by Maribel Fox
“Thanks,” I say, voice practically reverent as I take in the spread. My stomach grumbles and flips, too eager for the food. “This looks amazing.”
I take a seat at the bar, trying not to be too disappointed that Rue’s not here today. How am I going to know what the hell is going on with Miles without her filling me in?
“My pleasure. If you need anything else, I will be in here preparing for later,” Micah says with a friendly smile. He’s an attractive guy, but I’m also pretty sure he’s entirely spoken for. Ava, the owner of the B&B, seems to have him wrapped around her little finger — much to Rue’s amusement, I might add.
I really like the people here at Brigid’s that I’ve met, but it’s only a small bright spot in my trip. No matter how awesome everyone is, it’s not going to make up for me embarrassing myself in front of my entire discipline.
The eggs are perfect, the strawberries sweet and tart, bananas rich and creamy, but it’s the toast that makes me groan.
I don’t know what it is about plain buttered toast, but sometimes I swear I could eat a whole loaf’s worth without coming up for air. And with this hangover? Forget about it. I practically inhale the stuff, crumbs never even touching my lips.
So so good. I wish I knew if it would be weird to tip Micah. Probably, right?
Debating that only temporarily distracts me from my upcoming meeting at the Duck. What ‘business’ could I possibly have to talk about with Miles?
Miles.
I can’t fucking believe it. After all these years, after doing my best to avoid him in town, somehow, this happens. He just waltzes into the bar I’m at and we talk about… who knows what? I sure don’t. But clearly drunk-Callie thought this meeting made sense. I wish I knew what she was thinking since I can’t ask anyone else.
I definitely can’t ask Miles. I don’t want him to know that I was too drunk to remember anything we talked about. I don’t know why it matters, but it does. There’s a lot of history there, and I don’t want him to think I’m some walking disaster, three sheets to the wind all the time.
Even after downing the coconut water, my head is still throbbing, and I groan, pressing my fingers into my temples. There’s no getting around it. I’m just going to have to go to the meeting, suck it up, and be as vague as possible until I can figure out what’s really going on. Hopefully by then, my head will clear a little and it won’t take me forever to catch on.
“Uh… Micah?” I call, my own voice making my head ring. I wince. I’m never drinking again. Fuck, this sucks.
“Hmm?” he asks, stepping out from the kitchen, a thin sheen of sweat making his bald head shiny.
Normally I avoid convenience medications, but today… “Do you have any aspirin?”
At twelve-thirty, I give myself one last look over in the mirror, curling my lip as I pat down my hair. The aspirin have worked their miracles and my hangover is mostly gone save for the lingering brain fog making my thoughts sluggish, and I’m getting ready to head to the Duck to meet Miles. My hair’s a wild mane of frizzy curls since I didn’t do anything to tame it while trying to shove back nausea this morning and patting it down only seems to irritate it more.
There’s a flake of mascara on my cheek that I swipe away, shaking my head at my reflection.
I did not put on make-up for Miles. I’m just… trying to look professional. Without make-up, I’m clearly hungover, pale and sickly looking. Not the impression I want to make at a business meeting.
Uh-huh, a skeptical voice in my head says, echoing ‘business meeting’ in a sarcastic tone.
I swallow and roll my eyes, reaching for the door. No time like the present, and I don’t think stalling any longer is going to help my on-going nausea. The rest of my hangover is more or less gone, but that’s still alive and well, acid burning the back of my throat every time I swallow it down. And there’s still a steady drumbeat playing in my temples, but I don’t know if that can be fully attributed to the hangover or just the overwhelming sense of dread I have about this meeting.
Outside, the weather seems to reflect just how terrible I’m feeling. It’s drizzly and gray, with cold blasts of wind whipping through, occasionally turning harmless water droplets into needling daggers. I borrow an umbrella from the lobby, and head down the hill into town, careful not to slip on the slick path.
That’s the last thing I need today.
The closer I get to The Drowning Duck Diner, the louder the voice in my head urging me to turn back gets. I never listen to it, though. It’s easier to keep going with inertia. To follow my feet on autopilot all the way to the diner.
The moment I step inside, before I even manage to shake off my umbrella, I see Miles at a booth, eyes locked onto me.
No backing out now… I tell myself, suddenly overcome with nerves as I close the umbrella, his dark eyes still glued to me.
Why couldn’t he be sitting at the counter with his back to me? Or at least looking somewhere else?
At least then I’d still have the option of turning around and running out of the diner, pretending this never happened.
Cause that’s real mature and professional.
Nothing for it anyway, since we’ve already made eye contact and he’s just waiting for me to come over.
Great.
Straightening my shoulders and shaking rain out of my hair, I head over and slide into the booth opposite Miles.
He still smells like the ocean.
Stop it, I scold myself, even if it’s true. Miles has always had that fresh, salty-sweet sea air smell to him, even far away from the beach. I figure you spend enough time around the water, it gets into your blood. Of course, rationalizing it doesn’t erase the hit of nostalgia I get the moment I inhale near him.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.” I nod, heart in my throat, buzzing in my ears.
