"You're asking me to come work on your ship."
"I'm asking if you were serious when you said you owed me for the damage."
The laugh that came out of her this time was sharper. Disbelieving. She looked at him over the rim of her cup like shewas checking whether he'd lost his mind during the night. Then she saw his face.
"You're serious," she said.
"I don't joke about my ship."
Looking out at the lake, something in her expression shifted, the edge softening by a fraction. "I might stop by. I'm not sure how useful I'll be."
"I'll take what I can get."
"That's very gracious of you."
"I'm a gracious man."
Her mouth twitched. Not a smile, but close. She looked back at the lake, both hands around her cup, her shoulders carrying tension she was trying not to show. He could feel how scared she was. Not of him, not of what had happened between them. Scared of reading into it. Scared of wanting something that could be pulled away.
"Last night," she started.
"Doesn't have to be anything," he said. "Unless you want it to be."
She held his eyes as if she was trying to evaluate his answer.
"I'll see you at the dock," she said.
He nodded once. Left the hull plank on the porch on his way out and walked the western path toward town with the morning cold on his face and his wolf pacing behind his ribs.
The dock was already busy when he reached it. Rowan and Rafe’s crew had the hull partition open, the damaged planks stacked on the pier for assessment. Orick was running inventory below. Pell sat on the dock rail eating something wrapped in paper from the bakery, looking like a man who'd slept twelve hours instead of six.
Dex was waiting for him at the gangway. He had two cups of coffee from the dockside tavern balanced in one hand, the other shoved in his jacket pocket. His face held the particularblankness that meant he had something to say and was deciding how to say it.
"You look rested," Dex said, handing him a cup.
"Don't start."
"I haven't started anything."
"Your face started something."
Dex fell into step beside him as they walked the dock toward the Ashvane's stern. "I was at the dock tavern this morning. Early. Petch opens at six for the freight crews."
"And?"
"And the conversation at the bar was interesting."
Rafe stopped walking. "How interesting?"
"There was a table of three. Two north channel runners I've seen before, one man I haven't. They were talking about you." Dex's voice was level. Conversational. The voice he used when the information was bad. "Specifically about you being seen walking to the stormcaller's cottage last night. Before the storm hit."
Rafe's hand tightened on the coffee cup. "Who saw that."
"That's the question. The men at the table didn't claim firsthand knowledge. They said they'd heard it, which means someone told them, which means someone was watching the western path last night. Deliberately."
"What exactly are they saying?"
"That the Ashvane's captain has been spending time with the fae woman who controls the weather. That it's convenient, a merchant captain with a stormcaller at his disposal." Dex pulled a folded paper from his inside pocket. "It gets worse. This was posted on the supply board at the tavern this morning. Petch pulled it down but not before six or seven people read it."
