Page 24 of Changing Tides
“Nothing. I don’t think my brain could make coherent sentences at the time. I basically threw a tray of lemonade at them and ran and hid in the house for the rest of the day,” I admit.
“I bet.”
“He didn’t even remember me,” I mutter.
She looks at me in disbelief. “He didn’t? Are you sure?”
“Positive. He looked me straight in the eye, and there wasn’t even a hint of recognition.”
She sighs. “In his defense, you were probably one in a million girls he spent a torrid night with while sailing back and forth to Hawaii on a millionaire’s yacht. While he was the only one-night stand you’ve ever had. Of course you remember him vividly.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I grumble.
“Divine intervention!” she yells.
“What?”
“That’s what it is. There’s no other explanation for you coming to this random little North Carolina town and running into the hot fuckboy you took for a spin in Hawaii five years ago,” she continues.
“I don’t think God’s in the business of setting you up to run into your most embarrassing mistake,” I state.
“Don’t call it that. It was the most significant and carefree moment of your otherwise boring life,” she declares.
“I know,” I huff.
She steps forward and hooks my neck with her arm. “You really hid in the house all day?”
“And watched him from the window like a creeper.”
She roars with laughter. “I do believe this little layover of yours in North Carolina just got a lot more interesting.”
That’s an understatement.
Sebastian
Wednesday morning, I make my way to the marina at the wharf, where our family’s fishing boat charter company is located.
Sebby’s Charters has been in operation for over fifty years. Gramps and his dad began with one boat and a love of fishing. Now, we have four boats and several employees, including my parents, Gramp’s longtime friend Donnie Dale, and my childhood buddies, Anson and Parker. The company is still thriving after all these time and we are booked solid most of the year.
My dad, who married my mom, Milly—Nana and Gramps’s daughter—has worked for the company for the last twenty years, but two years ago, he had a seizure while running a charter and was diagnosed with a mild form of epilepsy with non-life-threatening temporal lobe seizures that could be controlled with medication. However, he lost his captain’s license and was mandated to the business end of the company, manning a desk instead of a boat.
That’s when I came home. It was always the plan for Gramps to retire and Dad to take over with me eventually coming onboard after I traveled the world and sowed all my wild oats, but once Dad’s condition was uncovered, the plan changed.
Anson and Parker followed me back to Sandcastle Cove, and the three of us joined the team. A decision I don’t regret in the least. Working side by side with Gramps has been amazing. I’ve learned so much from the old man, something I would have missed out on if I’d waited till he was retired to come home.
Besides, there are still plenty of wild oats I can sow right here on my hometown island.
When I first returned, I stayed on the sailboat my parents had given to me as a gift on my twenty-first birthday, but purchased a little beachside cabana last year, just down the road from the condo Anson and Parker share. It’s a fixer-upper, and I’ve been slowly restoring it to its former glory.
Most weekend nights, I still bunk on the boat though, especially during the season when we are taking out full-day charters. It’s just me, and it’s easier.
Mondays and Tuesdays are our days off, and that’s when I dedicate time to the house. As of right now, only one room is finished. My bedroom. It’s the most important room in any house—at least in my opinion—so I started there. Now, I’ve moved on to the kitchen. The second-most-important room.
“Sebastian, did you remember to pick up the new lures?” Gramps calls as I make it to the dock our boats call home.
I raise the box tucked under my arm.
“Good. I’ll need those to take the Andersons out today.”