We might have circled each other forever if not for the September storm.
Three boats tore loose after midnight.
Everyone came in.
For six hours, we fought wind, flooding docks, and lines that snapped like rifle shots. We hauled a damaged sloop into the covered bay and secured everything that could be secured.
By dawn, Owen and Caleb had gone home.
Reid and I stayed to inspect the emergency pumps.
The power went out while we were in the sail loft.
Darkness swallowed the room.
A gust struck the building so hard the rafters groaned.
I reached for the wall.
My hands found Reid.
His closed around my arms.
“You hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
Neither of us let go.
Lightning opened the room in white-blue brilliance.
For an instant, I saw him clearly—hair soaked, shirt plastered to his body, water clinging to his beard. His chest rose and fell too quickly.
So did mine.
“This would be a mistake,” he said.
“Almost certainly.”
“I’m responsible for your job.”
“I’m aware.”
“If we damage this—”
“We’ll handle it.”
His fingers flexed against my arms. “That’s not a plan.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Another flash illuminated his face.
I saw hunger there.
Fear too.
The combination undid me.
