Page 23 of Totally Wrecked
I sip my coffee. “This is saving my life.”
“Keep drinking water too,” Gray tells me. “Holler if you want more.”
“I will, thank you.”
We lean against the railings in a comfortable silence, but my relaxed state doesn’t last as I start thinking about what lies ahead. Without meaning to, I let out a groan.
Gray gives me a questioning look.
I reply with a smile. “I’m just tired, that's all.”
“Understandable.” He runs a hand through his hair, his tee-shirt lifts and I notice a washboard stomach peeking out from under the hem.
“How long have you lived in Samoa?” I ask him.
“Since last year.”
“Where are you from originally?” Gray has a lilt to his words that is familiar. The way he says ‘holler’.
“Missouri.”
“No way! Me too. I’m from Rocky Grove, where were you from?”
“The town of Overlook, not far from Jefferson City. I don’t know Rocky Grove.”
“It’s like 150 miles south of Jefferson,” I tell him. And, because I’m nosy, I keep asking questions. “So, all three of you moved down here to work on a charter boat?”
This crew seem like such a weird mix: party-boy Leander, gentle Gray, and stern Rex.
After a long pause, Gray finally answers. “Where Rex goes, me and Leander follow. We were in a squad together, and when we…left, we just couldn’t handle going our separate ways.” He gives a shrug.
Soldiers. That makes sense.
“Thank you for your service,” I tell him.
“Not military. Wildland fire fighters. Done with your coffee? We’ve got sandwich fixings and fruit in the galley, if you are hungry?”
“I am, actually. I slept through breakfast. Oh, and Gray?”
As I’m speaking, a swell pushes me off balance and into his wide chest, Gray steadies me by putting a hand at my waist.
“Thank you for your service fighting those forest fires. Coming from a rural area, it means so much.”
There is a moment between us. Gray swallows and with his giant hand on my hip, I suddenly want to have his arms wrap around me. I could hide away from the world in Gray’s arms. He’d keep me safe, I just know he would.
His hand stays on my body for a moment longer than natural, then he removes it and indicates the galley. “Let’s get you some real food before you’re spearfishing for your dinner.”
Oh yeah, that whole thing.
I’d done an intense 24-hour study session with Brooke about how to fish and forage on a South Pacific atoll. I should be alright, but still, it is going to be lonely, hard work. And knowing my luck, I will spear my ownfootrather than a fish.
“Here, come on—I’ll show you where everything is.”
Gray walks along the narrow bulwark to the front of the boat. There is a doorway into a tiny galley. The cupboards are all closed by latches to keep the contents from spilling out in rough weather.
“Bread. Cheese. Also, we have this canned pate which is good. Not exactly gourmet, but we just need fast and easy stuff.”
He is virtually a chatterbox now.
