“And these two back here are friends from work.”
Carla looked at me in the rearview mirror and smiled conspiratorially at Tate’s interruption.
So that was the way it was going to be. I turned to shake the hands of the couple in the back. Were they actually a couple? Sydney had pretty hair, blond and straight. I bet she didn’t have to worry about frizz control. Could probably even run a brush through the strands without breaking a handle or ripping half her hair out. The guy, Landon, fit the Pacific Northwest perfectly. Trimmed hair on top, scruffy beard on bottom. His red plaid shirt had a lumberjack vibe as well. They didn’t screamcoupleto me, but who was I to judge?
The tick, tick of the blinker light added background noise as Carla pulled the minivan out into traffic.
Landon leaned forward, his head just over my shoulder. “So what do you do?”
Let the torturous small talk begin. I turned so I could look at him, my shoulder digging into the backrest of the seat. “I’m an event planner.”
“That’s cool.” He nodded. “Like, any events? Or are these special types of events?”
“Mostly fundraisers for a nonprofit.”
Landon nodded again, and my mind squirmed to come up with more elaboration.
Nothing.
I planned fundraisers…which I’d already said.
My gaze sought out Tate, and I gave him a pleading look. He’d rescued me from conversational suicide before—surely he’d do it again. These were his friends, after all. His stupid idea.
But instead of opening his mouth to help, he merely smiled and dipped his head my direction. Blast it all, I didn’t need encouragement—I needed a way out! I couldn’t turn the question back on him since I already knew that he worked with Tate.
Think!I moved my leg, and my foot brushed against my purse. The duke’s tale had ended splendidly a few nights before, and I hadn’t wanted to leave the time period or locale so had started another Regency. This time about a governess to a wealthy family. She rarely interacted with her employers, but when she did, she kept it to safe topics. Weather, family.
“Great weather we’re having, right?” Even I cringed at the false cheeriness in my voice.Someone just shoot me now.
“Love the area in the summer.” Sydney’s cute face scrunched. “Winter, not so much. Too drizzly for me.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I kind of like the rain.” Perfect reading weather.
The city zipped by, traffic light this early on a weekend. Carla slowed and turned into the ferry terminal. I sat up straighter in my seat, peered at Tate. “We’re taking the ferry?”
He bumped my nose with a curved finger. “Now who’s showing off their powers of observation?”
I made a face at him so I wouldn’t laugh. Held his gaze, then bribed the entire van. “Starbucks on me for anyone who’ll tell me where in the world we’re going.”
Tate stared straight back into my eyes. “Can’t handle the tension?”
It was a dare, another one. A way to goad me. And yet beneath that surface layer, there seemed to be more hidden beneath.
I liked words. Loved them. Immersed myself in them every day.Tensionstuck to me like a mussel on a pier at low tide. It wasn’t the right word. Not for this situation. Suspense, surprise, waiting, not knowing…there were dozens of other words he could have used. But tension?
Tate held my gaze, his eyes searching, looking through me. What was he looking for?
His mouth turned down, his eyes instantly hooded before he broke the connection.
My gut twisted. Somehow I’d disappointed him, but I didn’t know how or why. Had I done something? Ornotdone something?
The van moved forward, the first clue that registered the big ferry boat had docked and was boarding passengers. Had it not blown its whistle, or had I just missed it? The tires clanged over the empty ramp before Clara followed the direction of the attendant and pointed the van to the left ramp to the upper loading deck. She navigated between the yellow lines, parking behind a Mini Cooper and a Chevy Silverado. Both side doors whooshed open, followed by Jim’s passenger door. The ignition died, and we exited the vehicle.
I hadn’t caught which way we were going, to Bremerton or Bainbridge Island. Either way we were in for at least a thirty-minute ride. I filed in line behind Tate, Jim, and Carla, with Landon and Sydney behind me, and mounted the stairs from the auto deck to the lounge.
“I’ll meet up with you guys.” Carla pointed to the restroom, then disappeared behind the door.
Jim rubbed his hands together, eyeing the galley. “Coffee time.” Tate and Sydney followed him, both saying they were craving some type of baked goods.
