Page 4 of Shiver Me Timbers

“There!” A woman points, her cry echoing across the deck, but she needn’t yell, really. We all see it. It’s impossible to miss.

Ghostly searchlights trail across the shipwreck, shadows skittering in their wake, even though there are no lamps here to cast those beams.

Whispers start on the edge of hearing, then get louder and louder, until it’s like a hornet’s nest buzzing in my skull. Ellie winces, watching the light display, butIwatchher.

I always watch her. Ghosts are interesting enough, but as far as I’m concerned… there’s nothing more miraculous than Ellie.

“There you have it,” she says when the angry whispers fade away. The tourists sit in stunned silence, their expressions awed in the light of the moon. “Now, who’s ready for some pirate caves?”

The whoops and cheers echo across the quiet waters. Grinning, I duck back into the wheelhouse and power up the engine.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Ellie crows, flicking through the stack of cash tips, her fingers quick in their lacy gloves. “We made bank tonight. Thank you, pirate ghosts.”

Our footsteps echo on the cobblestones as we walk home from the harbor, the stone damp and shining from the ocean mist. The street lamps are hazy and golden, dotted along the path home, and the bars and pubs of Belladonna Bay are still thrumming with life at this hour, music bleeding out onto the street and punctuated by loud bursts of laughter.

We could go in somewhere. Could join the revelry. We do sometimes, when my will power feels good and strong and I’m sure I can trust myself around Ellie, even in dark corners and with booze loosening my tongue.

Tonight is not one of those nights. When Ellie glances at our favorite pub, The Albatross, then smiles hopefully at me… I shake my head.

“Better get back,” is all I say.

Better get a gripis more like it.

Belladonna Bay is all wet slate roofs and tangled alleyways; hanging wooden shop signs that creak in the damp, salty breeze, and the scent of roasted beef from the carvery.

But Christ, why can’t I stop staring at Ellie tonight? We’re walking through town, but I barely see any of it, my boots scuffing against the cobblestones. I’m lucky I don’t trip and hit the deck.

My eyes feel so dry, it’s like I haven’t blinked for hours. Too busy gazing at my beautiful young business partner, entranced. My fingers keep itching, desperate to touch her scarves or play with her curly hair, and there’s a sour knot of tension in my belly. This is awful.

But you know what it was? It was that moment earlier—when Ellie got caught staring at me. When she was frozen on the boat, heedless of the crowd, looking at me with such longing.

I swear, sometimes Ellie stares at me like she wants to eat me alive. But that’s Stockholm Syndrome for you. I took her in when she was lost and vulnerable; I made her feel safe again. Of course she’s got mixed up feelings about me, but it’s notreal.

I mean, look at us. I’m forty years old, and she’s twenty two. I am—Iwas—her dad’s best friend, and I’m old and tired and made hard by life. Meanwhile, she’s a beam of sunshine.

This pairing does not make sense.Isee that, even if Ellie’s temporarily confused.

She’d regret me. And I couldn’t bear that.

“The shipwreck ghosts were extra buzzy tonight,” Ellie says.

I grunt.

“Kinda agitated. Maybe we should leave them alone for a few days?”

I grunt again. “Sure.”

Makes sense. If I died with my star-crossed love, I’d hope that we’d at least get some damn privacy in the afterlife. I’d be hissing for everyone to go away, too.

Thoughts of an eternity with Ellie prod at my brain. I grit my teeth and shake them off.

“I’m hungry,” she says idly, tucking our tips away in one of the many secret pockets of her flouncy skirt. The fabric swishes against her legs as we walk. “Are you hungry? We could order a pizza. Or stop at that falafel place on the corner?”

There’s a long pause where Ellie waits for an answer, but I’m too busy staring at the curve of her cheek to notice. She clears her throat. “Duncan. Do you want food?”

Ah, hell.

---