright.”
“What do you mean alright?”
“I’ll do it for nothing.”
“You just sucked all the fun out of the game, Mister Dicker. What is your last name by the way? Your real last name?”
“Marlboro.”
“Nuh-uh.”
He sat back and smiled slowly. “Yeah.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the badlands of Utah or something?”
“Those were the crazy ass branches of the Marlboro family tree. The ones who went south to grow tobacco and kill people with smokes. And the ones who went west to become lonely cowpokes and desperadoes.”
Lana agreed to try the Lobster Ravioli if he ordered it, but insisted that her mouth was watering for the Salmon Dijonnaise.
They talked about her boat budget and plans for moving.
“When are you planning to actually move?”
“Right away. As in as soon as possibly possible.”
“You know there’s a zero percent chance of finding exactly what you need around here, right?” Clearly from the look on her face she hadn’t known that. “We’re going to need to look at re-sales, which will narrow the potential market considerably. I’ll check online after I take you back tonight. Let’s get together tomorrow morning and talk about the alternatives.”
“That sounds great, Josep. I really appreciate the help and you know I was just kidding about not paying you. I insist.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Up to you.”
Josep was relaxed and funny and generally easy to be with. Even so, the most memorable part of the evening would probably be the view of the Boston skyline at night as they walked back to the marina. Her choice was internally validated as she pictured herself sitting on the deck of her future boat at night, sipping white wine and simply enjoying the nightscape. She traded phone numbers with Josep and promised she would call if she was alarmed by anything during the night.
She climbed into her bed with her electronic reader, thinking the cabin was so small it felt like a nest and that it wasn’t a bad thing. In an odd way the nearness lent a feeling of security. Between that and the gentle rocking, she had the best, deepest sleep in years.
Squeaky had indeed made good on stocking the galley while she and Josep had gone to dinner, so that, when she woke she had everything she needed to make coffee exactly the way she liked it. While it was making, she toasted a bagel and located the peanut butter. She had just sat down at her small galley table in her bed and breakfast float, which would have been even cooler if it actually included breakfast, when she felt the boat shift. She looked aft to see Josep pointing at himself and her, which she took to mean he wanted to come in.
She opened the door.
“What’s wrong with your phone? I’ve called and texted about a dozen times.”
She looked toward the phone that she had deliberately silenced. “Oh. Well, I decided to go old school. You know, no cell service for a couple of days.”
He looked at her blankly. “It’s a good thing you’re cute first thing in the morning in baggy clothes with no makeup on because that is flaming mad.”
“Hmmm. What was it you needed? Something urgent I take it?”
“Did you bring a PC?”
“Laptop.”
“Is your email hooked up to it? You can use the marina’s WIFI.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because I wanted to send you some links to boats for sale.”
“Oh. You want a coffee? And a bagel?”
He looked toward the coffee pot a little wistfully. “I’d like that, but a yacht just came in that needs a repair and I’ve got to get to work. If you’ll give me your email, I’ll send you some things to check out and maybe we can talk about it at lunch?”
“Okay.” Lana dug out her phone and texted her email to Josep.
“Myrna is in this morning. She’ll be ready to interview you whenever you can get to the office.”
“Interview me?”
“Well, yeah. You knew that, right? The marina owners only allow a few slips for live-on and they don’t let them go to just anybody.”
“Guess I should take some comfort in that.”
“Well, Myrna’s not a profiler, but they will do a background check. If you’re on the run from the law, you’d better go while you can.”
She laughed. “No. That’s not my problem, but thanks for the warning.”
“Anytime. So see you at lunchtime. We can take my laptop and go to the deli. How’s that sound?”
“Ideal.”
Lana took her time getting ready and looking over the links Josep sent before walking down to the office to work out details with her soon-to-be landlord. Or sealord since what she’d be renting was a rectangle of ocean water. At noon he strode into the office with a big smile.
“I see you met Myrna.”
Lana looked across the desk at the marina manager. Myrna was one of those people who make a first impression as plain, but becomes more beautiful with every minute you interact. If asked, Lana would have guessed that she was mid-thirties. She conveyed a vibe of settled, grounded, and generally happy in spite of the burden she shared with all single mothers. Lana suspected that her knock-out smile and ready sense of humor made her a favorite of boat owners who sailed in and out of Constitution Marina.
“Yes, I did.”
To Myrna he said, “Did she pass muster?”
Myrna smiled. “If I had to call it, I’d say she’s in. If her check comes back clean, you’ve got a new neighbor.” She looked down at the paperwork in front of her. “Slip A18. You want to show her to her new home?”
Josep grinned at them both. “Right after lunch. I’m starved and taking new kid here for a beef and cheddar at the Earl’s. Can we bring you something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go to the Earl’s without bringing me a Chipotle Chicken Avocado. Wait! Maybe a Tuna Melt.”
“Woman, make up your mind or prepare to be sandwichless.”
“Chipotle Chicken and Avocado.”
“Good choice. Anything else?”
“You buying?”
“Of course not.”
“Then no. That’ll do.”
On the way to the Earl of Sandwich, Josep explained that the shop was owned by the actual Earl of Sandwich. Lana laughed at him, sure he was trying to put one over until they reached the door and she saw a photo of John Montagu, eleventh Earl and all that.
Lana got the butternut squash soup, but tried the beef and cheddar at Josep’s insistence. It was so good she almost wished she hadn’t had any because she could easily see herself
becoming a regular. They sat on the same side of a booth so they could look at Josep’s laptop while they ate.
“Show me which one is your favorite?”
She navigated to the page with the 2008 Cruisers Yachts 447 Sport Sedan BR3854.
“That one.”
He looked at it. “Okay. Why?”
“I like the fact that it has an air conditioned bridge and a hydraulic swim platform. But the clincher is the washer/dryer combo. If I could make the living area a combination study/living room and turn the second stateroom into a closet? It would be as close to perfect as boat living can get.” She looked at Josep for his reaction. He chuckled and shook his head. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just funny to experience boat shopping from the perspective of someone who’s never sailed and intends to live on a boat.”
“Yeah? Well, what do you think?”
“If it turns out to be in ‘perfect condition’, like they say, I think it would be a good choice for you. It’s in St. Petersburg. We need to get a quote on the customizing and getting someone to deliver it here.”
“And find out how long that will take.”
“In a hurry?”
“You already know the answer to that. I’m going to have to find someplace temporary to live until my boat is ready. Maybe I’ll go to St. Pete and find a place to stay so I can keep an eye on the changes.”
“The timing is not ideal. I’m guessing we’ll be getting cool weather by the time you have a permanent address here.”
“Well it is what it is.”
“Maybe you’ll be ready for someone to help keep you warm by then.” He added his best seductive smile, which was impressive enough to get most women to hand over keys to their homes and safety deposit boxes.
“Don’t count on it,” Lana said flatly. He laughed and touched the end of her nose with his finger as if to say he found her obstinate position on not dating cute. “I’m dying to see my spot.”
“No. Not your spot. Your slip.”
“I’m not wearing a slip.”
Prince of Demons 1-3, Box Set Page 3