Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
She did not want this date to end.
Scottie frowned as Tate parked the borrowed convertible in front of the bed-and-breakfast and shut off the engine.
“I probably should’ve asked rather than assumed.” He gestured toward the B&B. “Are you sleeping here, or would you rather go to your dad’s house?”
“No, I’ll stay here. There’s too much stuff crammed into my old room. Besides, Dad has made it clear that he can take care of himself.”
“Really? Huh.”
“Wait, you don’t think that’s true?” Her hand found the door lever, but she turned back. “Do you take care of my dad a lot?”
Tate shrugged. “I help him out now and then. Bring him something to eat, check on him, make sure he’s got his oxygen and his medication.”
“So you do look out for him.”
“Sometimes.”
She reached across the console and took his hand in hers. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It’s what we do for each other around here.”
A shiver danced down her spine. “Yes, but you don’t have to do that for him.”
“I want to help. Your dad’s a good guy. People like to take cheap shots at him because he got that settlement and he’s a little crusty. He’s got a heart of gold in there though.”
She laughed. “I love him, warts and all. He’s been a good dad to me.” And there it was—the ache under the laugh.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.”
She got out of the convertible. Darkness blanketed the trees surrounding the bed-and-breakfast. The porch light glowed. The silvery light from a full moon bathed their path. Most of the windows were illuminated with lamplight. Clearly nobody here was asleep. The steps creaked under their shoes.
Tate surprised her by pulling her to the far end of the porch, away from prying eyes.
Shivering, she tucked her sweater tighter around her. He stepped closer. She leaned back against the railing.
One side of his mouth tipped up in a slow grin, and he gathered her curls in one hand and tucked them behind her shoulder. “Thank you, Scottie, for going out with me. I’m so glad you enjoyed the harbor cruise.”
Oh, it would be so easy to close the distance between them. To wrap her arms around him and press her cheek against his muscular chest.
But she couldn’t. Because it wouldn’t be fair—to him or to her—if she still planned to leave. After all, she’d worked so hard. Damian had to give her that New Zealand assignment.
Unless she decided to stay. But one incredible date couldn’t reroute her entire future.
Could it?
“Tonight was amazing,” she said, letting her eyes roam his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He was close enough that she could catch the faint scent of sandalwood and coffee. They stood there, his gaze holding hers, the air between them almost electric.
“As much as I hate to leave, I think I’d better go,” he said, his voice raspy.
“I should probably get some sleep. Early call time tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Thanks again,” she said, smoothing a wrinkle on his shirt just to have an excuse to touch him one more time.
He caught her hand, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “Sleep well, Scottie.”
Her smile wavered. “Good night, Tate.”
Tate lingered, then turned and walked down the steps. She watched until he slid behind the wheel of Jude’s convertible.
Cool air rippled around her. If it weren’t for the mosquitoes, she’d stay out here and savor the cool air against her flushed skin.
Replay her favorite details of their evening together.
Besides, she really didn’t want to see him drive away.
That would only make her think more about what she’d be giving up if she left Redemption.
She turned and went inside.
Voices in the kitchen pulled her in. She found Lainey and Theo sitting across from each other.
“Hi there,” Lainey said. “How’d it go?”
“Great.” She got a glass from the cupboard and poured herself some water from the dispenser in the fridge door.
“Details,” Theo said. “We need details.”
Scottie sighed, then leaned against the refrigerator and pressed the cold glass to her hot cheek. “Harbor cruise, sunset views, a scrumptious dinner. We had manicotti, fresh dinner rolls, a delicious salad. Have you ever had anything that Shauna Rogers has made?”
“At a couple of parties,” Lainey said. “Church potlucks, that type of thing. It’s delicious.”
“She needs to get that catering business off the ground.”
“Right now I hear she’s making bank on harbor cruises.”
“You’re not wrong.” Scottie laughed. “Five out of five stars. Highly recommend.”
Lainey’s smile tilted, considering. “Speaking of stars—Theo just told me the next segment’s on a commercial fishing boat.” She took a slow sip, watching Scottie over the rim of her glass. “What does Tate think about you running camera for that?”
The glass cooled Scottie’s palm, but heat climbed her neck anyway. She felt the echo of Tate’s mouth on hers, sweet and sure—and the space where she should have told him the truth. She set the glass down.
“I didn’t tell him,” she said. What was the point? He’d just worry. Besides, tomorrow was going to be epic.
“How many more of these are you gonna send?” Megan glanced up from her phone. “Seriously, dude.”
Tate laughed, then handed an exuberant Sailor over to his sister. “There’s no such thing as too many reels about goldendoodles, Meg. Hasn’t anybody explained that to you?”
“There’s a limit,” she said. “Trust me. Come here, Sailor.”
