Page 73 of Ship Outta Luck

Realizing I’ll either have to trust them or spend the night a hair’s breadth away from a panic attack, I nod. “Well, I can’t cook. So tents it is.”

“That’s okay.” Thompson grins, pushing back his sandy blond hair. “Dean’s the best cook out of the three of us. He’ll handle the food.”

My gaze sweeps back to Dean, but he doesn’t look at me, just grunts.

Agreeing, I guess.

He strides off towards the groceries, turning his entire focus to sorting them.

That’s fine. I don’t want to talk either. Knotted like an abandoned fishing net, my emotions need time and space to breathe.

Moving to the supplies, I reach for the first tent and still.

He never said if he trusted Pierce or not.

After some trudging around, Thorne and I find a relatively level location to set up the tents. It doesn’t take long at all to get them together after that. As for Thorne, he’s content to work in peace, offering up words only when completely necessary. Strong and silent, he makes good company for the mood I’m in.

“It’ll do,” I say, dusting sand from my thighs. Sweat trickles down my neck.

On the main stretch of beach, Dean and Thompson have the propane tank fired up. Citrus and the unmistakable scentof spiced crab boil waft through the air. Gulls flock overhead, drawn to our dinner in the hope they’ll be able to share in the scraps.

I inhale deeply, hair falling over one shoulder. Seriously. I can’t believe I didn’t remember to ask for a hair tie.

“He’s a good man, you know.”

“What?” I scrunch my nose in confusion.

“Evans. I saw the way you two looked at each other.”

I sputter in surprise.

Thorne waves a big hand, a serious expression on his face, eyes crinkling as he studies me. “I know he comes off hard sometimes. He had a rough time of it with another woman.”

I step closer, curious despite myself.

“I’m not responsible for what anyone else has done to him.” My voice is soft, so quiet I almost don’t hear myself over the waves on the beach. Embarrassed, I look down at the sand still sticking to my hands.

“It’s his story to tell. But he’s a good man. He’d treat you right if you let him. And he didn’t lie to you on the beach. You are safe with us.”

Some of the tension leaves my body at his words, and I wait for more—for an explanation. For any hint of what Dean is going through, of why Thorne is so convinced of his leader’s intentions with me, of his ability to protect me.

Thorne just smiles at me.

“Thank you,” I finally say.

It’s true, though, what Thorne said.

Dean is a good man.

The kind of man I could see myself falling hard for. Every moment with him is a revelation, the discovery of new facets of his personality as addictive as his mouth’s proven to be: his protectiveness, his loyalty, his competence and kindness.

Thorne nods at me once before making his way carefully down the dune to the beach.

My gaze darts to the massive bonfire Dean and Thompson built. A thrill goes through me as Dean glances up to where I stand on the dune, his face contemplative, his body still.

I’m anythingbutstill.

In fact, my entire body seems to tingle.

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