4. Even if He is a Sexy Fisherman
Even if He is a Sexy Fisherman
LILLIAN
“I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, use this as an opportunity to be proactive,” Harrison said at the end of our phone call yesterday when I informed him of Captain Sinclair’s disappearance.
I don’t ask if he was taken for a ride by Mr. Sinclair.
“If you can save the institute some money, that will reflect highly on you.”
I’m not sure what exactly he’s suggesting. Negotiate with the local fishermen? Use my feminine wiles to secure a boat? I decide not to think about it too deeply or else I’ll get rage-fueled heart palpitations. I’ll do my job and if that means putting my nose to the grindstone, so be it.
But if he thinks for a second, I’ll try to save the Institute money by flirting? The man is sorely mistaken.
Activity in Naknek seems contained to the docks and the few watering holes in town. I drive to The Half-Hitch but see the fisherman from the dock who called me sweetheart lumbering in, so I decide to take my chances elsewhere.
Which is how I end up at The Sea Witch, the local diner. “Like sandwich!” Comic Sans declares at the top of the laminated menu.
Naknek really is charming around every corner.
I take a seat at the counter, which gives me a full view of the diner.
It doesn’t look quite like the other diners I’ve been to in the lower forty-eight.
It’s got a pitched roof with visible wooden beams, a linoleum floor, and long communal tables.
Even the counter is more like a bar, as evidenced by the lines of liquor bottles along the wall.
I guess any place around here has to serve multiple functions if it wants to get by.
I order oatmeal and fruit and ask, haplessly, if they have chai. They tell me they have Fireball. I pass and settle for a coffee instead. I don’t like coffee, but I do need that little hit of caffeine.
Down the bar from me are a couple guys I assume are fishermen because they’re talking about, well, fish.
“I’m gonna have to help my brother up in Fairbanks this winter with his ice fishing business,” the one man says, looking down into his cup of coffee. “To make ends meet.”
“You gonna leave the girls here?” the other man asks. He’s younger with patchy facial hair and big sunken eyes that look both tired and more alert than I’ve been in years.
The first man leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his bald head. We’ll call him Baldy. “Yeah, but what can I do? Fish don’t give a shit.”
My eavesdropping is interrupted by the server arriving with my oatmeal. I thank her distractedly, not wanting to miss what they’re saying.
“It’s been getting worse. This is your first year here, so you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, but the coho don’t bite like they used to.”.
My already-piqued interest is piquing even harder.
“What do you think it is?” Patches asks.
Baldy shrugs. “I don’t know. Doesn’t help to know either because knowing doesn’t do anything.”
I take a quick inhale. Baldy’s talking about leaving his family for the winter to make ends meet. That’s a huge sacrifice.
I could help with that. I need a boat, and I have money from the Institute to pay for it.
What’s the harm in asking?
I lean toward the men. “Excuse me.”
They both look up at me, their expressions stoic.
“Are you talking about coho salmon?”
Baldy raises an eyebrow. “You listening to our conversation?”
“I—ha! I couldn’t help but overhear.”
The two men exchange a look. This isn’t going well.
“I’m actually studying the coho population in Bristol Bay. I’m from the Pacific Marine Institute,” I say, maintaining a smile despite their cool demeanor.
Cool turns to cold. Patches purses his lips. “You’re the scientist.”
“Yes! That’s me.”
Baldy grunts and looks at his coffee as if it’s primetime television.
“I need a boat to get some samples of the water and the riverbeds, and I’m trying to find someone to help me out.”
“Help you?” Patches scowls.
Jesus, even if I did use my feminine wiles, they wouldn’t make up for how annoyed these guys are with me already. “Yes! Of course, not for free. The Institute would pay you. And I just thought, since I heard you talking about how the season was slow?—”
“We don’t need your pity money, ma’am,” Baldy says without looking up.
“It’s not pity, it’s?—”
Patches rears up on his chair and gives me a hard look. “You heard him. We’re not interested.”
And with that, they go back to their conversation like I don’t even exist. Like we aren’t even breathing the same air.
I don’t mean to stare at them, but I’m flabbergasted.
People have been so nice to me since I arrived in Alaska, but suddenly, the tide has turned.
Is it because they know I’m a scientist?
“Finton’s an asshole. Don’t take it personally,” someone says next to me.
I turn to look at the source of the voice and find the bearded fishermen I saw laughing at Gwen’s the other day. The one that made me stop in my tracks and think, “Damn.”