Sailor licked her face and she laughed. “Let’s let your dad get to work. Last cruise ship of the season. I bet you’ll be glad to have a break.”
He shrugged on his jacket, then reached for his wallet and keys. “There’s a storm rolling in, so I’ll be glad to have this one behind me. Looks like a doozy. But yeah. I’ll miss meeting the people, and cruise ships are always fun to pilot.”
He reached over and scratched Sailor behind his ears. Sailor yipped, then squirmed again.
Megan clicked the leash on his collar, then set him on the floor. His claws skittered across the kitchen floor as he raced to get to the back door. “Guess we’re going outside,” she called over her shoulder. “Take care. See you tomorrow.”
“See you. Thanks for watching Sailor.” He gave them a wave as they slipped out the back door.
He fired off one more reel to Megan—a puppy in a life vest bouncing down a dock—and snorted when she immediately replied with an eye-roll emoji and seven hearts. Tate tucked his phone away, the silly warmth of the exchange lingering. After last night, everything felt a half-shade lighter.
Tate headed out to his truck. Fog clung to the tree branches, but sunlight still peeked through.
The air carried that clean, coppery chill—the first hint of fall.
Leaves had turned from green to gold on some of the cottonwoods, and the breeze teased woodsmoke from somewhere up the hill.
It made him want to breathe deeper. Stand still.
He offered a silent prayer of thanks for God’s faithfulness.
On impulse, he swung by the Copper Kettle. The new bell someone had installed over the door chimed and a wave of warmth and espresso greeted him. The line moved quickly, chatter tumbling around him—fishing reports, school schedules, who’d seen bears on the trail.
“Morning, Tate,” the barista said. “The usual?”
“Please.” He tapped his card against the card reader, then nodded toward the woman in a bright raincoat behind him. “And I’ve got hers too.”
The woman blinked, surprised, then smiled. “That’s kind.”
“Pay it forward,” he said. Little things mattered, right?
Cup in hand, he walked back outside, steam curling into the air. A few minutes later, he parked near the boat harbor, then waved at Anthony coming out of Homeport with a to-go container and coffee.
“Hey, you want me to get you something?” Anthony called.
“No, I’m good. I already ate. Thanks though.”
The wind picked up. Tate zipped his jacket, grabbed his bag, then locked his truck and followed Anthony down the ramp. The silver boat rocked as they stepped off the dock and onto the stern deck. Habit settled in as he went over the checklist that lived in his head. Work made sense. It always had.
“We headed for Shelter Cove?” Anthony asked.
“Actually, I’m supposed to meet the ship”—he glanced at his watch—“in about thirty-five minutes. Let’s head straight there.”
“Good thinking,” Anthony said. “With all this brouhaha around the filming, I’m probably going to have to reroute.”
“Wait, what?” Tate said.
“You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. “Ultimate Alaskan. Filming on a commercial fishing boat today.”
His stomach dropped—like hitting unexpected chop. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. Especially with this storm coming in, I don’t think it’s a great idea.”
“You got that right.” His scalp prickled. Scottie was probably on board already. Thoughts of their magical date and the kiss he hadn’t wanted to end spooled through his head.
“Yeah, they left about an hour ago,” Anthony said. “With plenty of support. I think they hired Cal and his family’s boat. Maybe one other. But they’re headed all the way to Hinchinbrook, so they’ve got a long day ahead of them.”
Tate’s hands shook as he followed Anthony inside the cabin. He set his coffee down before he spilled it. He’d checked the weather. Seen the radar. Whatever was rolling in off the gulf was not a threat to be ignored.
He whipped out his phone. Checked his texts. Nothing from Scottie other than a good-night text with some heart emojis from the previous night.
Why hadn’t she mentioned it? Did she think he wouldn’t find out? The old urge rose—call her, demand details, try to reroute a plan that was already underway. But he let the urge crest and pass. After all, he still had a ship to pilot. A crew depending on him to keep a clear head.
“All right,” he said, both to Anthony and himself. “Let’s stay on track here.”
Anthony slid him the iPad. Tate scanned, initialed, listened with half an ear to the radio—traffic crackle, gust reports, a buoy advisory.
C’mon, dude. Breathe. In. Out. He could hold more than one feeling at once, right? He could focus on the tasks in front of him and still think about Scottie.
He pulled out his phone again and sent Scottie a text.
Tate
Thinking about you. If you’re out near the entrance to the gulf, please be extra careful—forecast looks spicy later. I trust your crew. Text when you can. I’m praying.
He hit send. Then he closed his eyes and prayed, words simple and spare, for her protection, for sound judgment on every boat, for calm seas. And especially for his focus—on task, on timing, on the list of crucial choices that brought a ship home safely.