He would do this another time.
“What’s all the racket?”
Sullivan burst into the living area with knitted brows over concerned blue eyes.
“Joanna’s home,” Reid said brightly.
Sullivan, not seeing any blood, calmed. But his chest heaved like he was catching his breath. “Did she fall through the hatch?”
Reid laughed nervously, eying Sullivan from behind as he passed into the kitchen. “Oh, the clatter?” he asked.
“The crash, rattle, bang—and ‘fuck my life.’ Yes, that.”
Sullivan disappeared behind the counter and Reid jerked his gaze up to find Sullivan watching him apprehensively.
Reid grinned. “Sorry. I’m, ah, contemplating making coffee.”
“With my ass?”
Heat rushed to his cheeks. “Sorry, Captain. You’ve got a great one, though.” Nicely curved and firm, not flat like Reid’s. “Um, anyway . . . sea legs. Look,”—Reid patted the chest of his Recycling Rules T-shirt—“no life vest in sight.”
“You’re sitting on it.”
Reid winced, readjusting the floatable cushion under him. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
Within minutes, the scent of percolating coffee filled the saloon, and Joanna bounced back into the room wearing bright fish slippers and a fleece robe over her jeans and shirt.
She slung herself on the bench diagonal to Reid, and spoke to her dad. “Project’s starting well.”
“Glad to hear it,” Sullivan said. “Your partner doesn’t make you do all the work?”
“Pretty sure I lucked out there.”
Sullivan set a cup of hot coffee before Reid, pausing behind him. A block of warmth fritzed Reid’s side. “How much does it count for?”
“Everything,” she said.
“The entire grade?” Sullivan was totally clueless his daughter was a cunning mastermind.
Joanna’s gaze ping-ponged between them. “The most important part.”
Sullivan’s warmth shifted to his other side, more intense. Reid busied himself dragging his coffee closer. “Don’t worry, Sullivan. I’ll do everything I can to help Joanna.”
“Oat milk?” Sullivan asked, bringing a container into view.
“Oat?” A weird thought occurred to Reid. No, that couldn’t . . . ridiculous. He eyed the milk suspiciously. “Oat?”
“We’re vegan,” Sullivan and Joanna said together.
Reid whirled around on the bench and stared up at Sullivan. That whole lot of Sullivan. “No way.”
“Since I was twenty.”
Reid dragged his gaze over every damn inch. The hard jaw, that corded neck, those arms that flexed as he folded his arms over his whistle, the hint of defined abs denting his shirt, those solid thighs. He prodded a finger against Sullivan’s stomach—yep, definitely washboard. “Nope. You’re meat lovers, through and through.”
A curious flush speckled the base of Sullivan’s neck. “This will be a meat-lover free year.” Sullivan’s blue gaze tickled over Reid’s face in earnest. “No matter the temptation.”
Reid held his gaze. “I’ll try but what if I’m weak?”
Sullivan shifted, hand clamping the carton, spurting creamy milk from the nozzle.
Reid continued, “Maybe I can smuggle meat into my nook?”
Sullivan hesitated. “Anything you do off-board is your decision, but I’d prefer you didn’t bring any home.”
“Fair enough.” Reid swiveled on his seat and caught Joanna’s glittery gaze. “And don’t worry, cooking will still be a breeze.”
The fuck did vegans eat?
“Is that a yes to oat milk?” Sullivan asked.
Reid lifted his coffee. Sullivan, contrary to his calm manner in the kitchen, poured jerkily. This sure would be a year of new adventures. For both of them.
If he didn’t get fired in the first month.
Scratch that, the first week.
Sullivan retreated to his studio and Joanna stole his coffee and drank from it. “Dad will fire you the first chance he has. You’ll have to ignore him or resist his attempts. A flash of your crooked smile should do it.”
“He doesn’t seem keen on having me around.”
“You pose a threat.”
Reid frowned. “I’m not taking you away from him.”
“Yeah, that’s not the threat he’s worried about.”
“What then?”
Joanna sighed, her hair bouncing over her shoulders as she shook her head. “You’re interrupting the status quo—and Dad thinks the status quo doesn’t need interrupting.”
Reid stared at Joanna in admiration and fear. “You skipped a grade, didn’t you?’
“Seventh.”
He knew it. “What project does Sullivan think you were talking about?”
“Biology.”
“I’m happy we’re on the same side, Joanna Bell.”
“Thank you.”
He grinned. “So what’s Sullivan’s favorite pizza topping?”
“Vegan salami.”
“Of course.”
“Any other questions?”
“Just one.”
She beckoned him to spit it out.
Reid leaned in. “What’s with his whistle?”
Joanna pulled a similar orange whistle from her pocket. “You mean these?”
“You have one too?”
“Yep. Dad likes knowing I always have it on me.”
“What for?”
“Oh, you know. Emergencies. Like when you fall overboard.”
Reid lurched to his feet. “Why didn’t he give me one?”
The brave idiot kept trying to talk to me.
-James
Second Time Around
Chapter Five
Reid buried his head under his soft pillow. Wood groaned and for a fleeting second, he groped for his life vest, just in case the boat was sinking.
But sleep had a way of calming Reid’s daylight anxieties like nothing else.
A thumping knock sounded on his cabin door with a sharp, “Up you get.”
Reid tied himself into a knot of limbs and blanket, trying to return to that pleasant dream he’d been having . . .
The door opened, admitting a cool draft and the scent of cedarwood and salt. Reid cracked open his eyes.
Sullivan loomed a careful distance away just outside the door, dressed for the day in jeans and an open shirt over a white tank top. The safety whistle hung at his sternum.
Reid stirred, yawning, pillow still half covering his face. “What torture is this?”
“Morning.”
Seemed a bit dark for it. He stretched his torso with one arm crooked behind his head. “Is it already time for you to disappear into your studio?”
“Disappear?”
“I mean, time for me to take Joanna to school.”
“You bet. It’s six-fifteen.”
Reid laughed, stuffing the pillow under his head. He took in Sullivan, all business, framed by the hallway light. “For a second there I thought you said six-fifteen.”