Page 13 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

“Right,” I answer. “Hmm. Did you look in the back room behind the desk?”

“Looked everywhere.” He pulls off his shirt and tosses it up to the chair since he and I are sharing watch duty today.

I think about it. “There’s an old one in the shed. It’s dirty and will need to be washed, but so long as it’s not cracked we can use it until we find the other one.”

He makes a face. “And what if it’s cracked?”

I tighten my ponytail. “Then we’ll have to call the local EMTs and see if they have a spare. Can’t be without something we might need. Have Mason and Hale check on their side?and call Becca, too, at her post. With all the training exercises we’ve been doing, it probably got moved.”

He reaches for his radio and calls it in as my hot and studly running partner appears down the beach. I can’t see his face. Not yet. But I know it’s him by his large frame and the way he runs. If those squared shoulders and clenched fists don’t scream, “I was in the military and I’ll whoop your ass” I don’t know what does.

I’m not looking at Sean, but I know he’s looking at me. “You gonna run again before opening?” he asks.

I take a moment to stretch my legs, trying to look casual, and once more failing miserably. “Yup. But don’t you worry none. I’ll be back in time.”

“Oh, I know. I wasn’t worried about that none.” He waits, then says, “Trin, you sure about this guy? I mean, he barely talks to you. I don’t think he said two words to you last Friday night.”

I rise from a deep crouch and grin. “But he’s no longer snarling, and only rolled his eyes at me once yesterday.” I waggle my finger at him as Callahan nears. “That, my friend, is progress.”

“Aw, hell. If you say so. But you’re, you know, fuckable. Maybe you should try for someone who’s fuckable in return.”

I pause in the middle of stretching my arms. “Sean, you know how we’ve talked about those deep thoughts of yours you should probably keep to yourself?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“That was one of them,” I point out.

I stroll away from Sean, unable to stop my smile. Maybe another girl would be put off by his comment. But I know him well enough to recognize his heart is in the right place. My, how long have we been friends now? Twenty years? Doesn’t seem like that long, but considering we went to the same preschool together it sounds about right.

My feet kick back little scoops of sand as I walk to the water’s edge in time to meet the man who can’t live without me. Okay. Not really. But in his own grouchy, grumbling kind of way he?

I was going to say he seems to enjoy my company. Perhaps, “enjoy” is too strong a word. More to the truth, he no longer attempts to flee at the sight of me.

“Morning, Callahan,” I say brightly, picking up my pace so we run side by side.

He doesn’t say anything back. But?score!—he doesn’t scowl either. See? Progress. Now that’s what I’m talking about. We plow ahead, falling into a smooth and easy rhythm.

He keeps his focus down the beach, and I let him. But once my legs warm up I convince myself something’s missing. Oh, I know! Mood music. And what’s better than a little Flo Rida as we run along the Carolina coast?

I start withI Cry, humming to the beat as best I can before I move on toLow. But hey, I love that song so it’s not long before I’m singing the words out loud, alternating between deep and high voices with each beat of our steps—just to keep it interesting.

“She hit the floor. She hit the floor. Next thing you know, Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low.”

He briefly closes his eyes. “Do you have to do that?”

By now I’m sort of shimmying as I run and sing (no easy task, mind you) so I’m not sure which part he’s talking about. Shame he’s not impressed by my moves and coordination.

“You mean shimmy?” I clarify.

He doesn’t answer, swallowing as if in pain.

I try again. “Surely you don’t mean my singing?”

He makes an irritated gesture down my body. “It’s the whole package.”

I pretend to think about it. “Maybe it’s just the song. If you want, you can pick the next one. I take requests.”

He opens his mouth only to shut it. I back off and take in how those messy waves trail just above his blue eyes, before my gaze falls to his beard. The beard looks . . . thinner as if freshly trimmed.

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