Page 12 of The Marine's Homecoming

He'd have gotten the money from Dorsey and been fixing things all while his boats were out of my hair. Now we're forced into even closer contact every day, which grates on my nerves. I look down and turn back toward the water where I watch more men coming off the fishing boat.

"What," I grumble, not feeling in a friendly mood today. Without much business to tend to in the winter, I'm most focused on my civic duties and festival planning. But there are slim pickings when it comes to locations. The Murphys’ land out west of town is okay, but it's so far away I'm afraid we won't get the draw this ocean-front property could give. And if I choose the city center, it means traffic issues and complaints, and no band can perform after nine p.m. with the noise ordinance.

Luke just doesn’t see how perfect his place is. And nothing I say is going to make him change his mind.

He steps up closer to me, standing shoulder to shoulder, as he nods at the passing teams. The wind gusts and carries the hint of his cologne on the breeze to me, which reminds me again of how tightly he held me when he pulled me out from under those sagging boards. It was so fast I hardly knew what was happening, and then I felt mesmerized by the way he looked at me. It was confusing and overwhelming, and when I lie down in bed at night, it's frustrating to me that I had that response.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you…" he says, gesturing at the pier. "For letting the guys camp out with you, I mean." Luke holds some rusty hardware in his hands, broken from the old dock where moorings were failing. They had to install a few more moorings on this dock, which I’m not sure are to code or spaced far enough apart, but they're there to do a job and as long as I don’t pitch a fit, Mrs. Reyes isn't going to bat an eye.

As it is, this is my fault. I did this because I got pushy and agreed to Dorsey's plan to push inspections. Then Mayor Grant gave the orders and here we are. I'm kicking myself for not leaving well enough alone.

"Yeah," I mumble, "kinda didn't have a choice." Staring down at my feet, I toe a bit of green algae that grows on the board next to where I stand. I'm an idiot. I'm just too nice. I'd have given up those moorings on this pier anyway because I don't want to see those fishermen have to put their boats in dry dock any more than Luke does. My whole economic revitalization plan goes to shit if I'm not actually caring about local businesses.

"Well, I appreciate it. And I know Tank and Sam both appreciate it too." Luke is being kind, so I should respond with kindness, but all I have is bitterness. So I excuse myself.

"I should go," I tell him, turning to walk back towardThe Mariah. "I have some paperwork to catch up on." Really, I should be going to my office, but that means walking back past his office, and I would rather just hide on my party boat and sulk instead.

But rather than letting me walk off and mind my own business, Luke follows me. He doesn't say anything at first, but I hear his boots clomping and clench my jaw so I don't snap at him.

"You know, I was trying to be nice, and you just seem hell-bent on being mad at me the rest of your life."

My foot stops one step onto the passerelle and I look up at him with a hard glare. "Nice?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes further. "You wouldn't know nice if it smacked you in the face."

"Funny you say that," he grumbles, glowering at me, but I ignore him and march across the divide onto the boat.

He's infuriating to me, and he knows it. And when I feel the boat rock and know he stepped on, I turn on him again. "What are you doing!"

"I’m coming to talk to you, which if you'd have stood still long enough to listen to what I had to say, you'd know that." He stalks forward, but he looks frustrated with me, not furious.

But my blood is boiling now. I've been trying so hard to stay professional and calm, but refusal after refusal, followed by this invasion, have just pushed me to my limits. I don’t care if I did offer the pier for his fishing businesses. I'm over his attitude and I want him off my boat.

"You need to get off my boat," I hiss, clenching my jaw tighter. My teeth grind together and it aches.

"I just want to talk to you. I'm trying to be nice, Hannah." Luke moves closer, and I feel trapped. I open the door and step into the salon, thinking I might slam it in his face, but he's there, following me inside without permission.

"I didn’t ask you to come in."

"I didn't ask to come in. I just walked in. Now do you want to hear what I have to say or are you going to continue being rude to me?"

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can hear it. The salon suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. Luke stands just inside the doorway, shoulders filling the frame, eyes dark with frustration, and I hate how aware I am of him. The way his worn sweatshirt stretches across his chest when he crosses his arms. The way his presence makes my skin feel electric even while I want to shove him overboard.

God, I’m furious with him. And I’m furious with myself because part of me doesn’t want him to leave.

"You think this is me being rude?" My voice cracks with the effort of holding everything in. "You waltz onto my boat like you own it, after everything that’s happened, and you expect me to just?—"

"Hannah." His voice drops as he takes a step closer. "I’m not here to fight."

"Then why are you here?" I snap, but I can't back up. I’m trapped between the furniture and six-foot-something of stubborn, infuriating man.

Luke exhales sharply through his nose, clearly at the end of his patience. He yanks a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and slaps it on the counter harshly. “This. The new repair schedule. I was trying to give you a heads-up before it bites both of us in the ass, but you…” He gestures wildly, and the paper flutters off the edge and drifts to the floor between us.

I’m so angry I can’t even think straight. Before I can stop myself, I lunge down to snatch it, fully intending to crumple it up and throw it in his face. But Luke moves at the same time, bending to grab it too.

Our heads crack together hard, making me jerk away, almost stumbling.

“Ow—fuck!” he hisses as pain blooms at my temple, but it only feeds the fire. I straighten up at the exact moment he does, and suddenly, we’re nose to nose, breathing hard, eyes locked in pure rage.

For one electric second, everything freezes—the ache in my skull, the guilt clawing at my chest, the unbearable heat rolling off him. And I remember how his arm felt around me under the pier last week. Then the dam breaks.