“So,” he says. “Business.”
“Mhm,” I agree with another nod. “Business.” I don’t know what the hell we’re here to talk about but telling him that is the last thing I want to do. How am I going to do this?
The waitress, Judy, approaches the table with a mug for me, and a pot of coffee. She fills my mug before topping Miles’ off. How long has he been waiting for me? It’s only just one.
“Ready to order?” she asks, wrinkled forehead creasing as she raises her brows at us.
“I’ll have a burger, no pickle,” Miles orders without looking at the menu.
Judy looks at me, and I don’t have time to think, so I toss out the first answer that comes to mind. “Same, but I’ll take his pickles.”
Judy nods, but doesn’t bother to write anything down before leaving us. I can feel Miles watching me, but I still can’t totally gather my nerve, so I’m very studiously adding cream and sugar to my coffee like it’s a volatile chemistry experiment.
He doesn’t say anything, which isn’t helping me here. I need something to go off.
“You don’t seem like you want to do this anymore,” he says suddenly, and my spoon clatters to the side of the mug.
“What?”
“Last night you seemed excited, but… I get it if you’ve changed your mind.”
I frown, racking my brain for any clues. It seems hopeless.
“No, that’s not true,” I argue, hoping I’m not arguing for something stupid. Drunk Callie, you are the bane of my existence. “I just… I’m not sure how it’s going to work?”
Miles nods once, leaning back into the booth, his thin sweater bunching and stretching over his broad chest.
Miles isn’t the only one who’s not a kid anymore. He was sixteen when we had our falling out — if that’s even what you want to call it — but now he’s fully grown, filled out, undoubtedly a man, not a boy.
A man that’s made my mouth dry without even trying.
“Well, it’ll take a while to get you certified—”
“Certified?”
“Yeah. You can’t dive out there if you’re not. The bay might look
serene, but it’s dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Things start to click into place.
Diving in the bay, getting certified…
“You’re a scuba instructor now?” I ask, wondering just how feasible it is in a place like this. How many students can he really have?
The corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s probably the least of it,” he says cryptically. I get the feeling that there’s more there, but it’s not something I’m going to delve into at the moment while I’m only just figuring out what I’m doing here.
“But you can teach me?” That’s what I need, I think. Combing the beach isn’t giving me the results I want, but I know there’s something amazing hidden out in that bay. I’ve just got to be able to find it.
“Yeah, but like I said, it’s going to take some time.”
My stomach sinks. When people say something’s going to take a long time, what they normally mean is it’s going to cost a lot. A lot of time learning a new skill means a lot of paid lessons with the instructor. A lot of money coming out of my already tight pockets.
I’m funding this whole little investigation on my own. Staying at the B&B is eating into my savings as it is.
“How long?” I ask. “And how much is this going to cost me?”
“Come on now, Cal. We’re friends—”
“No, Miles. This is business. This is my job.”
He presses his lips together and rakes his fingers through shaggy, curly brown hair the way he always does when he’s thinking. It’s a nervous little tick he’s had as long as I’ve known him. It’s kind of weird he hasn’t lost it, it’s like looking back in time for a split-second.
“Fine, strictly professional. It’ll take at least a month to get you ready to go out there on your own—”
“A month?! I can’t wait that long to start looking.”
“Thought you might say that,” he says, fingers combing his hair again. “But I had an idea.”
“I’m listening,” I grumble, trying not to let myself get too down about the whole thing. Was this whole trip a huge mistake? Clearly I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I expected this to be way easier than it’s turning out to be, and now it’s going to get expensive and force me into proximity with the guy who broke my heart to boot.
Fun.
“We’ll alternate lessons and surveying. I can handle the dives until you’re ready to do it on your own. My boat’s not exactly a research vessel, but she should handle well enough.”
My stomach sinks further. Now we’re adding in boat rentals and an expert diver?
Do you want answers or not?
If worse comes to worse, I still have the ring Trenton gave me. I’ll sell it to fund my research if I have to. Especially if it produces something I can triumphantly rub in his face.
“Miles… this all sounds great, but the university isn’t funding this and I—”
“Cal, I told you, we’re—”
“Friends, yeah, I know what you said.” It’s bitter when it comes out, but I’m not apologizing for it. “But I’m going to pay you a fair rate.”
“Course you are,” he says with a little smile. “But we’ll work it out.”
Judy appears with our burgers, and I ask for a water — coffee and burger don’t mix in my humble opinion — before finally conceding.
Much as I don’t like the idea of being his charity, of working with him, of being in his debt at all, I realize that Miles is my best bet of making any progress here.
“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, diving into my fries. If only diving into the bay was so easy.
I shiver a little just thinking about it, my eyes drifting out the window toward the water in the distance. As much as I love the beach, the water is another matter entirely.
“Well, we’ll have to do the lessons at my place. There’s no public pool and we’ll need calm water. Not as calm as I’d like with the recent weather, but… It’ll have to do,” he says making a face as his attention turns toward the dripping windows too.
