Page 4 of Spring Tide

“Good,” I say earnestly. “It went good, I think.”

Her brows shoot up. “So, he’s coming?”

“Um, no.” I nibble at my lower lip. “He’s busy tonight, but he did talk to me. You know, just a little bit.”

“Shocking,” she snickers.

“I think he’s just shy, honestly.”

“I doubt he’s shy, babe. Reynolds is a D1 football player.” She moves behind the bar, scrubbing her hands in the sink before tossing a beach tote over one shoulder. “He probably thinks he’s above it all.”

I glance back toward the pier, squinting in the darkness until I can make out the shape of him. “I think you might be wrong.”

She moves closer, slinging an arm around me. “I thinkyoujust like to be right.”

“Okay, now that part might be true.”

“It’s all part of your charm, Blue Fairy.” She laughs, the soft sound warming me from the inside out. “Come on now. Let’s go get pretty.”

2

LUCA

I’m unbelievably tired.

No, it’s more than that. I’m fucking exhausted. Strung out. Spread thin. Not sure how much longer I can withstand this torture.

Every morning, I wake up at 5:15 a.m. and head to the Intramural Training Building. There, I spend an hour in the weight room, followed by a grueling forty-five minutes of outdoor conditioning. Then I sit through a few boring lectures until it’s time for afternoon drills.

Once I’m finally finished, nearly twelve hours after my morning alarm, I drag myself down to the Boyer Inlet Pier. I was unfortunate enough to grow up just outside this tiny town with a population even smaller than my bank account.

Boyer is three square miles of beach and bullshit. Sand and scum. Ocean and pure lack of opportunity. The fishing pier is this town’s only redeeming quality, and it’s been my job to keep it running for the past four years.

It’s hard work, honest work, and it pays the goddamn bills, which is the only part I care about. That, and the fact that my boss, Pawel Nowak, has become like a second father to me.

“I need you to scrub the benches before you close up,” Pawel orders, slapping a wet rag onto my shoulder. “There’s gull shit everywhere.”

Oh, did I say second father? What I meant to say is—this crotchety old man is a huge pain in my ass.

“You got it, sir,” I mutter.

“I’m heading out in a minute,” he tells me after he’s rung up the last round of customers. “You stickin’ around for the kids’ bonfire?”

I slide a hand across my forehead, pushing back my sweat-damp hair. “You already know the answer to that.”

His brow furrows. “Thought that pretty little lifeguard might’ve convinced you otherwise.”

“Harper?” I suppress a scoff. “No, she’s ... I’m not interested in any of that.”

“Any of what, son? Beautiful women?”

“No. I mean,that,” I clarify, gesturing toward the cramped beachfront. “The crowds of people I don’t care to know. It’s all fake. And God knows, I’m just too tired for it.”

Pawel sighs, slipping a faded Carhartt jacket over his frail shoulders. “It’s ’cause you work too damn hard.”

“I do what’s necessary.”

“That you do, son.” He claps a firm hand against my back. “Just don’t forget to live every once in a while, will ya?”

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