Page 63 of Pull Me Under

‘Training is intense. Cal doesn’t go easy on new recruits.’

‘I can handle it.’

‘I know.’ The words come out before I can think better of them. ‘You’re good. With the knots, the rescue drill – all of it. You’re good.’

She blinks, clearly not expecting a compliment. For a moment, the hard edges around her eyes soften. Then she shutters it away.

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t let it go to your head.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ She tilts her head. ‘Was that hard for you? Admitting I’m competent?’

‘Agonising. I may need therapy.’

‘I’m sure the village has a support group for men whose egos have been bruised by women who are better at their jobs.’

‘It meets Tuesdays. Dot runs it. Very cathartic.’

She laughs – short, surprised, like I’ve caught her off guard. It transforms her face completely, softens all those sharp edges, and I know I’m in huge trouble.

Don’t. Don’t do this.

‘You should laugh more,’ I say, because apparently I’ve lost all control of my mouth.

She goes still. ‘Should I.’

Beautiful. Disarming. The kind of sound I could get addicted to.

‘Forget it.’

The silence that follows is heavy. We’re standing too close – when did that happen? – and the wind off the harbour carries salt and diesel and, underneath it, cedar.

‘About what happened,’ I start.

‘It didn’t happen.’ Her voice is firm. Final. But there’s a hitch in it. ‘Whatever you think happened in that shed – it didn’t. We’re colleagues now. That’s all.’

‘Right. Colleagues.’

Neither of us moves.

She’s close enough that I can see the pulse jumping in her throat. Can see the way her breath has gone slightly shallow.

‘This can’t happen,’ she says, but she hasn’t moved away.

‘I know.’

‘Your father would⁠—’

‘Let’s not talk about my father.’

‘Jude—’

‘I know.’ I force myself to step back. To put distance between us before I do close the gap and slip into catastrophically stupid. ‘Colleagues. That’s all.’

The loss of proximity feels physical. She wraps her arms around herself – cold now, or missing the heat. I don’t ask.

‘Get some sleep,’ I say. ‘Training’s brutal when you’re exhausted.’