Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“I do have a request, though. Or rather it’s a condition to me signing the papers.” He tipped his head toward the documents. “You have to get on the boat that you’re buying a stake in.”
“A small stake, a decimal stake. And I’m a silent investor,” I reminded him.
Elliot smirked. “Calliope, you are a lot of things. Silent is never going to be one of them. You’re getting on that fucking boat.”
I hardened my gaze. “I’m not getting on that fucking boat.”
The very next day, under Maine’s late summer sunshine, I was standing on the very dock I’d met Elliot, staring at the boat I would own a small stake in.
I was as inappropriately dressed as I had been the first time. The heels were not as high, but I was wearing a similar pair of linen pants and a matching blouse. With a large straw hat because no way did I expose my skin to the sun. I was approaching forty and trying to age gracefully–ish.
Large Gucci sunglasses finished the outfit, along with the leather tote that I’d packed a flask of vodka in. For emergencies.
It was about as nautical as I got.
And although Elliot had given my outfit a long once-over before we left, he said nothing. He was wearing his usual casual clothing—backward cap, faded band tee—except he wore boat shoes this time instead of Birkenstocks.
He’d walked down the wharf, hand tangled in mine, the place quiet since no one was scheduled to come in or out. Elliot had jumped onto the boat with practiced ease and grace, waiting for me to follow with an extended hand.
I didn’t take it.
This was a mistake. Me continuing to take things further, getting deeper with Elliot. Buying his debt for a small stake in the business was one thing, but staying with him when he spoke of things like marriage… I was fucking up royally. But I couldn’t get myself to stop. Couldn’t wrench myself away from Elliot.
Elliot watched me carefully as I stood in front of the boat like it was a foe. It was. The rugged structure was completely foreign to me. Not something I knew how to operate, a vessel that bowed to the whim of the ocean, something that no one could control.
When my eyes found Elliot’s, it was clear that he’d been watching me for a while.
“I hosed it down, cleaned all the dead fish guts off while you were getting ready this morning,” he tried to assure me. “It’s sparkling clean. Won’t ruin your shoes.”
Though I hadn’t been worried about my shoes at that moment, the gesture was incredibly cute. Yes, the boat was a little worn, but it did indeed look immaculate. Nets and various fishing paraphernalia were stacked neatly. The wooden deck was clean. No dead fish to be seen.
“You gonna get on?” Elliot shook his extended hand.
I inspected the hand, eyeing the large lines and calluses that I’d memorized, the ones that had touched every inch of my skin. Muscular, strong, capable forearms. Tanned and sculpted while working on this very boat. Which he was master of. To a point.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Elliot. I did. With my life. But there was a point where it stopped being about his competence on the ocean—which I was sure was excellent given it was his job and he was still alive.
“You don’t like the ocean.” He didn’t smile, though his eyes twinkled. “You’ve never been on a boat.” The way he said it was as if I’d said I’d never had a hot dog or driven a car.
“I’ve been on yachts,” I countered. I didn’t feel the need to mention that they were all anchored at the time.
Elliot seemed to call my bluff with nothing more than a quirk to his lip. “You’ve never been on a boat.” He folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m smart enough to respect something more powerful, infinitely older and much more pissed off than I could ever be.” I waved to the ocean.
He stared at me for a moment, smoky eyes still twinkling. “You think the ocean is pissed off?” His eyes skipped to the location in question, which was calm and mild, the sky blue, nothing but a gentle breeze in the air.
I nodded. “You’re a fisherman. You don’t think she’s a sentient being?”
He appeared thoughtful, running his hands through his hair. “And you think she’s a she?”
I rolled my eyes. “Any force in nature with enough power to ruin cities and bury men in watery graves is a woman.”
“Of course,” he responded seriously. The tightness of his mouth made me think he was trying very hard not to smile.
“And she’s pissed,” I continued, determined to get my point across. “Because we’ve been pillaging her resources, polluting her, sullying everything ancient and fierce inside of her for our food, for our cosmetics, for our tourism. I want no part in it.”