Second Tide’s the Charm

Chapter One

one

hope

There’s a mother barreling toward me with rage-eyes and a kayak paddle, but it’s not my fault her kid interrupted the lesson to spout fishy inaccuracies. She must catch sight of me eyeing the paddle because she jabs it into the sand—not a whole lot less terrifying—before advancing toward me empty-handed but still radiating anger.

“Did you tell my son there are sharks out there?” She gestures behind her at the sparkling, sharkless blue water of Lake Michigan.

I should probably close my eyes and count to three or something, but instead I ignore her, grab the paddle out of an abundance of caution, and carry it back toward the rack. The squeak of sand lets me know I’m being followed, and the woman calls out, “Is this a joke to you?”

Am I laughing? I am not. Not on the outside at least. Besides, her kid isn’t scared in the slightest, just embarrassed I didn’t let him get away with shaming the younger teen who asked about freshwater sharks. Could I have let it go? Probably. Possibly. Not really.

Misconceptions about sharks abound, and it’s my job to correct that. Well, not in my current job description. But it’s a strain to take off my marine biologist hat for the sake of good customer service.

“The website listed paddleboarding as a family-friendly activity. I am this close to giving your company a one-star review.”

That threat brings me up short. My best friend, Zuri, worked incredibly hard to launch her own business, and I can’t be responsible for her losing it. Not when she’s already lost so much.

I suck in a deep breath, then exhale and turn to face the woman. “Like I told your son—” after a circuitous explanation involving salinity and shark adaptations “—there are no sharks in the Great Lakes.”

To illustrate that fact, I swallow down the humiliation and dip my chin toward the T-shirt Zuri insists I wear while on the clock, identical to the ones she sells in the gift shop. The lettering says: LAKE MICHIGAN, UNSALTED AND SHARK-FREE. She thinks it’s cute, and despite my grumbling, I think it’s a great conversation starter. Case in point, this one.

“I can read, thank you,” the woman says through her teeth. “What I want to know is why you told my son some sharks can survive in fresh water?”

“Because they can?” I scrunch my face up. Not the right response, but I can’t bring myself to be sorry. “Bull sharks have been found miles upriver. Their kidneys are uniquely adapted to handle varying salinity levels. However, that’s the exception—”

“To summarize—” my best friend’s voice cuts through the humid air “—there are no sharks here. Right, Hope?”

I clamp my mouth shut as Zuri strides over, her braids twisted into a bun on top of her head, secured with a Surf to Shore visor. She’s right of course. This discussion is a moot point since river sharks don’t live on this continent and regardless, no shark could make its way to Lake Michigan via the waterways.

“Correct.” I turn a closed-lip smile on the woman, making sure to block her access to the canoe paddles with my body, just in case. “There are zero sharks in the Great Lakes.”

“Not even bull sharks?”

“Definitely not bull sharks,” I tell her. “Also, most shark species are harmless to humans, and there’re far scarier things in the Great Lakes than sharks. Take toxic algae—”

Zuri steps between me and the woman. “Did I mention we offer our customers a half-off coupon for shaved ice?” She digs into her belt bag and pulls one out. “And if you stop in at Surf to Shore, you and your son are welcome to pick out a T-shirt for your troubles.” Holding out the coupon, she lifts her chin toward town. “Head up Pine Street and it’ll be on your right after you cross the bridge. Impossible to miss.”

The woman shoots me one last glare before telling her kid it’s time to go. They’re the last of the 12:30 slot of paddleboarders, and I’ve got two hours before the next group arrives, but Zuri’s scowl lets me know I won’t be taking it easy during my break.

“Toxic algae?”

I grimace. “Okay, not exactly tourism website worthy. But—”

“That’s a new low, even for you.”

Harsh, especially since I took this job as a favor when she had trouble finding seasonal help. Though the line’s become blurred as to who’s helping whom at this point, three years after a holiday visit to my hometown became a permanent move in the wake of her husband’s death.

“If you would’ve let me finish, I would’ve told her toxic algae blooms aren’t affecting our area. Yet,” I finish under my breath, and she points a finger at me.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to hire you. You’ve never been able to resist saying scary shit.”

“Sharks are fascinating, not scary.” Not to mention vital and misunderstood. “As for the algae, what’s scary is how uninformed the general public is about the issue.”

She sighs, head tipping to the side.

“Hear me out.” I gather my curls into a high ponytail and use my teeth to pull the hair tie off my wrist. “That woman might go home, fire up her internet browser, read up on harmful algae blooms and decide to—”

“Write a blank check for freshwater conservation?” Zuri’s dark brows disappear in the shadow of her visor.