I’m thinking “damn” again now that we’re up close and personal like this.
When my eyes meet his, amber and inviting, my mouth grows dry and my thoughts scramble.
He’s even more attractive this close. Soft lips part the darkness of his beard, the hard ridge of his nose, and brow bone.
Usually when you get close to someone, you can see all their imperfections, but he’s . . .…
Stop staring and say something.
“Wh-which one is Finton?” I ask.
The man chuckles. “The one who doesn’t look like he’s finished puberty.”
I smile and he smiles back, pink lips amidst that well-groomed beard. Oh no.
Before I can reply, the server comes up. “The usual, Matthew?”
“Please,” the man—Matthew—replies.
I busy myself by looking interested in my oatmeal, although it’s gotten cold and sticks uncomfortably to my spoon. However, distracting myself doesn’t really help. Some people just have an aura about them; something that invites you in. And Matthew has that. It’s exciting and terrifying at once.
“You’re looking for a boat?” Matthew asks as he settles onto the seat beside me, his legs so long he can prop himself up on the edge of the stool and have his feet flat on the ground.
“You heard that, huh?”
He leans on the bar and folds his hands. “I did.”
I glance at him and wait for him to say more.
His dark brows pinch in the middle, and he gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid you’re going to be hard-pressed to find someone open to helping you.”
My heart falls. “Why’s that?”
Matthew sighs. “You’ve got a reputation around here.”
I scoff louder than I mean to. “A reputation? I just got here.”
“I know, and you’ve already made quite an impression on Naknek,” Matthew says.
I’m all turned around. On one hand, he’s making me flustered because he’s handsome as hell. And on the other, I’m angry. “I’m just here to do a job. Like the rest of you.”
Matthew smiles and gives the server a nod as she stops by with a glass of orange juice for him. “Listen, uh . . . ” He raises his eyebrows so they meet his beanie. “Lillian, right?”
He must have talked to Gwen. He’s one of her brothers, I guess. “Yeah.”
“Well, Lillian,” he says my name . . . nicely. His tone is genuinely kind. I guess I can appreciate that, even if he’s not saying things I want to hear. “We have our way of doing things around here, and people don’t take kindly to outsiders coming and sticking their nose into things.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sticking my nose into things. I’m trying to help, but no one will even give me an opportunity to explain why I’m here.”
Matthew opens his palms up to the sky. “Okay, then go ahead and explain. I’m listening.”
I huff. “Are you actually going to listen, or are you going to take what I say back to your crew and try to run me out of town?”
Matthew leans on the bar and rubs his chin, hand shuffling through his beard. It’s such a subtle movement, but it’s stupidly hot. “Between you and me, Lillian.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t give my trust that easily, even if he is a sexy fisherman.
“Promise. We might all be suspicious as hell around here, but we’re earnest to a fault. I don’t lie,” Matthew says.
He even sounds earnest. Even if he’s lying, it’s not like it’ll hurt telling him my plight.
He’ll just go back to his friends and tell them I’m exactly what they thought.
That I’m hiding something or trying to pull the wool over their eyes.
“Fine. I work for the Pacific Marine Institute in Southern California. I’ve been sent out here because coho salmon populations have been on the decline. You know this, of course.”
Matthew lifts his chin. “I do.”
The simplicity of his response sends chills down my spine.
“Right. You all do. So, you know better than anyone why it’s important we figure out why.
Because this is your livelihood. And I want to help with that,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest. “I want to figure out what’s going on, so my team can make recommendations to help.
I’m here because I care, not because I want to get in the way. ”
The server comes back with a plate made for a man like Matthew.
Eggs, bacon, toast, the works. I bet he burns a lot of calories working on the boat.
I will not let myself get distracted by thinking about all the muscles he must have, definitely not.
“Um, anyway, I understand that I’m an outsider, but surely you all can understand it’s important we figure out what’s happening so your livelihood isn’t on the line, right? ”
Matthew makes me wait while he takes a bite of food. At least he has the decency to chew it all up and swallow before he speaks. “Your logic is sound.”
“Thank you.”
“If you were in California,” he says, punctuating the air with his fork.
I blink. “What?”
I have to wait for another bite of food. “It’s not the fact you’re doing the research. It’s what comes after. Because, what? You’re going to run back to California and show them your data and then?”
“Well, we’ll give recommendations to the government and?—”