Chapter Thirteen
I look over,trying to assess the woman sitting beside me. She looks mad, but she isn’t saying anything. Should I say something? Or do I just keep my mouth shut and hope her anger just disappears? I really screwed up. How did I not hear the three different alarms I set this morning? I also missed three calls from Molly and two from my dad. Lucky for me, King’s shop is just across the beach. But unlucky for me, the way in which he woke me up isn’t something I would like a repeat of.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,”are the only words I register in my brain before ice-cold water dumps onto my bed, soaking into every crack and crevice that is me. If King wasn’t my best friend, I would probably kill him. I don’t even know where he got the ice-cold water from; my freezer doesn’t even have ice. Once I dry off and King tells me what’s going on, I run around my boathouse, trying to grab everything I need, while King makes me a PBJ for my lunch.
“Thanks, King, I gotta get out of here before that woman decides to follow through on her promise to…,” I run my finger across my throat in a slicing motion as King cringes. I slap him on the back as I duck out of the cabin door and jump over the deck railing before realizing I don’t have a shirt.
“You might want one of these,” I hear from behind me, as a shirt hits me in the back of my head.
“Thanks again, King! Oh, and clean up the mess you made, dude.” I hear some grumbling as I head for the truck. This chick is going to be pissed.
Glancing over again,I can see her fingers digging into her backpack, her knuckles turning white. Shoot. Crap. Crap. Crap. I’m used to dealing with women, especially when they are angry with me. Usually, if my female customers are mad, I only have to deal with them for a little bit before they march off in a hissy. But I am literally stuck with this woman all day, every day, for three weeks. I drum my hands on the steering wheel as I glance over at her again. She’s staring at me; only her eyes aren’t on my face; they are on my chest. Oh, right. I forgot to put a shirt on.
I smile over at her and raise my eyebrows a couple of times. “I think you might have a little drool right there.” I reach out, motioning with my finger to the side of her mouth, my stupid male brain relaying this message to my vocal cords. Somehow, in seconds, I have completely forgotten that this woman is about to kill me with her eyes.
She picks up the shirt and chucks it at my head. “If you don’t want people staring at you, then you should probably put some stinking clothes on.” She has her fists clenched again as I wrestle to get the shirt over my head while driving and trying to see. But put on clothes I must, or this Molly woman is going to blow her gasket, and I do not want to see what that looks like.
I pull up to the dock, and we climb out of the truck. “Just wait there a second; I need to grab something really quick.” Hopping over the railing, I duck into the cabin of my boat and throw some cold water bottles from the fridge into the small electric cooler before grabbing a few other things I forgot. A creak of the floorboards pulls my attention away from the cooler, and I see Molly standing inside.
“Is this where you live?” Molly asks as she moves around the cabin, touching the jars of seaglass I have collected over the years while picking up large seashells from around the small room.
I nod my head to her, hoping it is a good enough answer to her question. She sits down at the table and smoothes her hand over the top, looking up at me with her eyebrows raised in question.
“It’s driftwood. My best buddy, King, found it off the coast a few years ago, and we decided to make a table top out of it.” I tap the top of the table with my finger before turning back around to finish filling the cooler with things we might need.
“But these colors… aren’t natural. How did you do this?” I spin back around as she traces the turquoise, silver, and gold colors swirled throughout the crevices of the wood.
“It’s called resin. Saw it on YouTube, and decided to try my hand at it.” I sit down on the opposite side of the table, motioning to a portion of the table that isn’t as level as the rest.
“This is where I started. You can tell because the resin isn’t as even.” She runs her hand over it and looks back up at me, waiting for me to say more. But I don’t.
“I think it’s beautiful.” Her eyes are so sincere. Almost too sincere. I know this look all too well. My ex-girlfriend Abby was a pro at this look, and I am not buying it. I ignore her remark and stand from the table, closing the lid of the cooler and picking it up, as though she didn’t say anything.
“Okay, let”s go. Gotta get you to the island.” She clears her throat and stands.
“Normally, when someone gives you a compliment about something, the polite thing to do is say thank you.” She moves past me, stopping at the small entryway table, before pivoting on her foot, waiting for me to say something in return.
“Well, normally, when someone,” I point to myself before continuing, “asks someone,” I point to her, “to wait outside,” I point to the door she is standing near, “that person waits outside, instead of barging into someone’s,” I point to myself again, “home.” Hopefully, that gets the message across.
It doesn’t. She walks toward me, her fingers running over all of my things as she approaches where I am standing, her eyes locked with mine. “Well, normally, when someone,” she jabs her finger at herself, “asks someone,” she pokes me in the chest as she continues to advance, causing my feet to shuffle backwards, “to be somewhere,” she points up in the air, and I assume she means the cottage, but since she has nowhere to point to in reference, she just points up at the sky, causing my smile to appear. “At a certain time,” she picks up my arm and points to my watch. “It is expected that that person will be there,” she pokes me in the chest again, “on time.”
I am backed against the wall, and she has her hand flat against my chest now, her breaths coming in rapid gusts, her cheeks turning a deep rose color. I can’t help myself, and my smile stretches wider, her eyes blazing into mine in anger. I grab her hand and remove it from my chest, dropping it as I walk past her. I shouldn’t poke the bear, but I can’t help myself. “Careful, Molly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted to touch me.” I laugh as I exit the cabin while listening to her swear like a sailor out the door.
“Oh… shut the door on your way out, please.” And just to really push her buttons, I end with a sweet little, “Thank you.” She exits the cabin and slams the door, stomps across the deck and clumsily straddles the railing of the boat before making her way to the plane.
“This way, Miss,” I extend my hand to her to help her onto the plane, and she bats it away, climbing on board. But then she stands there, as if she isn’t sure where to sit.
“You can sit up here with me. That way, I can point out stuff to you as we fly.” She nods her head and takes her seat. I stick the cooler in the cabin and plug it in so the waters stay cold before making my way to the other seat. I flip on the controllers, and the engine starts up, handing Molly the extra headset, I motion for her to put them on.
I look over to see her hands shaking as she fiddles with the seatbelt. She just flew yesterday. How does she not know how to latch an airplane”s seatbelt? I take off my headset and stand from my seat, moving over to where she is seated. Squatting down, I settle my hand on hers, and she looks up at me with a worried expression on her face. Lifting her hands from the buckle, I grab it and click it into place, tightening it against her body. My fingers tingle as they brush across the fabric of her thin shirt, and she flinches from the contact. We avoid one another”s eyes as I finish tightening her belt, and I shake the feeling from my hands as I sit down and buckle myself in, replacing the headset on my head.
“Can you hear me, Molly?” I wave over at her, trying to get her attention.
She nods her head and looks over, giving me a thumbs-up.
“You can speak into the microphone, Molly.” I point to the microphone that is swiveled up by her forehead.
She bends it down and gives me a thumbs-up again. “Roger, roger.” She says, before speaking again. “Over and out.” She salutes me before speaking again. “Am I supposed to say over and out, or is that just with a walkie-talkie?” She has a contemplative look on her face as she taps her finger on her face.
“It’s a two-way headset. We can both talk at the same time. So no. You don’t need to say ‘over and out.’” I laugh, shaking my head again as she gives me a thumbs up again.
“Thanks, Coop.” I hear the words come through the headset–a quiet whisper–that I think I might have imagined, but know that I didn”t.