Page 59 of Just One More Thing

He takes what feels like a long time to answer. “I don’t mind.”

His fingers brush my shoulders, cool from the lotion, and I suck in a breath. Then his hands move slowly down my back. Lower. I get goosebumps despite the ninety-degree heat. He lingers at the tie of my bikini top. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. He’s trying not to cross a line neither of us has actually drawn but both of us are very aware of.

I stare at the horizon and attempt to breathe like a normal person.

I fail miserably.

I try to focus on anything other than the path his hands take across my skin, pausing again at the small of my back. His fingertips graze the side of my hip. I grip the edge of the bench.

The silence feels charged. If I turn around right now, there’ll be no turning back.

He clears his throat. “First trap up ahead.”

I step away from him. “Right,” I say. “Crabs.”

I snag the rope with the hook and latch it on the pulley. Jake pulls the pots and sorts through the crabs with practiced ease.

“This one’s female,” he says.

“How can you tell?”

“Red claws.”

“Like her nails are painted.”

He glances over at me and smiles. “Yeah. Like her nails are painted,” he says, setting her back in the water.

He laughs when I start singingUnder the Sea. We used to sing it as kids, and Jake would suck in his cheeks and pucker his lips. Soon we’re singing it together, ridiculously off key.

Then he makes the face.

When he returns to the console to steer us to the next trap, he looks at his phone and starts laughing. He turns the screen toward me and shows me a photo Bethany just sent. Hank is sleeping upside down behind the bar with his tongue hanging out.

Different day. Different drunk.

We’re both still laughing when he says, “When Hank comes with me, I’ll let a few crabs loose on the deck for him. He loves chasing them.”

“Don’t they pinch him?”

“I band them first.”

He glances back at the photo and smiles. “That’s what started his feud with French Fry. Two years ago, he stole one of Hank’s crabs.”

“Two years ago? And they’re still feuding?”

“Bulldogs have short legs but long memories. They can hold a grudge forever.”

“I’m Team Hank. I have my own feud with that seagull.”

Hours pass without either of us noticing. We work. We eat Nutter Butters. We laugh. We sing some more. Badly. By the time we pull the last trap, the sky has gone soft and gold.

I sit beside him on the bench as we head back in. The boat hits a small wave, and I slide sideways into him. His arm comes up automatically, steadying me. His hand settles at my waist and stays there.

I look up, and his eyes are already on me.

I tilt my chin up without thinking.

He lifts one hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles brushing along my jaw, then down the side of my neck.