Chapter 6
The morning after kissing two of the three men I was temporarily living with, I learned that a shared beach house had terrible acoustics for pretending nothing had happened.
Not because anyone had heard me kiss Rafe in the equipment bay or Gray beside the pantry. At least I hoped not. But because every tiny silence at breakfast suddenly had enough room inside it for several bad decisions and one developing logistical nightmare.
Rafe stood at the stove making pancakes with Nico. Gray packed June’s lunch. Cole drank coffee at the end of the counter and watched all of us with the calm expression of a man who had noticed smoke but had not yet located the fire.
I concentrated on slicing a peach.
This was not my assigned household labor. I wanted a peach. That distinction mattered to me with an intensity that probably required professional evaluation.
Nico pointed his spatula at me. “Dad says pancakes taste better when they are shaped like sharks.”
“They do,” Rafe said.
“They are circles,” Gray said.
“They are conceptual sharks.”
June looked at the plate. “That one looks like Florida.”
“Florida is basically a land shark,” Rafe said.
Cole took a drink of coffee. “No.”
Rafe looked offended. “You don’t even know where I was going with that.”
“I know enough.”
I laughed and immediately made the mistake of looking at Rafe.
His eyes met mine.
There it was. The kiss, sitting between us in broad daylight wearing swim trunks and a stupid grin.
I looked away and found Gray watching me.
Excellent.
Two bad decisions accounted for.
Cole’s coffee mug paused halfway to his mouth.
Three.
Nora came in carrying my backup camera, which she was allowed to hold only because the battery was out and the lens cap was on.
“Can I take pictures at breakfast?”
Cole’s attention shifted to her. “Ask Piper.”
“Can I?”
“Of anything except people chewing.”
“Why?”
“Because I have professional ethics.”
Rafe flipped a pancake. “Where were those ethics yesterday?”
The kitchen went silent.
I stared at him.
Gray closed his eyes.
Cole slowly lowered his mug.
Rafe blinked once.
“I meant the tourist who wanted her to photograph him standing on a restricted dune,” he said.
“No, you didn’t,” Nico said.
Rafe pointed the spatula at his son. “Eat your land shark.”
I laughed so hard I had to put the knife down.
Even Gray lost the fight with his mouth.
Cole did not laugh.
He looked at Rafe, then Gray, then me.
Not angry.
Worse.
Accurate.
My stomach tightened.
Nora lifted the camera. “Dad, you look weird.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I take it?”
“Apparently.”
She pressed the shutter out of habit, producing absolutely nothing.
“Battery,” I reminded her.
“I know.”
“Good photographer.”
That pleased her enough to redirect the room.
Ten minutes later, backpacks were zipped, teeth were allegedly brushed, and Cole had walked Nora to the front porch because the school shuttle stopped at the end of the block during festival week.
Gray left with June. Rafe took Nico.
I stood alone in the kitchen with three coffee cups, my own plate, and an extremely loud bird.
Mango leaned sideways on his perch.
“Bad idea,” he announced.
“You are becoming repetitive.”
“Take your pants off!”
“Better range. Still not helpful.”
Cole came back inside.
He stopped in the doorway.
I stopped wiping peach juice off my fingers.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
Then he looked at Mango. “You have terrible timing.”
Mango clicked his beak.
“Inherited trait,” I said.
Cole’s gaze returned to me.
“Rafe?”
There was no point pretending I did not understand.
“Yes.”
His jaw shifted.
“And Gray?”
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
I folded the dish towel and set it beside the sink.
“Would you like to ask an actual question?”
“I am trying to decide which one.”
“Take your time. I have a nine-thirty shoot with three emotionally well-adjusted business owners.”
That got the smallest movement at the corner of his mouth.
“Rafe told me he kissed you.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
I blinked. “He told you?”
“He said he didn’t want me finding out because he was being obnoxious about it.”
“That is surprisingly mature.”
“He hated every second.”
“That sounds more like him.”
Cole leaned one shoulder against the doorway. “Gray didn’t tell me.”
“I doubt Gray tells anyone anything until he has converted it into a spreadsheet.”
“He uses spreadsheets.”
“Of course he does.”
The humor helped, but not enough.
Cole looked toward the front windows. Morning light cut across the old wood floor in hard bright rectangles.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I almost laughed.
“That is your question?”
“First one.”
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“Work okay?”
“Also yes.”
“House okay?”
“Cole.”
His gaze came back to mine.
“You’re checking safety conditions because talking about the fact that I kissed your two best friends is uncomfortable.”
“Yes.”
The direct answer knocked the air out of my irritation.
“Well. Points for honesty.”
“I don’t know what I think yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth and came back up.
That tiny movement did more damage than Rafe shirtless.
