Fool, she thought to herself, let Rick Parrish remedy his own kissing problems. If he has any. "I'm still here."
"Bryn?" Liza's voice was strangely soft.
"What is it?"
"Contacting Captain Parrish about the meeting isn't bothering you, is it?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I have an instinct for these things." Before Bryn could ask what "these things" were, Liza continued. "Maybe I'm out of bounds on this, but I think you ought to know how Captain Parrish's marriage ended."
"Liza, wait." A sudden and overwhelming impulse told her not to listen. Staring at her white-knuckled hands squeezing the phone, she willed herself to relax her grip. "I-I think Rick should be the one to tell me about his past." She rolled her eyes. Why, oh, why had she responded that way? When was Rick Parrish ever going to be close enough to her to tell her anything about himself, especially about a divorce? "I mean, I like to stay clear of anything resembling gossip." Great! Now she sounded like a snob.
"It's not gossip, Bryn. But you're probably right. Maybe Rick ought to tell you about it himself."
Grateful that Liza's tone was reflective, and not hurt, she said, "Yes, well, I'll go over now and talk to him." She quickly added, "About the committee meeting, I mean."
"Of course, dear."
* * *
Rick was talking quietly into his cell phone and didn't notice her when she walked into the marina office. Dressed in her running clothes, she stood inside the door with his jacket folded over one arm and the carton of lunches resting on her hip. Setting the carton on a display cabinet inside the door, she caught the jacket as it began slipping from her arm. Stroking it one last time, she was alarmed to realize that she was going to miss it hanging on the kitchen door. Running her fingers over the raised anchors on the brass buttons, she checked to make sure Rick wasn't looking at her before she sniffed the collar. How had a simple navy blue blazer become an object of fetish? Her search for the answer was interrupted by Rick's voice.
"I know we should have talked about it before this," he was saying, his upward gaze dropping in defeat, then wandering across the room to Bryn. Holding her gaze boldly with his own, he kept on talking into the phone, "I have to go. Sure, I'll remember. We'll talk later."
As he closed and pocketed the phone, Bryn felt her moxie waning. Feminine instinct struggled against common sense. Was his conversation about an upcoming fishing charter or a date? And why should it matter? While she'd been mooning over him for days, he had been avoiding her.
"Good morning," he said, before pointing to her red running clothes. "Challenging me to a race this morning?"
"Hello. What?" Looking down at her clothes, she said, "No," before brushing back her hair. A bouncy lock dipped across her brow again, but this time she pretended to ignore it. What had possessed her to give up hair spray and extra-body styling gel since she'd been down here? "I didn't mean to disturb your phone call."
"You didn't. I was through," he said, picking up a pencil and writing on a clipboard. He looked up at her long enough to register the point with a smile. Turning back to the clipboard, he erased what he'd written, then wrote again.
So it wasn't a lover he'd been talking with. Her shoulders relaxed along with her tightly clamped jaw. The call must have been about a charter, because he continued to write down numbers in little squares and make check marks in several columns. Standing by the display of potato chips and cheese curls, she had a nearly overwhelming urge to tear open the cellophane and toss them into the air like confetti.
"So, what's up?" he asked, hanging the clipboard on a wall hook and sliding the pencil onto the counter beside the cash register.
"Jiggy doesn't have to pick up the lunches. I brought them myself," she said, indicating the carton on the display cabinet. "Two roast beefs, three chicken salads, and one peanut butter and jelly. I put in extra
"Bryn?" Liza's voice was strangely soft.
"What is it?"
"Contacting Captain Parrish about the meeting isn't bothering you, is it?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I have an instinct for these things." Before Bryn could ask what "these things" were, Liza continued. "Maybe I'm out of bounds on this, but I think you ought to know how Captain Parrish's marriage ended."
"Liza, wait." A sudden and overwhelming impulse told her not to listen. Staring at her white-knuckled hands squeezing the phone, she willed herself to relax her grip. "I-I think Rick should be the one to tell me about his past." She rolled her eyes. Why, oh, why had she responded that way? When was Rick Parrish ever going to be close enough to her to tell her anything about himself, especially about a divorce? "I mean, I like to stay clear of anything resembling gossip." Great! Now she sounded like a snob.
"It's not gossip, Bryn. But you're probably right. Maybe Rick ought to tell you about it himself."
Grateful that Liza's tone was reflective, and not hurt, she said, "Yes, well, I'll go over now and talk to him." She quickly added, "About the committee meeting, I mean."
"Of course, dear."
* * *
Rick was talking quietly into his cell phone and didn't notice her when she walked into the marina office. Dressed in her running clothes, she stood inside the door with his jacket folded over one arm and the carton of lunches resting on her hip. Setting the carton on a display cabinet inside the door, she caught the jacket as it began slipping from her arm. Stroking it one last time, she was alarmed to realize that she was going to miss it hanging on the kitchen door. Running her fingers over the raised anchors on the brass buttons, she checked to make sure Rick wasn't looking at her before she sniffed the collar. How had a simple navy blue blazer become an object of fetish? Her search for the answer was interrupted by Rick's voice.
"I know we should have talked about it before this," he was saying, his upward gaze dropping in defeat, then wandering across the room to Bryn. Holding her gaze boldly with his own, he kept on talking into the phone, "I have to go. Sure, I'll remember. We'll talk later."
As he closed and pocketed the phone, Bryn felt her moxie waning. Feminine instinct struggled against common sense. Was his conversation about an upcoming fishing charter or a date? And why should it matter? While she'd been mooning over him for days, he had been avoiding her.
"Good morning," he said, before pointing to her red running clothes. "Challenging me to a race this morning?"
"Hello. What?" Looking down at her clothes, she said, "No," before brushing back her hair. A bouncy lock dipped across her brow again, but this time she pretended to ignore it. What had possessed her to give up hair spray and extra-body styling gel since she'd been down here? "I didn't mean to disturb your phone call."
"You didn't. I was through," he said, picking up a pencil and writing on a clipboard. He looked up at her long enough to register the point with a smile. Turning back to the clipboard, he erased what he'd written, then wrote again.
So it wasn't a lover he'd been talking with. Her shoulders relaxed along with her tightly clamped jaw. The call must have been about a charter, because he continued to write down numbers in little squares and make check marks in several columns. Standing by the display of potato chips and cheese curls, she had a nearly overwhelming urge to tear open the cellophane and toss them into the air like confetti.
"So, what's up?" he asked, hanging the clipboard on a wall hook and sliding the pencil onto the counter beside the cash register.
"Jiggy doesn't have to pick up the lunches. I brought them myself," she said, indicating the carton on the display cabinet. "Two roast beefs, three chicken salads, and one peanut butter and jelly. I put in extra
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