Page 18 of Meant for Me
Salt water sprayed Linc’s face as his boat raced across the water several hours later. Rays of afternoon sun bounced off the bay, and he turned his head into the mist, his shoulders tense under the warmth of early September air.
His fishing buddy Owen had referred to Linc once as that half-man, half-fish guy from the superhero movies…to which Linc had snatched him up by the shirt collar. But maybe it wasn’t that far from the truth—he loved the water. Loved the smell of salt air, the crunch of sand and clay beneath his feet as he baited crawfish traps. The tug of the water against his waders as he braced against the waves, the pull of the tide. Being baked in the sun after a hard day’s work kept him too tired to remember.
Too tired to want more.
Like now. For a minute, the stress of his off-season business ventures didn’t exist. Worries about next season’s crawfish haul didn’t exist. Zoey’s cornflower-blue gaze relentlessly haunting his dreams ever since she’d moved in didn’t exist.
In fact, if he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, he could almost forget the fact that he wasn’t alone on the boat.
“You probably shouldn’t operate heavy machinery with your eyes closed.”
Almost.
Linc cut the engine and leveled his stare at Delia, who sat across from the captain’s chair, sleeves pushed up to enjoy the sun. “What’s the urgency of this private tour, again? It’s the middle of the day. In the middle of the week.”
“I’m retired.” Delia sniffed.
“And?”
“And I needed my vitamin D.”
“And?”
“And you need life advice.”
Oh, brother. He shouldn’t have pushed. Linc sighed, moved a wet strand of hair out of his face. “Do I?”
“I’ll say. Zoey is living with you.”
Red alerts sounded. That was a way more intimate description than the situation called for. “She’sstayingwith me until her check comes in and she can find her own place again. I have plenty of room.” He shifted on the captain’s chair. “And apparently, Trish snores and you talk too much.”
“Ha.” Delia hooked one sandaled foot over the other, folded her hands across her linen pants. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, hiding the wisdom he knew brewed there on the regular. “Too much is relative.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Right now I’d have to agree with her.”
Delia laughed. “Lincoln Fontenot, honey, you don’t scare me. Or even bother me.”
Good. He didn’t want to do either of those things. But he also didn’t want the town mama freely offering her opinion on his life, uninvited.
He’d had enough sudden female input for one week.
As if reading his mind, Delia pointed at him. “If you didn’t want my advice, you shouldn’t have let it slip in front of me.”
How had he let—oh, yeah. The porridge bowl.
Linc started the engine again, puttering against the inland curve toward the gulf. Things had felt odd with Zoey the past three days, their usual banter stilted. It was like they were so busy tiptoeing around each other, both trying to be overly considerate, that they’d lost their friendship dynamic. Which was the only reason why Linc had even offered to let her stay in the first place—he knew it’d be easy.
But it hadn’t been.
So while he ran the tour that morning and tried to tune out Anthony yapping about Louisiana wildlife facts and hurricane stats, he realized the only difference was that he and Zoey had stopped arguing. He’d run home at lunch in search of something to pretend to be mad about, and bingo—porridge bowl. He’d had to fight back a smile in Chug a Mug at Zoey’s pleased-with-herself smirk, at the light restored in her eyes.
Fighting a little smile now too, for that matter. Maybe hecouldallow himself to relax. Maybe things were slowly working out for everyone.
Maybe he wasn’t destined to be alone.
“…parents are missionaries, you know.”
Oh, yeah—Delia. Most people took his bouts of silence as a welcome cue to stop talking. Mama D did not.
