“Need something?” I ask.
“No. Just waiting for you to be done.”
I glance up at her. “I’m not drying these for fun. I’m about to use this boat for a tour.”
Her hand hits her heart. “Thank yousomuch for clarifying that. I thought you just really enjoyed mopping up dew. Silly me.”
There’s that smart mouth again. “Maybe I do. It’s the least stressful thing I do all day.”
“If wiping off seats is your idea of unwinding, you need to reevaluate.”
“Yeah?” I return to my task, which feels less tedious than usual. “And howshouldIunwind, Boston?”
“Meditation. Yoga. Bubble baths.” She pauses, as if she’s genuinely contemplating this. “Mm-hmm. Those are perfect for you, I think.”
“My way of unwinding involves a little more activity.”
“Let me guess. Kicking puppies? Dismembering flowers? Oh—” She snaps her fingers and points at me. “I’ve got it. Parking at the entrance to the town like a little bridge troll and harassing vacationers who dare cross your path.”
I shake my head, chuckling as I make my way to the seats at the bow, right beneath her. This woman and her wit.
“Close.” I pause and look up, catching the hint of a smirk creasing her cheek. I wink. “More the kind that makes me so good at pool.”
She rolls her eyes. “I so deeply pity the women in this town.”
“That’s a waste of pity.”
It’s mostly all talk. My early twenties were a montage of pretty faces, late nights, and questionable decisions. But after both of my parents passed, casual one-nighters lost their appeal, and I turned into a long-term kind of guy.
Case in point: falling head over ass last year after two decent dates.
But Eliza doesn’t know that. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious what creative insult she’d sling back at me.
She doesn’t disappoint.
“I’ll save my pity for you, then, because it must be exhausting carrying around so much ego.” Eliza crosses her arms impatiently. “Why are you still standing there? Seats are dry.”
“Well, now I’ve got to wait for my guests. What’syourexcuse for being here?”
“I was in the middle of shooting content when you came down.” She wiggles the phone in her hand. The case is clear and utilitarian. “I just need two more seconds to finish up. No one’s here for the tour yet, so I was hoping you could step out for a second so I can get what I need.”
The skiff is clean and cushioned for guests, but it isn’t anything special. “Why are you filming this thing?”
“To promote tours. No one else was taking photos or videos on Amanda’s tour, so I kept my phone away, too.” She gives a tight smile. “Lost my only chance to film the actual experience itself, so I’m making do.”
Multiple car doors slam in succession, tourists in bright, preppy colors blurring in the distance. Eliza mutters a curse, her shoulders deflating. “Nevermind.” Her tone is resigned as she starts turning away.
Shit.
“Join this tour,” I blurt.
She freezes mid-twist, blinking like she’s trying to decide if I really just threw her a bone.
The surprise is warranted. Hell, evenI’msurprised. But if there’s nothing I can do about Eliza working on this farmfor the summer, I might as well make it easier for her to present us in a respectable light. Boat’s going out regardless.
And I’ll admit that watching her shoulders shrink just now, after seeing her so confident, pinches the part of my gut that finds her sharpness entertaining.
“If they’re into taking pictures or videos, you can wave your phone around, too. Get some content,” I add lamely, because she still hasn’t responded. Maybe she’s waiting for a punchline, or another barter for information.
