4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Joel
By midafternoon, I’m elbow-deep in the guts of a pontoon boat two docks down from Mercury Slice when I hear her voice.
“Is it true that you know how to fix literally everything?”
I glance up.
Rayna stands at the top of the dock ramp with her hands on her hips and her Mercury Slice visor pushed back on her head. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat.
She’s so damn beautiful.
“Depends on what needs fixing,” I say.
“The freezer door in the storage shed is sticking, and Mikki said you might still be nearby and to go find you.”
I wipe my hands on a rag and stand. “You found me.”
“I can see that.”
“Give me five.”
“I can wait.”
I look at the pontoon owner, who is sitting in a folding chair with a glass of sweet tea and no real urgency. “You good for a few?”
He waves me off. “Go rescue the pizza girl.”
Rayna groans. “Please don’t let that nickname stick.”
I chuckle, grabbing my toolbox.
She falls into step beside me as we head back toward Mercury Slice. “You don’t have to come right away,” she says. “If you’re busy.”
I shrug. “It’s no problem.”
We walk in silence the rest of the way, Rayna leading the way to the freezer. I spot the problem immediately. The freezer door is jammed because the bottom hinge has shifted and the weather stripping is catching. It’s a ten-minute fix, tops.
So, I take twenty. Just to spend more time with Rayna.
She stands nearby and hands me tools when I ask for them. She guesses wrong twice, then gets determined about learning the difference between a flathead and a Phillips screwdriver, which makes me smile.
“So,” she says after a minute. “Boat repair, dock repair, freezer repair. Anything else you take care of?”
“Small engines. Golf carts. Jet skis. The occasional grill.”
“Grill?”
“You wouldn’t believe how many tourists don’t know how to use a grill. They usually call me because they can’t figure out how to turn the damn thing on.”
She laughs softly, and the sound settles into the shaded space between us.
“What brought you here?” I ask.
Her smile fades a little, not all the way, but enough for me to notice.
“Work,” she says.
“At Mercury Slice?”
“For now.”
I glance at her, waiting.
She leans back against a stack of folded chairs and crosses her arms. “I needed a reset. My last job was awful. My apartment lease ended. My cousin lives here, and she told me Mikki needed summer help. One of her roommates was going to be away this summer, too, so I had a place to crash. So, here I am.”
“Just for the summer.”
“That’s the plan.”
I tighten the hinge more than I need to. “And when the summer ends?”
“I don’t know.” She looks toward the lake. “Somewhere else, probably. I’m not really a roots person.”
I know better than to argue with a woman I met three hours ago.
So, I don’t.
But I don’t like it.
Mercury Ridge is all roots. It’s roads that curve the way your memory expects them to. It’s people who know your truck, your pizza order, your birthday, and your bad habits. It can be a lot sometimes, but there’s comfort in that, too. In Mercury Ridge, everyone matters.
I want Rayna to experience that. If she did, I think she’d change her mind about this just for the summer thing.
I test the freezer door. It opens smoothly.
“There,” I say.
She steps closer. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That was fast.”
“Actually, I dragged it out.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
I probably shouldn’t have admitted that.
Then she smiles. “You did?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
I close the toolbox. “So I could talk to you.”
Her mouth falls into a tiny O, and I desperately want to kiss her.
She’s close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering at the side of her neck. Close enough that if I lifted my hand, I could brush that loose strand of hair away from her cheek.
But she’s at work. And if I ever do kiss her, I’ll never want to stop.
And she’s only here for the summer.
“I should get back to that pontoon job,” I say.
“Right.” She nods, but she looks a little disappointed.
That almost does me in.
At the edge of the dock, she pauses. “Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For the freezer. And earlier.”
“Anytime.”
By the time I finish the pontoon and wash up, the sun is dropping lower, turning the water gold. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Rayna all day, and I’ve made a decision.
I’m going to shoot my shot, whether she’s determined to just stay for the season or not.
I drive my boat back over to Mercury Slice again, and I immediately spot her carrying one pizza box tightly in her hands. She looks steadier on her feet now.
I watch as she delivers the pizza to a couple of college-aged guys in a john boat. They grin at her, and she smiles back at them. A feeling of jealousy rolls over me. I quickly tie off my boat and hop onto the deck.
“Hey, Rayna!” I call, walking over to her before I can talk myself out of it.
She turns away from the men, and I feel a sense of smug satisfaction when the smile she was wearing stretches even wider at the sight of me.
“Hello, again,” she says.
I nod toward my boat. “You ever been out on the lake at sunset?”
Her gaze shifts past me. “Not yet.”
“Free tonight?”
She hesitates, then nods. “I get off work at seven.”
“I’ll pick you up here.” Then I turn back to my boat, grinning like an idiot.
At seven, Rayna comes down the dock in cutoff shorts, a soft blue tank top, and strappy sandals. Her hair is down now, falling around her shoulders, and she looks less like the girl who spent the day running pizzas and more like the kind of woman a man wants to spend the rest of his life with.
I offer my hand to help her into the boat.
She takes it.
This time, she doesn’t let go too fast. Her soft hand lingers in mine a moment before she lets go and takes a seat.
The engine turns over, low and steady, and I guide us away from the dock, out onto open water. Behind us, Mercury Slice glows with string lights and noise. Ahead, the lake stretches quiet and wide, the sun sinking toward the tree line.
Rayna sits beside me, one hand lifted to hold her hair back from the breeze.
“This is beautiful,” she says.
“Yeah.”
I’m not looking at the lake.
She notices.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn’t look away.
And for the first time all day, neither do I.