Driftwood Point by Mariah Stewart Page A

had been short-lived, he recalled, because the hoped-for invitation to Jerry’s house had never come, and because Alec discovered that he ­really didn’t like Jerry after all.
    Since Lis was always so aloof, he’d never gotten to spend much time in her company outside of school, so he made sure he signed up for every class she took, going so far as to enroll in a poetry class in which he had no interest. But she never gave hima second look. They’d been juniors the year he decided he would in fact be the master of his fate: He was going to go for broke and ask Lis Parker to the junior-senior prom.
    He’d chosen a time when there were other kids standing around the student lounge, hoping their presence might bring him luck. After all, she wouldn’t turn him down in front of all those other kids, right?
    â€œSo, Lis,” he’d said as he walked up to her, his stomach doing flips and his heart pounding even as outwardly he exuded nonchalant confidence. “Want to go to the prom with me?”
    â€œNo.” That was all she’d said. One word. No. No explanation, no excuse, no thanks anyway . Just . . . no.
    He’d stared into her eyes as if he hadn’t heard her. When he realized she wasn’t going to smile and say, “Just kidding,” he prayed for the floor to open, swallow him whole, then close over his head.
    Humiliated, Alec had muttered something like, “Oh, okay, then,” and walked away, his cheeks burning like they’d been set on fire, his confidence soundly shot in the butt.
    The moment had remained in his memory as the single most embarrassing moment of his life. No one had ever made him feel quite as awkward as Lis had in the fifteen seconds it had taken her to respond, and it annoyed the hell out of him to discover that she still could make him feel just a little like that insecure adolescent he’d once been.
    His phone rang in the back pocket of his shorts, and he wiped his hands on his shirt before answering.
    â€œJansen.”
    â€œAlec, you wanted me to call at eleven and remind you about your meeting with Brian Deiter at one.” His assistant, Lorraine, was one of the very few people in his world that Alec couldn’t live without. She had never failed to keep him on track.
    He glanced at his watch. It was exactly eleven. Her call was, as always, on time to the minute.
    â€œThanks, Lorraine. I’ll finish up here and stop home to clean up and then I’ll be in. Can you have those latest wetland studies copied for me?”
    â€œAlready done and in a folder on your desk. And yes, I made a copy for Mr. Deiter.”
    â€œYou are worth your weight in gold, lady.”
    â€œPlatinum,” she corrected him.
    â€œWhatever makes you happy. See you soon.”
    Alec cleaned up his equipment and his workspace, then left through the side door. He padlocked the shop and headed for his car, which he’d left parked in front of the old showroom. Someday he’d get the boat sales business up and running again, but he knew that was a few years down the road. Right now, he was lucky he could steal a few hours away from his office to work in the shop on the skipjack.
    And someday I’m going to build them , the classic Chesapeake Bay crafts. Deadrises. Skipjacks. Maybe even a bugeye. As far as Alec knew, there was only one of the latter left in operation. Might be fun to build one if he could find a buyer.
    He made a quick stop at his house, where he showered and changed into what passed as summer business attire—khaki shorts and a polo shirt—and drove to his office on Elgin Road. He parked in frontof the building he’d purchased the year before and got out. The sign over the door— ALEC M. JANSEN, PhD, ENVIRONMENTAL CONSULTANT —always gave him a thrill. Who’d have ever guessed that the boy who’d skipped school every chance he got would eventually achieve such status?
    Lorraine