He settled for leaning back against the console, out of the way but still nearby, and scanned the shoreline. Magnolia Beach was a poor substitute for Miami. It was just a tiny Southern town, smaller than even one of Miami’s suburbs, and without any of the culture or excitement. Yes, both towns were on the water, but he wasn’t sure this interlude was going to transition him from life in Chicago to life in Miami in any meaningful way.
But he couldn’t take possession of his apartment in Miami until January second, and Suzanne had been very clear that he couldn’t continue live in their apartment in Chicago. He had too much pride to couch surf at his friends’ places for the next couple of months, and with winter setting in, leaving Chicago seemed to be a good idea anyway. He was sick of the snow.
So one drunken night, two weeks after he’d lost his job and Suzanne had kicked him out, he’d let Thomas convince him that living on his family’s boat in Backwater, Alabama, was an excellent idea. To someone who hadn’t had an actual vacation in more than five years, four months on a boat had sounded like paradise.
And while the last six weeks had been restorative, he wasn’t sure he would make it all the way through December.
Shelby wasn’t one for small talk, it seemed—whether it was her personality or the fact she was peeved at being pulled out of bed, he didn’t know. If it was her personality, that trait put her in the minority of people he’d met down here. He’d never had so many small-talk conversations with strangers in his entire life as he’d had recently. But even if that was her preference, he felt he needed to say something. He settled for “How long have you worked at the marina?”
“My whole life,” she answered. “My parents own it.”
That explained not only her familiarity with boats, but also with the dock area, as she maneuvered around buoys and navigated without so much as crinkling her forehead with the effort. So while he doubted she needed full concentration to work, he took her lapse back into silence as a hint.
After killing the engine, Shelby quickly jumped to the dock and the Lady Jane slid back into her spot with a gentle bump. Within moments, the boat was secured in place and Shelby was plugging it back into the main power, bringing the lights on the boat back to full strength. The whole adventure had taken less than an hour from start to finish. A mere thanks didn’t seem like enough, but Shelby merely shrugged when he said so.
“You’re safely back, and that’s what matters. We’ll sort everything else out in daylight. Try to get some sleep.” Then, without even waiting for him to respond, she was untying her little dinghy from the Lady Jane and puttering over to the main dock, where the large shaggy dog that roamed the property came out to meet her.
Shelby stopped to pet it briefly, and then the dog followed her back to the main building. A moment later, the light downstairs went out.
No other lights came on, meaning Shelby was doing exactly what she’d told him to do: getting some sleep. But he was awake now; the adrenaline in his system was not quite flushed out yet. Back in the cabin, he shot a long look at the bed visible through the open bedroom door and sighed.
Another episode of Breaking Bad, coming right up. It wasn’t like he had to get up in the morning or anything.
He opened his laptop and took it over to the couch.
Out of habit, he opened his e-mail client first, but only a few e-mails had landed in his in-box since he’d last checked a little before midnight. Most of it was spam, so he started tagging it for deletion.
One subject line caught his attention, though: NO BETTER WAY TO SAY ‘THANK YOU!’ THEN WITH FLOWER’S!!
Unnecessary exclamation points and poor grammar notwithstanding, the message did ping his conscience. Hadn’t he just been thinking that a simple thanks wasn’t really adequate enough for Shelby’s assistance tonight? Flowers would be a nice gesture, and might help smooth over her irritation with him. Hell, it had always worked with Suzanne. If he’d irritated her and hadn’t sent flowers, he’d have been asking for the silent treatment.
Suzanne had required large flower arrangements, sized in relation to the magnitude of the transgression committed. Waking her up in the middle of the night to come get him? He snorted. He didn’t know if they made arrangements that large.
A small bouquet for Shelby, though, should be enough—just a token of his appreciation for going above and beyond in customer service.
It took less than ten minutes to find a local florist with an online-order function and to arrange for delivery to the marina office tomorrow—or later today, actually.
Oddly pleased with himself, he shut down the computer, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and stepped out onto the deck of the Lady Jane. The sky was just starting to lighten, even though sunrise was probably another hour or more away. It was quiet and peaceful now, and the view would be beautiful as the sun came up.
When was the last time he’d watched the sun rise?
So, instead of staying inside with his laptop, he sat on one of the benches, propped his feet up on the rail, and relaxed back with a sigh.
Soon enough, he’d be back in civilization and all that entailed. He should enjoy the peace and quiet while he could.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kimberly Lang, author of Something to Prove, is a Southern belle with a troublemaking streak and a great love of strong heroes and even stronger heroines. A former ballet dancer and English teacher, she now does yoga and writes the kind of books she always loved to read. She’s married to her college sweetheart, is mom to the most amazing child on the planet, and shares her office space with a dog named Cupid.
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