Page 21 of The Sailor

Zach was ready to go. He was overjoyed that Marit had tomorrow off, but he still wasn’t happy with Eliot and Zach . . . or about the situation with this Lucas Pearson guy. If the guy dared to say one damn word to Marit in his presence, he’d get an earful about being a major fucking asshole.

“Will you drop off my order at The Lobster Buoy?” he asked Eliot.

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.” Then Zach took hold of Marit’s hand and pulled her down the dock toward the parking lot.

“What’s the hurry?” she asked with a small laugh.

“The hurry is, if I don’t get away from your coworkers, I might say something you aren’t going to like.”

She tugged on his hand, and Zach stopped, looking down at her.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ve heard worse.”

“You don’t get it. The fact that anyone felt it was all right to talk to you that way, and that Eliot and Jonah apparently didn’t do a damn thing to shut him up, is wrong on every level. I’m frustrated with them. I’m pissed at Pearson. I feel sick that you had to listen to that garbage. I’m tired, worried about how Lobster Fest is going to go in regards to the shack, and upset that I haven’t been able to see you much this past week.”

Marit stepped into his personal space and wrapped her arms around him as she laid her head on his chest. Something inside Zach eased as he returned the hug. She felt amazing in his arms. Right. And just holding her seemed to make all the shit rolling around in his head calm.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet,” he said into her hair, as he continued to hold her. “I’m taking the morning off tomorrow.”

Her head whipped up so fast, she almost clocked him in the chin. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah. You want to come over for dinner?” Zach asked. “I haven’t planned anything, but I figured I could scrounge up something for us to eat. That is . . . if you’re comfortable with that. I know we haven’t done much outside of that first date at Lobster Cove. We can try to find someplace to eat, but with all the tourists in town, I’m not sure—”

“Your place is great,” Marit said, interrupting him.

“I promise you’re safe with me.”

“I know I am. Thank you for saying so, though.”

“You want to stop by your apartment and change first?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I could use a shower myself.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know. You smell like fried food. And seafood.”

Her belly chose that moment to growl. They both laughed.

“See? You smell delicious,” she told him.

Zach smiled. “Eau de lobster. It’s a good thing you don’t mind it, since I own a restaurant called The Lobster Buoy.”

“I don’t mind. As long as you don’t mind that I smell like raw fish.”

“I think we’re perfect for each other.” It was a simple statement that Zach realized had never been so true with anyone else.

Just like his dad had always told him and his brothers about meeting their mom . . . when you know, you know. Zach had never really believed that, had always thought love was a slow process . . . that you met someone, liked them, went out, got to know them more, had sex to discover if you were physically compatible, and then when you were comfortable enough with each other, you got married.

But this thing with Marit, it was anything but what Zach had expected.

“Come on. I’ll drop you off at your place, go home, change and shower, then come to your apartment to walk you back to mine.”