Page 11 of Wet and Welder

Remembering the tumble the snotty scientist took makes a smile grow on my wet face. It’s petty but that scene will play over in my head whenever I have to speak to him. The memory also reminds me why I still have my dignity. Mic saved me from getting caught up in that rogue wave. Something I should have been bracing myself for, but I was distracted by Nelson, who made me defend my order to leave the sub-camera in the water until the worst of this storm passed.

Part of me wanted to turn and hug him for it, but the sense in me knows better. Leaving him back there was the best call. When I can, I’ll calmly thank him and make it clear what happened between us can’t happen again.

I reach for the doorknob of my small cabin but hear my name shouted behind me. Turning, I’m met with a red-faced, dripping, admittedly sexy Mic, who looks furious with me as he marches closer.

“We need to talk,” he says, pointing at me.

I can’t help the nerves that shoot to my throat, and I clam up, shaking my head no.

Mic is every bit the good man I thought he was when we met at the bar. He stops in his tracks, then looks around to make sure we’re alone. Confusion dances in his eyes, and I barely see his jar working behind his beard.

We’re alone and he just saved me, and I know I’m handling this wrong, but I also realize how much harder it is for me to stay professional as my mind wanders back to that night. My eyes drink him in, and as hot as it makes me feel inside, my body begins to shake from the cold water.

“You’ve made yourself clear where we stand, but for the record, I deserve a shit ton better than the cold treatment.”

That’s it. Mic turns and leaves me dripping in his wake, melting to the floor because I know he’s right, and I like him even more for calling me out. It’s as if he came out of his way to give me a piece of his mind without letting me get a word in edge wise.

Eventually, I shake out of my stupor, make my way into my room and take a hot shower. It’s late by the time I go check on my team. Everyone’s report is good, and fucking Nelson avoids me as they bring in the sub-camera now that the waters are smooth. Not a single fucking scratch, might I add.

The welding crew reported their progress, and every team seemed to have stayed on target despite the storm. When everyone starts heading for bed, I venture into the kitchen to find something to eat.

A small light over the stove is all that’s left on, but I don’t move to turn on any more. Instead, I head straight for the fridge and hope there is still some chicken salad left over that Savannah made for dinner. I’m in luck. I grab the bowl and some bread sitting nearby and turn to the table just to drop it all at the sight of Mic. Thankfully, it’s still intact.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, grabbing my chest in fright. “You scared me.”

“I see that.” That is all he says in reply, then takes a bite of his sandwich.

“Did you guys get served dinner?” I ask, confused as to why he’s here. “We have a chef on board who makes meals for the crew so that no one has to forage for cold sandwiches but me.”

“Yeah, we ate, but I got hungry again,” he says, looking at me as if I might be the real meal he wants. Fire burns in his dark brown eyes, even as he tries to fight it. “Shouldn’t you also eat what the chef makes, or are you avoiding me now?”

His words are unexpected and hit hard. “I deserve that assumption, but no, I’m not avoiding you.”

He stares, waiting for me to finish.

“I know I should thank you for today, but let me make one thing clear. I don’t need your help. I can and will lead this crew without anyone’s help. The more you try, the weaker I look.”

He continues to eat his sandwich without a reply, so I bend down to pick up the bowl and bread I dropped and take it to sit across from him.

“I’m very grateful you’re here,” I admit, but decide to keep my cards close and not mention anything else.

“You are?” He asks, surprised and clearly waiting for more, but I think it’s best we stay strangers.

“Yes. I hear you’re the best crew for the job. You helped build the ship we need to be repaired, making you the best man for the job.”

Clearly not liking my answer, he grits his teeth. “No other reason?”

The nerves are back, and a lump forms in my throat, so I take the coward’s way out of this conversation by shaking my head, and looking down at my plate. The food my stomach was craving is suddenly looking very unappetizing. My hands start to sweat, and the room feels about a hundred degrees, even though I know it’s not.

“So, you’re going to continue to dance around me and pretend we’re strangers, is that right?”

Holding my chin up high, I drive in the last nail to my coffin. “We are strangers, Mic. I’m your boss, and we have a very important job to do.”

He chuckles, but there is no humor in his eyes.

“Have it your way, boss lady,” he says, shaking his head while looking down at the empty plate and taking it to the trash. Without turning around, he leaves me there, stewing in my regret.

“It’s for the best,” I mumble to no one, hoping I might believe it this time.

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