I folded my arms.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Cole went very still.
“Stop what?”
“Kissing people in this house.”
“That isn’t my decision.”
“I know. I’m asking what you want, not what you can authorize.”
His expression changed.
Gray had looked irritated when I asked him that question.
Cole looked cornered.
Interesting.
“I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he said.
“Still not an answer.”
“No.”
I waited.
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of his coffee mug.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Heat moved low through me.
“That sounded painful.”
“It wasn’t enjoyable.”
“Lying would have been easier.”
“I’m bad at it.”
“Good.”
He looked at me for another second, then pushed away from the doorway.
“We need to leave in twenty minutes if you still want staff portraits before the light gets ugly.”
Professional retreat.
Fine.
I could respect strategic withdrawal.
Mostly.
“I want them,” I said. “All three of you. Company front, dock, then individual portraits.”
“Rafe knows?”
“He has been informed that a shirt is mandatory.”
“That won’t help.”
“Nothing helps.”
Cole’s mouth finally gave me the almost-smile.
It was enough to get me through the next twenty minutes without making anything worse.
The Tide & Timber group portrait should have taken fifteen minutes.
It took forty-two.
The first problem was Rafe.
The second problem was that Gray knew the first problem was Rafe and had therefore arrived irritated in advance.
The third problem was Cole, who had apparently decided that if he stood very still, the camera could not detect feelings.
“Closer,” I told them.
Rafe put an arm around Cole’s shoulders.
“Not prom close.”
Rafe moved closer.
“That is more prom.”
Gray looked at me. “Can we remove him digitally?”
“Not within budget.”
Rafe pointed at Gray. “Jealousy.”
“Of deletion?”
“Of my charisma.”
Gray looked into my lens. “Please document my suffering.”
I shot three frames.
“Perfect. Keep that.”
Cole glanced at him. “You encouraged her.”
“It was an error.”
I backed toward the edge of the dock, checked my angle, and immediately caught Cole’s warning look.
“I am six feet from the edge.”
“Five.”
“Do not make me use a wider lens out of spite.”
“Use whatever lens keeps you on the dock.”
Rafe grinned. “That sounded romantic.”
“Everything sounds romantic to you,” Gray said.
“Not tax notices.”
I lowered the camera.
“All three of you look at me.”
They did.
That was the problem.
Three men, three entirely different kinds of attention.
Rafe’s was warm and amused, like he already knew what my mouth felt like and enjoyed possessing the information.
Gray’s was steadier, more private. A look that remembered exactly how hard I had pulled on his shirt and had filed the fact somewhere permanent.
Cole’s was quiet enough to be dangerous.
The camera suddenly felt like a very thin professional barrier.
“Now look at each other,” I said.
Rafe turned toward Cole.
Gray looked at Rafe.
Cole looked at Gray.
I took the picture before any of them could pose.
There.
Not three hot men arranged for a website.
Three men who had spent most of their lives learning each other’s weather.
The frame had history in it.
Rafe’s hand still rested lightly at Cole’s shoulder. Gray’s mouth had softened by a fraction. Cole looked like he was trying not to react to something Gray had said before I lifted the camera.
I checked the screen.
“Got it.”
Gray stepped away first. “Good.”
Rafe peered over my shoulder. “We look competent.”
“You are competent.”
“That almost sounded affectionate.”
“Don’t push it.”
Cole stayed where he was.
I turned to him. “You’re last.”
“For what?”
“Individual portrait.”
“You already have individual portraits.”
“I have you working. I need one where people can identify you without a steering wheel.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes customers want to know what the captain looks like before they hand him their family and several hundred dollars.”
“They can see me when they arrive.”
I stared at him.
Rafe walked backward toward the storefront. “Good luck, Piper. He once tried to use his Coast Guard credential photo on a Father’s Day post.”
Cole looked at him. “It was a photograph.”
“It was a hostage situation.”
Gray followed Rafe. “He isn’t wrong.”
I pointed toward the boat. “Go.”
Cole sighed and went.
Ten minutes later, I had six acceptable frames and one very unprofessional awareness of the way his navy polo stretched across his shoulders.
“Inside,” I said.
He looked toward the little cabin below the forward deck. “Why?”
“Window light.”
“It’s dark.”
“That is why God invented exposure compensation.”
“I thought that was Canon.”
“Blasphemy. Move.”
He ducked through the cabin door.
I followed with one camera body and a small reflector because the space was too tight for anything more elaborate.
The cabin was simple and practical. Bench seat. Storage. Small enclosed head. A narrow berth that existed mostly so someone could claim the boat technically had somewhere to lie down.
I stood near the companionway and looked at the light.
“Turn toward the window.”
Cole turned.