Page 60 of Changing Tides

“I just might do that,” I say.

His grin turns to a smile that reaches his eyes. “Atta girl.”

I can feel the blush crawl up my neck at his tone.

“What would a day of fishing with you entail?” I ask.

“Well, on a charter, we go about fifteen miles offshore, where the cobia, mahi, king mackerel, and amberjack are. If everyone does well and there’s no severe seasickness or anything, I’ll takeyou deeper. Approximately fifty-two miles offshore is ideal for wahoo, mahi-mahi, and schools of bonita. The bonita are fun to catch because when they sprint, you have to wrestle them to get them on board.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Is that the farthest you go out?”

He leans forward. “No, for our more experienced anglers, I’ll take them sixty miles out to the reef, where they can catch grouper, in addition to wahoo, and mahi-mahi.”

“Hmm, sixty miles—that’s quite a jaunt,” I muse.

“Oh, but the best is bluewater, and that’s around seventy-five miles off the coast. It’s only for die-hard fishermen. Out there, you can catch much larger wahoo and mahi or the coveted sailfish. Maybe even a blue marlin. Although they’re hard to get.”

“Have you gotten one?” I ask.

“Me? Several.”

“And how much would a trip to the big-game fish cost me?” I ask.

He steeples his fingers and stares at me. “That’s a full-day charter. You’d have me and the boat all to yourself. It’s usually about twenty-five hundred dollars.”

I whistle low. “Twenty-five hundred. Whew, that’s a little rich for my blood,” I say.

His eyes burn into mine. “I’m sure we could work something out in trade.”

“I don’t know. Maybe a nice, long inshore day with Sebby is more my speed.”

“I guarantee I’m exactly the right speed for you,” he whispers as the server arrives with our entrées.

“What about you? Do you plan to return to New York when you leave Sandcastle Cove?” he asks as the server tops his rib eye with fresh ground pepper.

He thanks them, and they offer pepper to me for my shrimp Alfredo.

“Yeah, maybe. I got the apartment in my divorce, and if my boss at the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation has it his way, I’ll be back before Thanksgiving. I’m just not sure,” I say.

I do love the charming two-bedroom loft Conrad and I purchased right after Leia was born. It’s in a great neighborhood, close to food and transportation. I was grateful he didn’t fight me for custody of the prime location. Guilt is the driving factor, I’m sure. Over the next few years, we acquired a couple of other investment properties; they are being sold off, and then the proceeds will be divided between us. I could sure use some of those funds right about now.

I shake the thoughts from my head as I take a bite of the pasta and wash it down with another sip of cabernet. It’s divine.

“Is that what you want? To go back to work with them?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’m torn. They do great work, but it’s all bureaucratic. That’s why I started the PhD program to begin with,” I admit.

“You’re a doctor. That’s impressive.”

“No, not yet. I’m working toward it though,” I reply.

“What got you interested in marine science?”

“Friends of my parents owned a small house on Tybee Island, and they let us borrow it a couple of weeks every summer when I was little. I loved the ocean. I was obsessed with dolphins, whales, sand dollars, and seahorses. I don’t know. It was so different from Atlanta. Even though it was only a four-hour drive, it felt like it was a completely different world. I dreamed of living and working there someday. I guess the career path kinda chose me from there.”

“And a doctor was born.”

“Again, not a doctor—yet,” I clarify.

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