Doubtful, but I double down. “Maybe she lives in one of the beachfront mansions and is on the lookout for a worthy environmental cause to support.” The multimillion-dollar homes that line the bluff bring an influx of residents to our tourist town every summer, and their spending cash keeps the town afloat.

“Or maybe she’s not going to wait till she gets home.” Zuri gestures toward the crowded beach parking lot, where the woman in question is handing over her credit card to placate her son with a shaved ice from the food truck. “Maybe she’s going to find a shady spot, fire up her cell phone, and leave me yet another scathing review.”

Darn. That is the more plausible scenario.

“I could go say sorry.”

“Oh my gosh no.” She grabs my arm before I can head toward the sandy boardwalk, her palm clammy against my sun-warmed skin. “Do not chase that woman down. That’s a guaranteed one-star. Maybe even a complaint to the Better Business Bureau.” A shudder goes through her, then she lets go and looks me in the face.

Uh-oh. I know that look.

“Hope, I love you.”

“Back at you.” I bare my teeth in my most charming smile.

Her lips flatten into a line, the same exasperated expression I often receive from friends and family. “I love you, but that would be the third one-star rating I’ve had since I hired you.”

“Technically, the first one came when I was still training, so...”

“Hope.” She repeats my name with the warning tone of a mom threatening to turn the car around. “You’re fired.”

I’ve never been fired before, and it’s a unique sensation. Like bungee jumping at a discounted rate. A thrill mixed with a reasonable amount of panic. Freeing, but also mildly horrifying.

“ Fired , fired?” My voice sounds stunned, even to my own ears. The fact that I didn’t want this job in the first place doesn’t mean I want it snatched out from under me. Shepherding tourists on paddleboards and kayaks isn’t where I saw myself at thirty, but helping out Zuri has given me an excuse to put off coming to grips with the embarrassing truth that I’ve let heartbreak derail my career. “Or more of a temporary suspension?”

“You really think I can pay you to sit the bench?”

“Fair point.” Surf to Shore is not exactly a corporation. “But I promise I can do better. Especially if you stop making me wear these shirts.” I pluck the fabric away from my chest, damp in the muggy June heat. “They’re an open invitation to—”

“Deliver unsolicited lectures about sharks?”

My mouth drops open, then I shrug. “I mean, yes.”

“Everything is an open invitation for you to educate people about sharks.” She sighs. “Which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily. That’s why I’m kicking you out of the nest.”

I squint against the sun reflecting off the brilliant turquoise of the lake behind her, my sunglasses forgotten in my beach bag as usual. “Are you the mama bird in this scenario?”

“When am I not?” she asks, and I chuckle, thinking of how she rounded up the employees this morning and checked to make sure everyone had a water bottle and snacks. Her smile fades, though. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without your help after Eric’s accident.” She sniffs, but her eyes are dry, holding my gaze. “But I’ve found my way. And I refuse to be your excuse to keep hiding.”

I’m used to being called impulsive and single-minded, but I am not timid. I’m not hiding from anything. Except my old colleagues, career, and a certain shark researcher with midnight-dark eyes and a lopsided grin who broke my heart by letting go.

“I’ve only been here for a month.” My previous job, working on an invasive species study in northern Michigan, wrapped up in the spring. Knowing the project was coming to an end, I should’ve had something lined up, but returning to shark research also means facing my ex-boyfriend. The possibility of running into him has kept me stalled, procrastinating my job hunt as if delaying the inevitable will make a difference.

“Long enough to make it clear to everyone, including my customers —” I flinch at the emphasis “—that you don’t want to be here.”

Shoreline Dunes is one of my favorite places. But while the lack of sharks in the Great Lakes is a huge draw for some people, for me, it’s a drawback. I can’t reboot my career if I refuse to leave the safety net of my hometown.

“It’s embarrassing, how much time I let pass.” The words scrape their way past a throat gone dry. I drop my head, catching sight of the turquoise nail polish on my toes, chipped from navigating the rocks at the water’s edge.

What began as a few months away to help Zuri care for her young children after the sudden loss of her husband somehow turned into three years. Somewhere along the way, shark research became entangled with my feelings for Adrian, and if I can’t manage to separate the two, I’ll remain stranded.

A moment later, an arm comes around my shoulders. Zuri, pulling me in for a hug. “Life happens. But we keep going, right?” Her words are born of experience, picking up the pieces after unimaginable loss, and my heart lurches for her.

The truth is, I have no qualms about defending my employment history. My work in the lab gave me worthwhile experience. But applying for jobs or going back for a PhD means coming to grips with the fact that not only am I starting over but that my worst fears about love were absolutely founded.

“I was thinking of applying to the Shedd,” I tell her, and she pulls away, frowning.

