Page 2 of Shiver Me Timbers

But Duncan would call me over. He’d set me up with a folding chair on the jetty beside his boat—he had a different boat back then, though I forget what it was called—and give me a flask of hot chocolate and a blanket if it was cold, then order me to start my homework already.

If it rained, he put me under cover in the wheelhouse, though he always stayed out on deck getting wet.

If it was sunny, he’d set me up in the shade.

He was my knight in flannel shirts. Is it any wonder I imprinted on that man? Is it any wonder that my crush on him went deeper than any other, boring into my very bones?

And is it any wonder that years later, after my dad died, there was only one person I wanted to be around, and it was Duncan Matlock?

He took me in, even though I was nineteen—an adult by then, fully responsible for myself. But Duncan rented me a room in his house, and started this tour business with me on his boat, and gave me safety. Security. Love.

Not the kind of love I want from him, maybe, but love all the same.

There’s a lot at risk if I push him too far. I need to remember that.

* * *

“There’s a pod of common dolphins on the left, folks.”

The crowd shoot to their feet at Duncan’s words, trying to see over each other’s heads, and the closest ones rush to press against the rail. Out in the water, sleek gray bodies zip back and forth, dancing in the current churned up by the boat. The dolphins keep pace easily, rolling over to show their paler bellies, their fins breaking the surface when they come up to breathe.

I don’t rush over to see. These customers paid good money for this tour, and I won’t go hogging a prime spot. Besides, I’ve got my own special view to contemplate as I chew on my thumbnail, staring at the back of the captain’s dark head.

See, the problem with all this restraint is that IknowDuncan likes me too. Inthatway, I mean. A romantic way. He’s not half as subtle as he thinks he is, with those lingering glances he gives me sometimes when we’re alone at his kitchen table, a muscle flexing in his strong jaw. Nor with the look of sheer longing he gets when he tucks my curly red hair behind my ear.

I’ve heard the way Duncan’s breath catches when I brush past too close on the boat. I’ve watched him get all pissy when another man dares to flirt with me in the town bar.

And I can read, for god’s sake. I see my own name splashed across the side of his boat every day, lapped by the waves:Ellie May.This man is as subtle as a rock.

“Good crowd tonight,” Duncan says when I wedge in the wheelhouse beside him. He squints out at the horizon, one hand resting on the wheel. We’re cutting through the water, still as a mirror beneath the moon, and our tour group out there is buzzing with excitement, all whispers and gasps and tugged sleeves.

There’s nothing ghostly to see yet. But there will be, soon enough.

We’re gonna scare the pants off these mofos.

“Lighthouse?” I ask. “Or the pirate caves?”

There’s only time for one showstopper destination on each tour, so we mix it up. Keep it fresh. For our own entertainment, if nothing else—plus I like to think the ghosts appreciate the spontaneity. God knows I wouldn’t want people gawping atmeevery single night without a break.

“The northern wreck, then the caves. They’ll echo well on a still night like this.” Navy blue eyes flick to me, then away. A scarred thumb drums on the steering wheel. “You alright, Ellie?”

Um. “Yeah?”

“Because earlier…” Duncan trails off, frowning at the controls. Yeah, earlier I made a tit out of myself in front of everyone, staring at this man like he’s the second coming. What about it? It wasn’t the first time, and it surely won’t be the last.

I can’t help it. He draws my eye. When Duncan’s around, he’s all I see.

And he may be okay with pretending there’s nothing between us, that we’re colleagues and friends, nothing more, but with every day that passes, I get more exhausted with all the pretense. I feel like I’m living a lie.

So the sigh that gusts out of me is practically dredged from the seabed. Duncan glances at me, alarmed.

And shoot, he’s so tall and broad andunavoidablein this cramped space. Every breath I draw into my lungs is tinged with peppermint. Each rustle of his clothes makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end.

Those eyes on me… I canfeelthem, somehow. It’s a physical caress.

The only one I’ll ever have from this man.

“Your thingy is blinking,” I say, pointing at the controls, because I can’t stand this tension for another second longer. My throat is so tight, I can barely get the words out.

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