His joke eased the tension, as did his comforting hold on her hand, and they walked into the shop, customers and every possible piece of deep-sea diving equipment inside.
A huge stuffed marlin hung over the front counter, a burly man with an overgrown gray beard standing underneath.
“Howdy, folks. How can I help? All dives are done for today, but I can book you for tomorrow.” He grabbed an old-timey appointment book, and the pencil stuck behind his ear. “When’s a good time?”
“Never,” Chloe said firmly, not caring if she sounded rude. “I’m not gonna die via the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Huh,” gray beard said inquisitively, then looked at Jameson, who seemed amused by her vocal stance. “Got your hands full with that one, don’t you?”
“Literally.” He squeezed her hand and didn’t let go. “You Roger?”
When the man nodded, Jameson blew her mind in a way that his immense sexual prowess never could. He set her hopes to soaring in a way no other words—beyond vows of love and marriage, this time for real—ever could.
“Heard you’ve got the place up for sale.” When Roger nodded, he said, “Cool. Tell me about it.”
Uh, what now? Cool?
Tell me about it?
Chloe stood there, mouth gaping, sure they’d been in a horrible car accident and she was killed, now stuck somewhere between heaven and her own personal hell. A parallel universe showcasing her dream life, only to snatch it away at the last minute, torturing her for her sins.
Sin.
“You dive?” Roger asked.
“A little.” Handsome and humble. “For the Navy. Now for an oil rig in the gulf.”
Roger’s head tilted. “Hey, yeah. I recognize you now. You’re that hometown boy out of East Hampton who made it as a SEAL. Damn, dude, good for you.”
He came around the counter, shaking Jameson’s hand and giving him a back clap. The second back clap he was given today. First her dad, now Roger. And those were only the ones she witnessed. Who knew how many more happened.
It was a wonder his ego fit inside his truck.
“Thank you for your service.”
Jameson blew off any admiration. Okay, so maybe he kept that ego in check.
“How are your bookings? Month-by-month if you don’t mind. I’m sure the winters are lean.”
“They are,” Roger said, not sugarcoating it. “You’re gonna need supplemental income once the snow flies, though you’ll get some hardcore divers looking for an extreme adventure. High season, from Memorial Day to Labor Day, things are bustling. You’ll recoup your winter losses in those three months, plus some.”
He rubbed his beard, eyes shrewd. “And with your resume, even more will come. From across the state and probably the country, too, just to say they were underwater with you.”
Jameson looked around, seeming to take a mental inventory of the equipment. “I’ve got a hardware store to keep me busy when things are slow. This would be more to make a buck or two off a hobby.”
Roger’s shaggy eyebrows shot up his sunburned forehead. “Hell of a price tag for a hobby.”
Not bothering to ask what that price was, Jameson walked the shop as they chatted, his probing questions meant to assess the viability of the business at various times of the year, the age and state of the equipment on-site, including that of the boats docked behind the shop, and the terms of the leases on both the building and the harbor slips. All while never letting go of her hand.
Good thing, too, or she’d be flat on the floor.
How could he operate a dive shop when he lived in Florida?
“Thinking of relocating?” Roger asked, and Chloe could’ve kissed him.
But Jameson never answered the question directly. Instead, he made a sound that could’ve meant yes. Or no.
“What’s the level of expertise on your main customer base?”
“Beginner to intermediate. None like you around here. You’re gonna need a large insurance policy and lawyers who’ll draft an ironclad release form. You don’t wanna get sued if somebody dies.”
“I knew it!” Chloe said to Roger. Then looked at Jameson. “See? I will never sign that.”
“Got to, baby girl.” Roger used the endearment pleasantly. “You’ll bankrupt him if you don’t sign the waiver, then up and die on him in the water.”
Jameson squeezed her hand, enjoying this a little too much.
“Yeah, baby girl,” he said, trying not to smile. “Don’t wanna up and die on me in the water, now, do you?”
“If it’ll bankrupt you, I’ll consider taking one for the team.”
Grinning, Roger and Jameson shared a look that only adult men could, and she was sure it had something to do with her ability to sexually satisfy him, therefore making her smart mouth worth tolerating. Because Roger’s expression said he understood and commiserated.
Then he confirmed it. “Got myself a little spitfire at home, too. Keeps me on my toes. That’s why I’m selling. We’re gonna travel the country in an RV.”
He said RV like it was comparable in accommodations to the Ritz-Carlton.
And honestly, it sounded kind of romantic.
Once the crowd of customers dwindled to just them, Jameson cut to the chase. “What are you asking?”
Roger listed a price that seemed high to her, but she was a girl stretching the budget to buy name-brand frozen vegetables.
Jameson didn’t react, so it must’ve been a fair number. “Got documents to back up your revenue stream? Operating costs? Profit and losses for the last five years?”
“I do. You think I’m running a hack business here, sailor?”
“Has anybody up and died on you?”
Roger looked at Chloe when he answered Jameson’s question. “Not a one.”
“Yeah, but how many people needed CPR?” she said. “How many 911 calls? More importantly, how many shark bite victims?”
Roger chuckled, humoring her, then looked surprised when Jameson said, “Answer her.”
“Well, I don’t have exact numbers off the top of my head, but I can provide them. Best guestimate in all my years owning this place? No shark bites. A dozen 911 calls, and a few more CPR episodes beyond that, strictly due to panic attacks. Nothing defective equipment related, nor lack of oversight or proper instruction.”
He rocked back on his heels, seeming proud of those stats. “Now, we don’t get the type of people here like your husband, ma’am, who are skilled enough to spend several hours several hundred meters under the surface, nor confront a terrorist organization via a helo drop into dark waters that house far more dangerous humans than a seafaring shark could ever hope to be. So, you ever decide to give diving a fair shake—cause it’s nearly as exhilarating as sex—I’m betting he’s the best man to have at your side. A shark won’t even tangle. That answer your question, baby girl?”
She swallowed, then looked at Jameson.
“Is that true? You did that? Jumped out of a helicopter into water?” When he shrugged, she bent at the waist. “Jesus, I think I need Wendy’s crackers.”
“You want me to call 911, cupcake? It’ll give me more ammunition for a lowball offer.”