Page 23 of A Shore Fling
Jonathon: Answer me!
Jonathon: Nina, I’m serious. This isn’t funny. Answer me, now.
I don’t bother listening to the voicemails he left. There’s no reason to hear how pissed off he is. Reading his texts is enough.
Me: I’m not joking. I’m not trying to be funny. I’m merely taking a mental health break for my well-being.
Jonathon: What a crock of shit. If you needed a vacation, you should’ve put in for the time off like every other employee has to.
Me: We both know how that would’ve gone. Every time I’ve put in for a vacation in the past two years, either you or dad has declined it. There is no good time for me to go away, so I took matters into my own hands.
Jonathon: You can have this week to reboot, but you better be back here the following Monday.
Me: I’m not coming back until the end of August.
Jonathon: Don’t forget you can be replaced.
Me: Then replace me. Good luck finding someone who works as hard and efficiently as I do.
Jonathon: I don’t have time to conduct interviews. Just come back, please.
Me: There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Enjoy your summer.
Jonathon: This isn’t the end of this, Nina.
Oh yes, it is.I leave my phone on the counter, and bring my coffee and muffin out to the front porch. Sinking into oneof the lobster trap chairs, I marvel at how comfortable it is, and take my time eating my breakfast. The blueberries are large, and the flavor practically explodes in my mouth with each bite. The coffee is just as delicious. It’s only my second day in town and I’ve already found my breakfast spot.Go me.Next up is ordering groceries to be delivered so I don’t have to eat takeout, which was a staple of my diet back home. Even when I cooked on the weekends it was basic items like spaghetti or chicken. One of my goals for the next few months is to eat healthier and learn how to cook more complex dishes. My mind starts running through the list of goals I made to accomplish, and I come up with one more to add—avoid seeing the harbormaster.
CHAPTER 8
NINA
Opening the Jeep’s door, I slip into the passenger side and smile at Willow. “Hi.”
“Damn, girl, look at you. Every man in the bar is going to swallow their tongue when they set eyes on you.”
I snort, pulling the door shut. “Somehow I doubt that.”
She laughs. “You’ll see.”
I take in her sleeveless flannel shirt and cutoff jean shorts, and my stomach sinks. I’m overdressed and sure to stick out like a rogue onion ring in a container of Burger King fries.
“How was your day?” I ask as she backs out of the driveway.
“It was long, hence the desperate need for some levity tonight.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m a mechanic.”
My head snaps in her direction. “Automobiles?” She nods, her attention remaining on the road in front of us. “Has that always been an interest of yours?”
“Kind of. My dad always made me help when he worked on my mom’s and his vehicles, and I always found the process interesting. I didn’t want to go to college, so I settled on trade school.” She shrugs. “The rest is history.”
“That’s badass.”
She lets out a quick laugh. “I don’t know about that, but it pays the bills.” Her fingers flex on the wheel, drawing my attention to the colorful tattoos that cover the skin between her right shoulder and elbow. I can’t make out what each one is independently, but I notice a large lotus flower.
“Is it difficult working in a male-dominant field?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
