Page 43 of Wanting a Family Man

That commanding tone hurt. It made the decision for her. He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but the loss, and accompanying sense of rejection, of falling short because she wasn’t in her best place, was acute.

Maybe he saw how much it stung, because when she gave a jerky nod, his mouth tightened as though he regretted everything about this conversation. Maybe it was the kiss he regretted.

She swallowed the thorn in her throat, and they finished the walk back to the wharf in weighted silence.

Johnny was still sitting on the deck of theStorm Front. Trystan brought her aboard to meet their captain, Vic, and Cheryl, who would be replaced by Sarah when theStorm Frontembarked again on Sunday.

After some chitchat that thankfully filled the man-made void between her and Trystan, Cheryl reminded Cloe they had appetizers to prepare.

Cloe went with Cheryl into theStorm Front’s galley as she examined her remaining groceries, deciding what she could contribute.

“Thank you for making the switch to the other job,” Cloe said. “I’m realizing how precious jobs are here. I really need this right now, but as soon as the season is over, I’ll look for something in one of the bigger towns.” It depressed the heck out of her to say it, but Trystan was right. She wasn’t in her “best place” and wouldn’t be as long as she was relying on him and his family.

“Honestly? They wouldn’t have thought to offer the other position to me if they hadn’t been trying to make room for you. It’s a really good opportunity for me so I should be thanking you. Okay, I have four tortilla wraps and some spinach-artichoke dip. How about I make pinwheels and you put out your scallops and bacon? Wayne can make the Caesars from our stock. Not many guests have been drinking them this tour so we still have lots of clamato and vodka.”

“Sure, but… What’s clamato?” A fruit she’d never heard of like huckleberry?

“Cocktail mixer made from clams and tomatoes.”

“Wait. Actual clams? Cooked, I hope.” She was trying to imagine choking down a chewy clam as part of a cocktail.

“Just the clam juice. Have you never milked a clam? Trystan.” Cheryl looked past her with an exasperated frown. “Why didn’t Sarah train Cloe on milking clams?”

“I don’t know. She has the hands for it. Look at her delicate fingers.” His gaze skimmed downward.

Cloe curled her hands into self-conscious fists, but she also knew when her leg was being pulled. She played along.

“She didn’t tell me how to get the clams into the milking barn, either. Oh, I know. Seahorses, right?”

“She’s onto us.” Cheryl wrinkled her nose.

“Seems like it. Some of the guests are heading back,” Trystan added. “Wayne and I will put out the tables if you want to start getting the food ready.”

Cloe hurried across to theStorm Ridge, where she put her scallops in the oven, then brought out plates and glasses for the mix and mingle happy hour.

Three of theStorm Ridgeguests were intrigued enough to try the Caesar. In addition to vodka and clamato juice, it was spiked with Worcestershire and hot sauce. Johnny poured it into tumblers rimmed with lime and celery salt, then topped it with a spear of dill pickle.

“Purists use celery,” he said as he handed them out. “I think the tang is better. Let me know what you think.” He even made a few virgin cocktails for her and the youngsters to try.

Cloe liked it and made note of the recipe, suspecting by the enthusiastic reception that she’d be making more through the duration of the sail.

After some lively chatting and sharing of notes between guests, they parted ways and embarked on an evening cruise. Trystan motored them past the falls so people could take photos before they made their way out of the inlet to the main channel.

Later, Johnny took the helm when Cloe served butter chicken with a cucumber salad and miniature sweet potato samosas. Trystan helped her extend the table so there was room for everyone. The younger boys chose to go upstairs to eat in the flybridge with Johnny, but the adults got to know each other better while Trystan checked in with everyone, making note of what each party hoped to see or do before the trip was over.

By the time the sky was staining gold and pink and indigo, they were anchored in a quiet cove. Everyone began to properly relax, finding nooks to sit and read or enjoying a glass of wine on deck, chatting while watching the stars come out.

Cloe was surprisingly tired and searched out Johnny, who was in the bridge with Trystan.

“I was going to head to bed soon. Sarah told me you sleep up here,” she said to Johnny, glancing at the settee that she supposed converted into a bed. “I don’t mind sleeping here if you’d rather have the cabin.”

“This is a bigger bed so I prefer it,” Johnny said. “Also, I listen for any chatter on the radio or whatever sensors or alarms might ping in the night.” He nodded at the instruments. “I stay up until the last guest turns in. Once you and Trys get up, I’ll head into our cabin and catch a few more hours.”

“You don’t mind breaking up your sleep like that?”

“We have a baby and a toddler at home. I haven’t slept through a night in three years.”

“Oh. Okay,” she chuckled. “I’m going to bed, then. Good night.” She included Trystan in her wave. “See you in the morning.”

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