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“Want another one?” I asked.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time before nodding. “Sure.”
I supposed she was checking to see how much time she had before her ship left. “Rusty?” I called. He didn’t even turn his head. “Rusty?” This time, I said it a little louder. We were the only two people in the bar for fuck’s sake.
Reluctantly, he lumbered over to the tap, poured us a couple more beers, and set them down on the counter before going back to what he’d been doing before. I liked him better earlier when his friends were still here. He was more lively then. Now, it was like a mannequin had been propped behind the counter.
“What do you do for a living in Seattle?” I asked before taking a long drink of my beer. This was my fourth, so I was beginning to feel a little looser than normal, a little more chatty.
“I’m a personal assistant,” she said with a sharp nod that told me she probably didn’t want to talk about that anymore. “What about you?”
It would’ve been easy to lie to her and just say I was a fisherman. After all, I was still wearing fishing gear from my excursion out into the deep earlier today. Thoughts of that damn salmon that had gotten away came to mind, but I refused to be sidetracked.
I ended up telling her the truth. Sort of. “I manage properties.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised, a small grin on her face. “Here?”
“Lots of places,” I replied with another shrug. “I’ve always had an interest in houses but didn’t want to sell real estate. And being an architect isn’t what it used to be.” I didn’t bother to go into the fact that I had my degree in architecture but had decided to go this route instead. I was also an engineer, for what it was worth.
“I can see that,” she said with another nod. “I definitely would hate being a realtor. I don’t think I could sell a glass of water to a man dying in the desert.”
I chuckled, knowing the people who thought they were good at selling stuff usually said something stupid like, “I could sell ice to an Eskimo,” a term I’d also learned to avoid since moving to Alaska. “Yeah, I hate to be pushy with people,” I agreed.
“Right?” she said with a smile. “Some of those people are just unbearable. But that’s cool that you found a way to do something you love without having to compromise.”
I stared at her for a second. No one had ever quite put it like that before, but I felt like she’d just summed up exactly why I’d gone into this line of work to begin with. I loved making people feel at home, giving them a chance to stay in beautiful houses all around the world, even if they couldn’t necessarily afford to own a place like that. I’d found a way to incorporate my love of architecture, homes, and family into one business that also helped me earn a good living. I’d never even really thought about it that way, but she was exactly right.
I was beginning to like this woman. And I hadn’t even bothered to ask her name.
“What’s your—” I began, but then, she started to speak at the same time.
“I really should be getting back,” she said but stopped when she realized I’d also been talking. “Oh. Sorry. What was that?”
Realizing it was pointless to ask her what her name was when she was leaving, I said, “Oh, nothing. What time does your ship leave?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But I should probably head back just in case. They said it wouldn’t be a long stop.” She finished her second beer and began to pull out her wallet.
“Oh, it’s on me,” I assured her.
She looked into my eyes. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” I had a tab here that I settled every week, and I had no doubt Rusty wouldn’t forget to tabulate what I owed him for the drinks tonight.
“Well,” she said, sliding off the barstool. “It was nice speaking to you.”
“Yeah, you too.” I wanted to say more. In fact, words began to form on the tip of my tongue, something like, “Maybe you should give me your number in case you’re ever back in Sitka,” but before anything came out of my mouth, I heard a horn blow in the distance. “Oh, shit,” I muttered, my eyes focusing out the window. “Is that your cruise ship?”
“What?” She spun around, seeing what I was seeing. Not only was her ship blowing the horn, but it was also backing away from the port. “No!” she shouted, heading for the door. “It can’t leave already! It hasn’t even been an hour!”
Despite her clumsiness on the wet floor earlier, she took off again, running toward the door. What choice did I have but to follow? We were about a half mile from the port, so there was a chance she might be able to catch the ship if they saw her waving her arms and shouting like a maniac, but I had a feeling this was par for the course for the ship captain, and he’d just keep right on backing into the bay.
Then what? I wasn’t sure, but something told me she wouldn’t have any place to stay and would be in a world of hurt without my help.
So as she ran down the path toward the dock, I ran with her, encouraging her that she was getting there, that it wasn’t far now. She waved her arms and hollered like delayed cruise ship passengers always did. Locals stood along the walkway, cheering her on. A line of passengers formed on the deck, also encouraging her.
But by the time we reached the port, it was quite clear the boat stopped for no one, not even cute blondes with gorgeous brown eyes.
“Fuck!” she said, doubling over to catch her breath.
