She instantly felt uneasy and refocused her attention on casting her lure into deeper water. “Are we still talking about Alex and Mason?”
“Would you rather we be talkin’ about somethin’ else?” His voice was soft. “Like why you put your sleepin’ bag on the porch next to Alex’s daybed instead of in my bedroom?”
“Wh-what?” Her heart grew wings and fluttered like the fins on the pygmy sea horses that liked to latch onto the floating sargassum grasses.
“Ah, come on. Surely, after last night, I proved I can keep my hands to myself. No reason you should sleep on that hard trundle bed when I’ve got a nice, soft mattress upstairs.”
The Wayfarer Island house had seven bedrooms, one for each of the Deep Six Salvage guys and Uncle John. Alex had chosen the daybed on the screened-in porch for her abode. The few times Chrissy had stayed over after a dive session ran late, she’d slept on the trundle.
In short, Wayfarer Island was a bit like summer camp.
“While I’m grateful for last night”—she leveled a direct stare on him—“it was a one-off. Never to be repeated.”
A smile flirted with his perfect mouth. “I’ve learned never to say never.”
“Mmph” was all she allowed before feeling a tug on her line. She yanked her rod to set the hook.
“Got one!” Wolf hooted.
“Not a very big one,” she grunted, quickly reeling in her catch. It was a red grouper, and after pulling the hook from the fish’s bottom lip, she held it up for inspection. “A two-pounder, I’d say. Not big enough to keep.”
Wading into the shallows, she released the fish back into the ocean where she hoped it would grow big and strong before being hauled ashore again to end up on someone’s grill. Then she lifted her hand to shade her eyes against the sun as she squinted at the waves lapping over the reef.
If Alex was right, the Santa Cristina could be right out there. Under their noses all this time.
She got a little chill at the thought. Or maybe it was Wolf’s words that caused the goose bumps on her arms and legs.
There was a smile on her face when she returned to the beach and checked the knot on her lure. A good catch and release always made her happy.
“Christina of the Sea.” Wolf crossed his arms and grinned at her.
“What?” She turned to him.
“You’re so at home out here, miles from anywhere, nothin’ but sand and sea. You should’ve been born a mermaid.”
“Oh, believe me”—she cast her line again—“that was my most fervent wish until I was twelve. I used to beg my mother to change my name to Ariel.”
He chuckled. “Glad you stuck with Chrissy. It suits you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You think? I don’t know. Bobby Joe Cuthbert called me Chrissy the Sissy after I got sick while dissecting a fetal pig in freshman physiology class.”
“Bobby Joe Cuthbert sounds like a penis wrinkle of legendary proportions.”
She snorted. “He was.”
“Chrissy isn’t a sissy. She’s straightforward. Effortless.”
Warmth spread through her at the compliment.
What the hell was she supposed to do with him now that she’d forgiven him? Now that she could look at him without remembering That Night? Now that she was beginning to like him again?
“Thank you,” she said demurely, and then listened when he began to hum along with Bob Marley, who was still crooning loudly from the boom box on the porch.
The chorus came up and Wolf belted “Cereal! Little darlin’! Cereal!” in a deep, smooth tenor.
She stared at him.
“What?” He blinked. “My elisi tells me I have a nice voice.” His expression grew pained. “God, is she lying?”
Chrissy endeavored to maintain a straight face. She was pretty sure she failed. “First of all, what or who is an elisi?”
“My grandmother.”
“Right.” She nodded. “So then second of all, do you really think the late, great Bob Marley wrote a song about breakfast food?”
His brow furrowed. Then a self-deprecating grin tugged at his lips. “Don’t tell me I got the lyrics wrong.”
She could feel the laughter bubbling inside her. “Bob is telling his little darling to ‘stir it up.’”
“Really?” He looked genuinely perplexed. “That Jamaican accent sure makes it sound like he’s sayin’ ‘cereal.’”
She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Doubling over, she howled with hilarity. By the time she straightened, she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
Wolf crossed his arms. “If you must know,” he confessed self-deprecatingly, “those aren’t the only lyrics I’ve mangled. I’m sort of known for mishearin’ songs.”
She thrilled at the thought of the mighty Ray “Wolf” Roanhorse having such a simple, human foible. “So what else have you gotten wrong?”
“You just want to make fun of me.” The look he gave her was put-upon, but he cleared his throat and asked, “You know that song titled ‘Escape’? It goes ‘If you like piña coladas’…”
“Yeah.” She knew her eyes were sparkling with anticipation.
“So I…uh…” He scratched his chin, and her gaze was momentarily drawn to the tattoo on his forearm. The tattoo she knew was a monument and a testament to his dead teammate. “I thought they were singing about bean enchiladas until one day LT heard me and cleared things up.”
She choked. “Oh god, that’s good.”
“You’re probably too young to remember the band Starship. Hell, even I’m too young, but I have a whole passel of aunts and uncles who aren’t, and they like to pull out their ancient mix tapes anytime the family gets together.”
Chrissy imagined Wolf surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, and a wrinkly old grandma who loved to hear him sing. She found the image bittersweet. She’d always wanted a large family. But all she’d ever had was her mother. And now…she had no one.
Unaware of the reflective turn of her thoughts, he continued, “Anyway, so Starship had this song titled ‘We Built This City.’”
“I know the one.” Chrissy put a hand to her mouth, trying and failing to guess how he could’ve gotten any of those lyrics wrong.
“We built this city on ‘sausage rolls’…” he sang.
Again, she doubled over with laughter. The kind that made her stomach hurt in the best possible way.