“When can we start?” As much as I’m dreading working with Miles, being near him all the time, trying to keep my emotions in check to stay professional, I’m also eager to make some real headway. It’s been too long of coming up empty. “Maybe we should start with a look around the bay?”
“Sure,” he agrees, giving nothing away. “We can go out tomorrow. It’s a little late today.”
“Perfect.”
I don’t know what we’ll find out there. Or if we’ll find anything at all, but the promise of actually going out and looking has me in a better mood than I’ve been in practically since I got here.
I’m purposefully ignoring the major role Miles had in making that happen, focusing instead on all the possibilities.
4
Miles
Why do you do this to yourself? I grumble internally as the wake breaks around the bow of the boat, slicing through the choppy bay easily.
It’s another gray morning, cool and misty, the sun hardly more than a bright spot behind layers of gauzy clouds. I’m steering while Callie’s perched up near the front, clinging to the railing, her pale face to the wind, flaming hair whipping out around her.
I try not to stare. Really, I do. But how can I not?
She’s as breathtaking as ever. More, maybe. The jeans she’s wearing hug her hips and her ass perfectly, and the blue and white striped sweater is too big, sleeves hanging over her fingertips, the collar constantly sliding off to the side, baring one freckled shoulder.
I don’t know why I’ve decided to torture myself with being close to her like this again.
Because she needs your help, and you’re a sucker.
Maybe.
But I’d be lying if I tried to say it was all for Callie’s sake. I’ve missed her. That doesn’t seem like a strong enough word for it; no one’s ever come close to measuring up to Callie for me. She’s the person I compare everyone to, every experience. And it all comes up short.
So when I’ve got the chance to finally spend some time with her after more than a decade?
Yeah, I selfishly jumped. Sue me.
Even though she’s gripping the railing with white knuckles, her face weirdly pinched when she stares at the horizon, Callie’s dripping with enthusiasm, practically bouncing on her toes, willing the boat to carry us further from shore.
The wind whips her hair around, and she struggles to contain it before more escapes. I haven’t seen a stretch of weather like this in Lupine Bay in as long as I can remember. It’s been weeks since we’ve had a properly nice day, so I knew better than to suggest we wait for the squalls to clear up before we venture out. If we did that, we might never leave the docks.
It’s less dreary today, though. The wind seems almost playful, making little eddies, zipping here and there.
Maybe my perception is only brighter because Callie’s here.
“So what’re you looking for?” I call out to the bow. We’re in deeper waters now, the shore a hazy ghost of a line in the distance.
“I don’t know, but I think I’ll know it when I see it,” she admits.
“But I won’t, and you’re not the one going down there today.”
Callie frowns, shoving her hair out of her face again. “Do you have… sonar or something?”
I manage to avoid snorting.
“Yeah.”
“Can we try that first?”
It seems obvious once she says it. Narrowing down our search area with sonar is a lot smarter than me trying to do it underwater.
This is new for me. I’m not exactly a treasure hunter. I dive for sport and pleasure, not for any real reason. This having a purpose is going to take adjustment.
“Generally, we set up a grid and sweep step-by-step,” Callie says, squeezing into the navigation cabin with me. She’s close enough that there’s no way to avoid brushing up against each other, no avoiding her scent invading my senses, making me weak in the kn
ees for a split second.
Focus.
“This is the map I’ve got of the bay floor,” I say, tapping the framed table. The map has topographical lines that show exactly where the shore drops off into the bay. Other than that, the bay is fairly flat — not all that unusual for a protected inlet like this — so it should be pretty simple for sonar to pick up on anomalies. If they’re big enough, at least.
“Okay, so I think… with currents and where we’ve found things on the beach… Over here?” she says, pointing to the eastern portion of the map.
I turn the wheel without saying anything, then look back her way.
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?” she asks absently, lips slightly parted as she pores over the map, her eyes narrowing at the thin lines curving across it. Callie always was the smart one. She had the book smarts to be top of her class, to go off with scholarships and grants. I’ve got my own degree, but it was just something to do. A direction to go when I didn’t have anything leading me elsewhere.
It’s different with her. She’s always been focused. She knows what she wants.
“What you’re looking for,” I say patiently, flipping on the sonar as we approach deeper waters. In this weather, I can’t really afford to divide my attention any more than I already am. Callie’s distraction enough in these relentless waves; I’m going to have to count on her to watch the sonar screen.
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to a shape slowly coming into view. Still no answer, though, and I’m starting to get legitimately curious about what she’s after. I was interested before, because it’s Callie, of course I’m interested, but she’s hiding something. She’s playing it close to the vest, and I want to know what’s worth coming out here for. What’s worth actually talking to me again, because I know she’s been doing everything possible to avoid that for a dozen years.
That was the plan, I remind myself, gritting my teeth. Putting distance between us all those years ago worked out better than I intended.
Doesn’t mean I’ve got to be happy about it.