Page 1 of Shiver Me Timbers

One

Ellie

“One at a time, please. Form a line, folks! There’s plenty of room on board, no need to push.” Tapping my pen against the clipboard, I scan the list of names and check off people as they wobble past to the bench seats.

The deck rocks beneath me, teetering as tonight’s crowd files onboard. They’re all wide eyed and jittery, all out-of-towners who can’t decide whether they’re thrilled or petrified at the thought of finding ghosts. Overhead, stars twinkle against a lilac sky, and the sun bleeds red as it sinks below the horizon.

We’ve got a full boat tonight. We get full toursmostnights, because Duncan and I don’t mess around. Our shipwreck tour is the best in Belladonna Bay, simple as that.

We know all the places to go. We know the ghostly spots, the patches of sea where the temperature drops and the surface churns for no apparent reason. We know the secret route through the jagged rocks to the haunted lighthouse, and we know when to cut the motor so you can hear invisible voices wail on the wind.

A five star average rating. That’s us. And that experience starts now, with Duncan up front giving his captain’s safety talk with that deep, gravelly voice, the wind tugging his dark hair.

Leaning back against the starboard railing, I let my clipboard dangle for a moment and enjoy the view. I’m only human, okay? And there are so few times when I can openly stare at this man.

And it’s no wonder we’re always fully booked. I mean, come on. Duncan Matlock is a walking work of art—by one of those maritime painters who always paints great big ships with billowing sails, and grizzled admirals. One ofthose.

Because Duncan is weathered and tanned, with silver threading his temples and a sun-bleached white flare in his dark beard. There are lines at the corners of his eyes from always squinting into the sun, and his strong hands are covered in nicks and calluses. When you get close, he smells like peppermint.

I love when we get close.

His shoulders are broad, his chest strong beneath that blue flannel shirt as it flaps in the wind. He’s tall and sturdy, and he never says much at all—at least not to anyone but me. With everyone else, he’s a grunter.

Duncan Matlock is a fine whiskey. That’s what I’m saying.

Too bad he’s my business partner… and my dead dad’s best friend. I couldn’t pick a more hopeless crush if I tried.

“Life jackets are in the boxes under your seats. There are lifeboats with plenty of room for everyone, and in the event of an emergency…”

I tune out the safety spiel, and watch Duncan’s mouth move. Watch his chest rise and fall with every breath, so steady and confident. The wind roves all over him, ruffling his hair, tugging on his clothes, and I’m so freaking jealous that it gets to touch him like that. I’d give anything to explore that man.

“Ready, Ellie?”

There’s a long pause, and I jolt when I realize Duncan’s talking to me. The crowd have all turned to face me, heads swiveling as one, and a warm blush crawls over my cheeks. All around us, boats clink and bob in the marina.

Caught ogling the captain. So embarrassing.

“Aye, sir,” I call, hamming it up for the crowds, and they laugh and whisper together, turning back to face the front.

Only Duncan watches me for a beat longer, one dark eyebrow raised. Then he ducks inside to start the motor, and theEllie Mayrumbles to life beneath us.

We’re off.

And if I can keep my eyes off the captain, this tour will go just fine.

* * *

I don’t remember the first time I had tingly feelings around my dad’s best friend. It feels eternal, like trying to remember the first time I experienced rain. But it must have been when I was a teenager, suddenly slapped in the face by hormones and all too aware of themenaround me, with their deep voices and squared wrists and in-jokes.

I’d never noticed a person’s forearms before, and there I was: suddenly surrounded by them.Strongforearms, too, corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair, because Dad had a fishing boat, and everyone in the marina wore rolled sleeves. They made me feel all squirmy. It was a lot to take in.

Back then, I barely knew which way was up. My own body was becoming alien, sprouting new curves and stubbly hairs in strange places, and my mood could rise and plummet without reason in the space of five minutes.

I hated my dad and loved him in equal measure, though I couldn’t say why. God, I regret those teenage tantrums now. I’d give anything for five more minutes with my dad.

But back then, even as my teenage moods were running rampant, I knew instinctively that Duncan Matlock was a safe harbor. Of all my dad’s friends, he’s the one I liked best.

Sometimes, I’d turn up at the marina after school and Dad wouldn’t be back for hours yet. It was just me, surrounded by all those forearms, dizzied by the hormonal cocktail swilling in my brain. I’d wander up and down the marina, scuffing my shoes against the wooden jetty boards, listening to the boats clink and ropes creak. Counting the minutes until my dad got back from sea.

---