Page 12 of Bait and Switch
“So is living alone.” I lifted my beer, arching my brows. “Reef and I shared a room—in bunk beds—until we were twenty. This is a whole new life phase.”
The words came out with forced humor, but deep down I still felt the relief of having four walls to myself after years of no privacy. I closed the door and motioned for her to follow me out to the patio.
The humid night wrapped around us the second I slid the door open. Thick with salt and cut grass, the air clung to my skin. Jasmine followed me out onto the paver stones, her steps light, careful, like she wasn’t sure if she was intruding.
The faint chorus of tree frogs and distant lapping of water added a rhythm beneath the silence.
We settled into the Adirondack chairs, the old wood cool beneath me. She tucked her legs up, her beer can balanced on her knee. I stretched out, pretending I was relaxed, but every nerve in my body was tuned to her.
“Thank goodness your brother wasn’t here when the visitors arrived earlier,” Jasmine said quietly.
A chill washed over me. The thought of anyone else being caught up in this nightmare made me nauseous. “No kidding. Apparently moving to a houseboat was the safer option,” I answered, bowing my head and shaking it once in regret.
The guilt had been clawing at me since the moment those bastards stormed my house. I’d been the one to haul in that bale. My problem. And now she was tangled in it—collateral damage. Every time I pictured the guns trained on her face, bile rose in my throat.
Her voice softened. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve this.”
“Thank you,” I said, though she deserved it even less. “That’s the irony of it, really. Having to deal with this bullshit because I was forced to do the ‘right’ thing. This is exactly why we don’t ruffle smugglers’ feathers. It’s the reason for the code.”
“There’s a code?” she asked, head cocked. “What’s in it?”
I gave a little shrug. “It’s more of a mutual understanding. We don’t bother them; they don’t bother us. Everybody’s got their hustle.” In the Keys, unspoken rules carved out by decades of survival on these waters were stronger than written law.
“You have a legitimate business. They’re smuggling cocaine. Pretty sure there’s no comparison.”
“I have no interest in being anyone’s moral police,” I said, my voice tightening. “I’m just trying to live my life to its fullest every day. That’s why we have to leave this hostage trauma behind us, right now.”
Her brow creased, and she studied me like I was crazy. “How do you propose we do that?”
The question hit harder than it should have. She was right—barely an hour ago we’d been tied up on my couch with guns in our faces. The weight of the memory pressed down, sour and heavy, but I shoved it aside.
“Well, we're still here, alive and well. The scary smugglers are gone. They took their negative energy with them. So we can let it go, because it’s already gone. All we have is now. And the reason we came here tonight—to know one another. Connection.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer. I could see it in her eyes though: she didn’t know how to feel anything but afraid.The storm she’d endured still rattled behind her gaze, but beneath it I caught sparks of something else—something alive.
I locked her gaze. “Don’t let those assholes steal your fire. I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”
She stared back with eyes eager to believe. She wasn't yet relaxed, but the fear seemed to have loosened its grip on her. Looking out over the lawn, she let out a laugh.The yard was a mess—ropes, tennis balls, and what was left of a squeaky duck scattered across the grass.
“Tell me about your dogs,” she said, shifting to a lighter topic.
“Two labs,” I said, my chest loosening just at the thought. “One yellow, one chocolate. We decided to keep them together afterReef moved out, so they spend more of the time here since I have the yard. But they like the marina and time with their granddad too.”
Her smile was small but real. “That's sweet."She lifted her Coors Light in a mock toast. “Not exactly how I pictured spending an evening with you.”
“Same.” I let out a short laugh, leaning forward in my chair to get closer. “Next time I’ll skip the armed intruders.”
A genuine laugh erupted from her, quick and bright, filling the night. The sound worked its way through me, easing something tight in my chest.For the first time since the invasion, I felt my lungs expand all the way.
Then the silence came—thick, humming, not awkward at all.
When she turned and caught me staring, I didn’t look away.
I couldn’t.
Her pupils were wide in the dim light, daring me to close the last inches between us.Lips parting, breath shallow, she didn’t fidget or glance away; she just held my gaze, steady, like she was daring me.
I set my beer down on the arm of the chair and leaned in, slow, giving her time to pull back. She didn’t. Her lashes fluttered once, and then her mouth was on mine.
