7. Tess #3
A truck’s backup alarm cut through the aerators, followed by the hiss of compressed air outside the shack.
Tess capped her pen and looked through the open doorway as a wholesale box truck settled beside the loading deck.
Its cargo door already stood open, exposing rows of taped cartons stacked behind the ramp.
A driver climbed down from the cab with a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. He crossed the shells and stopped at the threshold.
“You signing for Sully?”
“I’m receiving it.” Tess stepped away from the counter. “Let me see the load first.”
The driver lifted the clipboard. “Twenty flats of fluorocarbon leader. Dozen spools of fifty-pound braid.”
“Cargo door open?”
“Ready for you.”
Tess followed him outside, leaving the receipt book on the counter. Heat rolled off the truck body and deck, but the nausea from earlier had faded enough to stay out of her way. She climbed onto the edge of the loading ramp and scanned the visible cartons while the driver waited beside her.
Each flat carried the supplier label and item code. Tess counted the stacks once, then checked the smaller cartons holding the braid against the quantities printed on the invoice.
Twenty.
Twelve.
Nothing missing.
The driver held the clipboard toward her. “All there?”
“Looks right. Give me the paper.”
He passed it over, the ballpoint secured under the clip. Tess read each line before putting the pen to the paper. Three years of signing nothing more consequential than delivery acknowledgments at a mansion had taught her to expect someone else to handle the paperwork that mattered.
Nobody was handling this one for her.
Behind them, Briggs crossed from the outboard side of the property and stopped beside the shack wall. “You want these shutters open?”
Tess glanced through the doorway. Heat had collected beneath the roof again, trapping the smell of bait and bleach.
“Please. This room’s cooking.”
“Got it.”
Briggs caught the first shutter and pulled it outward. The hinges protested as the panel moved, then the shack brightened along one wall. He secured it against the siding before crossing to the next.
The driver tapped the invoice with one finger. “Need a signature at the bottom.”
“I know.”
Tess braced the clipboard against her palm and ran her finger down the carbon-copy lines one last time. The point dragged against the paper as she pressed down hard.
She wrote her name on the line.
Tess Ford.
No handler had told her where to sign. No assistant had reviewed the page first. The driver had brought a commercial shipment onto Sully’s property and waited for her approval before unloading a single carton.
This is mine to get right.
She handed the clipboard back.
The second shutter opened behind her, and coastal air pushed through the shack. It carried salt and fuel, but at least the trapped heat began moving.
“You want the cartons inside?” the driver asked.
“Deck first.” Tess pointed toward the clear section beside the back entrance. “Stack them there and keep the aisle open. I’ll bring the flats inside after I clear the counter orders.”
“You worried about weather?”
“I’m worried about people tripping over inventory.”
“Fair enough.”
He tore off the carbon copy and offered it to her. Tess took the sheet, folded it once, and tucked it beneath the receipt book on the counter where bait water could not reach it.
Briggs stepped back from the wall and checked the opened shutters. “Better?”
“Much.”
“You need a hand with the cartons?”
Tess watched the driver already lowering his hand truck from the cargo bay. “He’s got the unloading. I need the windows open and the floor clear.”
Briggs nodded. “Then I’ll stay out of your way.”
The answer landed with the same ease as the buckets earlier. No debate. No insistence that she needed rescuing from a job she was paid to do.
Outside, the driver rolled the first stack toward the deck.
“Twenty flats coming down first,” he called.
“Keep the braid separate,” Tess answered. “I want to count it again before it hits the shelf.”
“You already counted it.”
“I’m counting it twice.”
The driver gave her a look, then shrugged. “Your inventory.”
Exactly.
Tess stepped aside as the first cartons rolled onto the deck. She directed them toward the exterior wall, leaving a wide path to the back entrance. Briggs backed out onto the shells to give the hand truck room to turn.
For the next few minutes, she focused entirely on quantities, placement, and the scrape of wheels across the deck.
By the time the final carton came off the truck, sweat had gathered along Tess’s hairline again. She wiped it away and checked the braid count a second time.
Twelve spools.
The driver folded his ramp into the cargo bay. “Driveway’s yours again.”
“Appreciate it.”
He climbed back into the cab while Briggs returned to his shop. Tess remained at the threshold with the shipment stacked exactly where she had ordered it.
The shack smelled like fish. Her shirt stuck to her back. More work waited before sunset.
She had earned her place here.