One thing’s for sure: Victor must really think this land is a gold mine. If not, he wouldn’t be wasting his time.
Or mine.
“That’s the last of them, Cap,” Connor calls to me, releasing the crate into the air and watching the lift pull it to the dock.
His hat’s cocked sideways, just like it has been for all the years he’s been on the stern of my boat. He’s about my age, but he acts like he’s sixteen, not twenty-eight.
“I don’t call that too bad of a day, Ridge,” Jake says, reaching for the strap of his oil pants.
“We still gotta dip bait, dipshit,” I utter, pointing to his shoulder. “Don’t be rushing out of here like your ass is on fire.”
“Fuck, I forgot.”
He lets a huff out, almost as if telling me that keeping him here for an extra fifteen minutes to get our bait ready for tomorrow is ruining his entire life. Too bad for him. I don’t give a shit. He’s worked for me for four years now, so he should know that much.
Turning to Connor as he makes his way toward us, he tips his chin up. “We gotta fuck with bait.”
Connor grins, shaking his head because he actually remembered. In his defense, he’s been with me since I was eighteen years old, so for ten years, he’s had to deal with my shit.I like my boat to sparkle, and I prefer to have my stuff for haul ready the day before.
“Quit pouting,” I grumble. “This is the first we’ve even been out in eight days because of the fucking wind. I’m glad you enjoyed your time off, doing whatever the fuck it is you do, but now it’s time to get back to work.”
“What he said,” Connor agrees with a wink at Jake.
Stepping onto the side of the boat, Connor climbs up onto the wharf with Jake eventually following behind.
Half the time, my two guys fight like cats and dogs; the other half, they laugh their asses off together. And ninety-nine percent of the time, they are the biggest pains in my ass. But help is hard to find, and they are damn good workers. And both of them grew up around the ocean, so that’s helpful when we’re hauling through gear.
While I wait for the two of them to dip the bait so that I can load it on, I glance up at the wooded area far behind the wharf. Tucked up in the trees is my house, and about a quarter mile from mine are the houses of my parents, my brother and then my grandparents. My family has owned and operated this wharf since my dad was a kid. But I didn’t just want to work at the wharf; I wanted to be on the ocean. Same with my siblings too.
I know there’s a whole big world out there—shit, I go south to Florida every winter for a few months so I have the proof. But the truth is, there’s no place like home. This coastline is rooted deep inside my flesh, and the waters run through my veins, giving me life. Because of that, I’ll never leave.
We may not utilize every single acre we have, but I sure love how peaceful it is around here.
And when I look up on the dock at all my stacks of crates, making today my biggest haul of autumn, despite my aching back, a grin almost tugs at my lips.
Because, goddamn, it’s been a good day. And now I get to go the fuck home and relax.
An episode ofThe Tinder Swindlercomes to an end, and I quickly hit Next, not giving a shit if the person beside me thinks I’m a creep because right now, watching a few episodes from a true crime series is the only way I’ll get through this flight—even if it is under two hours.
I’ve never liked to fly. Something about putting a giant machine in the air after it races—really not all that fast—down the airstrip just isn’t my cup of tea. At all. In fact, nothing about it seems normal to me.
The man in his sixties has attempted small talk multiple times, and while I’ve tried my best to be polite, this time, when I hear his voice and see him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, I ignore him and pretend like I can’t hear with my headphones on. Then I remember, karma is a bitch, and what if I ignore him and then the plane goes down as a form of punishment?
Yeah. My mind went there.
And that’s really not how I want to go out, if I’m being honest.
Fighting the look of irritation on my face, I pause the show and slide the headphones to my neck.
“What’s that?” I ask, turning slightly toward him.
He’s probably a nice guy; don’t get me wrong. He seems like the type who smiles at everyone as they pass by him—opposite ofme. I keep my head down, not talking unless I absolutely have to. Besides if it’s for work or I’m trying to seal a deal. In those cases, I can turn the charm on real fast.
His lips turn up. “Oh, I was just asking if you’re visiting Maine for the holidays or if you live there and are returning.” He nods toward my phone. “Didn’t mean to pull you away from your show, dear.”
Yeah … but you did.
I know that I’m a bitch for just wanting to watch my episode and be left alone. Truly, I get that. I know it’s the holiday season, and everyone is feeling squishy and sentimental, and people feel like they should befriend strangers. I’d like to say my aggravation with this conversation comes from being thousands of feet in the air, but that isn’t true. Not entirely anyway. I’m already not the warmest or fuzziest human. Add in being on an airplane or that it’s the holiday season, and I’m downright rotten. November and December are my least favorite months of the entire year. And this dude beside me? Well, he’s not really making anything better.