“You’d work at an aquarium in Chicago? With tourists?” Her skepticism tells me she’s fully aware of how I view tourists. One star. Would not recommend.

“Not like I plan to work the ticket counter.” Besides, I worked at an aquarium for a time, while earning my master’s degree, and unlike my current—former, I guess—gig working for Zuri, there were no complaints on my job performance back then.

A warm breeze shifts off the lake, bringing with it the crisp, earthy scent of fresh water, so different from the briny tang of the Atlantic. Here, at least, memories of the man I used to love with my whole heart aren’t everywhere I look, but the call of gulls is enough to transport me back to a dock at sunrise. Adrian’s calloused palm against mine, our fingers laced together.

The first time he’d told me caught me by surprise. I love you. I’d looked up at him, backlit by pink and violet and tangerine hues of dawn, all broad-shouldered vulnerability, and when he spoke those three words, my whole world changed.

Before that, I loved how effortless it felt to be near him. I loved how we fit together, even when we were apart. But that morning, I realized I loved him . Loved Adrian with a fierceness that defied comprehension.

Even now, my lips part in memory of the kiss that followed those words, threaded through with want and promise, my fingers flexing at the phantom touch of his tight curls beneath my fingertips, his touch remembered by every cell of my body.

But all I want is to forget.

A volleyball lands nearby, splattering my shins with grains of sand, and the wisps of memory dissolve. I toss it back to the group of swimsuit-clad beachgoers by the net. “I just thought I’d be over him by now.”

“You’re really going to let a guy keep you away from sharks?” She grabs one end of a kayak and I stoop to lift the other. It sounds irrational because it is, even though she knows full well Adrian isn’t just any guy. He’s the guy, the one I never expected to find, never went looking for. The one who showed me a kind of love I didn’t think existed.

My feelings for him defy logic. No person should have that strong an effect on another. Love isn’t quantifiable, and yet here I am, still trying to fall out of love with a man I haven’t spoken to in years.

We hoist the kayak onto the rack, the fiberglass hull a reminder of the moments I spent with Adrian at sea, rushing to catch a glimpse of my first shark, pointing overboard at the dark shape below, his presence warm and solid against my shoulder, both of us breathless with excitement. Memories I can’t seem to leave in the past. “It just feels so daunting to start over.”

“Why don’t you reach out to some of your old contacts?” Zuri suggests, like I haven’t thought about that. But thinking is all I seem to do lately. The lack of action is unlike me. “They might have leads you’re not seeing online.”

Nothing I haven’t already considered and discarded. “I barely speak to anyone in the shark community.” Too painful without taking part. I don’t even have social media anymore to keep tabs on people. “Marissa is the only one who keeps in touch, and the last time we talked was her birthday.”

“Reach out. It’s worth a try.”

“Why, so she can tell Adrian I’m desperate?” She’s Adrian’s cousin, and while our friendship outlasted my relationship with him, I have no doubts of her ultimate loyalty.

“Aren’t you?” At my glare, she relents. “Is she that kind of person?”

“No.” Marissa’s not vindictive, or else she wouldn’t have spoken to me after I stopped dating Adrian. But family comes first, and distance has weakened our once strong friendship. “At least, I don’t think so, but—”

“Text her,” Zuri insists. “What have you got to lose?”

Good question. I’ve already lost the love of my life, my career, and as of five minutes ago, my day job. And I know Zuri won’t let up until I follow her advice. It’s impossible to bluff with a friend who’s known me since we both staged a walk-out—or maybe it was a crawl-out?—of tiny tot ballet class.

I squat by my backpack and dig out my phone, scrolling down to the thread with Marissa. Our last conversation was months ago, and I wince at the idea of breaking the silence with a request. But one thing that’s kept my friendship with Marissa intact is we always pick up right where we left off. Except this time, I’m going to raise the subject I haven’t broached in years.

Hope: Long story, but say I was looking to get back into shark research...

Marissa: I don’t care how long the story is, I need details! But first: are you really thinking of coming back??

Hope: Not just thinking about it.

Marissa: Please tell me you’re serious, because if so, your timing is perfection.

A thrill of anticipation runs through me. Another text appears, but the wind whips streaks of sand across my screen, obscuring the words. Hands unsteady, I swipe away the grains to reveal what might be my way back into shark research.

Marissa: Don’t get too excited. There’s a catch.

My mind instantly floods with potential issues. An unpaid position? Not ideal at this stage in my career, but I’ve got savings. Something that starts immediately? I could pack my bags and be gone tomorrow. A job outside the country? Logistical hurdles, but an exciting opportunity. I can only think of one deal-breaker. Working with Adrian.