Page 28 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

It’s then that I notice, finally, the rain has stopped, and the wind has calmed to a stiff breeze.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as we climb out of our little hovel and turn the skiff right side up together.

“This was smart. Incredibly reckless, but also, smart way to take shelter in the worst circumstances,” I admit as I tether the two vessels together.

When I rise up to full height, Quincy’s there, smiling at me, looking like a rain-soaked shipwreck survivor. “Kiss me.”

I take her face in my hands and press my mouth to hers. I shiver at her closeness as I’m once again reminded how close I came to losing her. What if she’d drowned? What if…

I can’t handle these thoughts. I deepen the kiss, licking my tongue into her mouth. Quincy lets out a small moan as she fists the front of my soaked T-shirt. She is warm and safe. Alive. And all mine.

Thirteen

Quincy

The Fourth of July festivities at Merlin Lake carried on after the cancellation of the boat race.

As the sun set on the ridge, boaters set out to recover lost vessels, then gathered to help Reef and me do temporary repairs to some of the posts that had come loose during the storm. A few of the boaters, without asking, secured a tarp over the roof of the Minnow Bucket where a leak had started.

After that, it was time to eat flag cake, drink, and celebrate that everyone was safe. Reef and I changed out of our wet things in the stock room, with me pulling on an oversized souvenir T-shirt that we sell to customers at the store, and matching baggy soccer shorts. Alas, the Minnow Bucket sells no underwear, so I have to go commando.

The docks glow with the string lights and the bunting that had survived the storm, and laughter from the patio of the Heron’s Nest carries across the lake.

Reef snags us a porch table in a quiet corner of the lakeside restaurant so we can cozy up together to watch the fireworks,and he drags two cushioned chairs together. The humidity has mostly dissipated now, making cuddling a much nicer prospect. The crowd cheers as they watch the fireworks show, but Reef is much more interested in staring at me. And kissing me. And touching me. And talking about us. He lays everything out so clearly; I have no doubt what he wants.

“Are you ready for this? Because as a boss, you know I can be a lot. As a boyfriend, I plan to be ten times more obnoxious.” He winks.

“I doubt that’s possible.”

“Sorry if I scared you on your first day.”

I scoff. “Please. I teach high school history. You can’t scare me.”

The next firework explodes into silver and gold in the sky as Reef leans in to kiss me. It's warm, confident, and I know in that kiss, he’s completely mine.

After the last of the boaters leave and we’ve locked up the Minnow Bucket, I follow Reef up the moonlit path to his house. Fireflies distract me from thoughts about mosquitoes and snakes and anything else that lurks in these parts. As long as the bugs and the night birds keep up their singing and hooting, everything’s fine. And I have to admit, holding Reef’s hand makes the dark feel more like home.

His house is no bigger than a basic fishing cabin, tucked into a stand of loblolly pines in between towering lakefront mansions.

Inside, it smells like cedar. The kitchen is nothing more than a camping stove and a small fridge, but the bed looks ample and cozy.

“Home sweet home,” he murmurs, closing the door behind us. “It’s not much, but it’s only been me since I was 18. Whiskey?”

I nod, and he pours us each a nightcap.

“You’ve been here alone since you were 18?”

He nods and hands me a glass. Together, we curl up on the worn leather sofa.

“It was my grandpa’s hunting cabin. Grandma Barb let me stay there after my parents kicked me out. They said it was time to be an adult. No other explanation. I went to work for Captain Mack, and I took care of Grandma and never looked back.”

“That’s so sweet of you.”

“She practically raised me. It was the least I could do. As far as being alone for ten years, well, not exactly.”

“You’re telling me you had a roommate in here? There’s only one bed.”

“Not roommates, exactly."