Page 35 of Make Me Yours

Well, the garage part, maybe. Rent prices are insane in Sea Breeze. There just isn’t enough housing to go around. There’s no shame in living in an apartment on a relative’s property, but I would have assumed I would have had someone sharing it with me by now. And I was positive I’d have my associate’s degreein photography from the community college. I started online classes the spring after graduation, as soon as the most active part of lobstering season was over.

But sometime in my first two years of working full time on the boat, I started resenting the fact that I had to spend two evenings a week and a good chunk of my weekends on schoolwork. I busted my ass five to six days a week doing intense, physical labor. On my time off, I wanted to read for fun, go on a hike through the marsh or dancing at the Moose Club, and spend book club nights giggling with my girls.

I gave up on my degree with twelve credits left to graduate. It wasn’t a conscious decision, time just…slipped away from me, and suddenly it had been two years since I’d signed up for classes.

Same thing with dating.

If Weaver hadn’t shown up and shocked me out of my routine, who knows how much longer things would have clicked along the way they’ve been the past six years? Would I have been thirty by the time I finally realized I’d slipped into autopilot and was no longer actively guiding the course of my life?

I don’t know, but the thought scares me a little. It reminds me too much of Dad, lost in the booze haze and only surfacing to take a hard look at his life every few years or so. During those brief episodes of clarity, he’ll come around the house more, his eyes teary and his hands trembling from alcohol withdrawal, promising that he’s going to get a job and help out around the house more.

He never does, though, and the thought of ending up anything like him scares the shit out of me. Even if Weaver weren’t proving to be a fun distraction from the status quo, I would be grateful to him. He’s forced me to examine my life and realize it’s time to make some changes.

I want to travel more, the way he has. I want to learn about other places, meet people outside my tiny hometown, and take pictures of things other than the ocean, lobsters, and sea birds stealing French fries from tourists on the pier.

Though the tourist pics are pretty funny…

“Here we go,” Elaina says, stepping over the rope bearing a “Do Not Enter” sign that’s draped across the stairwell leading up to her place. She holds up a scrap of blue satin and white lace in each hand. I glance over my shoulder again, and she laughs. “Relax, I told you, Mondays are dead.” She stops in front of me with a grin. “What do you think?”

I reach out, touching the fabric. “Wow. It’s softer than I thought.”

“It’s silk. The good shit,” she says, but when I reach for the bra, she pulls it out of reach. “You’re going to have to hand wash these in the sink. No throwing them in with the rest of your laundry. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” I say, reaching for the lingerie again, only for Elaina to draw it away a second time.

“I’m serious. It hurts me to see beautiful things ruined. We must respect the beautiful things.”

I fight an eye roll. “Yes, ma’am, I will respect the beautiful things. I pinky swear.”

Her smile widens as she finally puddles the bra and panties into my outstretched hands. “Good. I assume that means you’ll have no problem with me closing early and doing your hair and makeup for you before you head over to meet your man? In the name of making beautiful things even more beautiful?”

“He’s not my man,” I say. “And I’m not meeting him until later, after it gets dark. I have to cook dinner with Gramps first and then pretend to head over to my place for the night. If he sees me all girlie, he’ll know something is up.”

Elaina gives a patronizing shake of her head. “Oh, Gert Gert, how can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time? Just tell Gramps you’re having dinner with me tonight and then go straight to the yacht when it’s dark. Easy peasy.”

I bristle a little. “I can’t.”

“Why not? You’ve obviously already showered since you don’t smell like bait.” She wrinkles her nose. “Much, anyway. The smell never really leaves you completely, does it?”

I bristle more as I surge to my feet. “Thanks. Way to make a girl feel confident about heading over to see a guy who smells like the lobby of a fancy hotel and money.” I start to move past her, muttering, “I should go take another shower, I guess.”

“Oh, stop.” She catches my elbow as I start toward the door, and I let her spin me back to face her. Her dark eyes stare imploringly into mine. “Please. Stay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel self-conscious. The total opposite. I want you to feel confident and beautiful.” She releases my arm and reaches up, guiding my wild hair over my shoulder. “Because youarebeautiful. You’re like a supermodel, Gertie, without even trying. I can’t believe it took a man this long to notice how special you are and want to treat you like a queen.”

I bite my lip before I say softly, “I’m not a supermodel. And Weaver doesn’t want to treat me like a queen. He just wants a discreet booty call and maybe a few laughs. We had fun together yesterday. He took me to this amazing French restaurant in Saint Mary. And he’s actually nice…and funny. When he wants to be.”

Elaina’s lips curve in a knowing smile. “Yeah, guys are like that when they have a crush.”

I snort-laugh, shaking my head. “Oh my God, stop. You’re making this out to be so much more than it is. He doesn’t have a crush.”

“Right, he just likes you enough to take you out to a swanky restaurant and want to see you two days in a row.”

I huff again, but there’s hope in my voice when I ask, “Really? Two days in a row is a big thing?”

“It is. I can’t remember the last time I liked someone enough to want to see them two days in a row.” Her lips scrunch to one side. “I can’t remember when someone liked me enough to do that, either. I really need to expand my fishing zone. Continuing to cast my net around here is clearly a fruitless endeavor.”

I arch a brow. “Well, if you hadn’t overfished in the first place…”

“You’re right. I hate you, but you are.” Her nose joins the scrunch until her prune face makes us both laugh. When we’ve pulled ourselves together, she squeezes my arm, “Come on. Let me close up and pamper you a little. You deserve it. We can paint our nails, too. I have a home gel kit that keeps the paint from chipping for at least a week.”

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