Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(13)
“Trouble? I’m the governor’s son! I’m not allowed to get into trouble. You’ll be safe as a baby lamb with . . . with . . .”
“A wolf,” she muttered, tossing the line onto the boat and giving him a look as she walked around him and bent over the bow cleat.
“If you say no,” he said, the unfamiliar taste of desperation making his voice edgier than usual, “you’ll leave me no choice. I’ll be forced to come lookin’ for you.”
“Please don’t,” she said again, her eyes worried.
She frowned at him, then threw the line onto the bow and jumped onto the boat.
“I’ll start at the post office,” he said, stepping closer to her boat, “because they’ve got everyone’s address. And if they don’t have yours for some reason, I’ll go to the—”
“Don’t,” she said, plucking a key from a compartment by the wheel and turning over the engine.
He felt almost frantic. This cannot be the end. No. Absolutely not. He wanted to hear her voice again—the strange, lovely lilt of her unusual accent. He wanted to know more about her: who she was, what her life was like. He wanted to figure out why he felt so drawn to her. He wanted to touch her, make her smile, make her laugh. There was too much he wanted, and without her digits, how could he get in contact with her? Fuck! He couldn’t just let her go.
“I will find you!” he cried over the roar of the engine. “That’s a promise, Laire Cornish!”
“Damn it to hell and back!” she yelled. “Fine! You win!”
He stepped closer, reaching out to grab the salt-stained chrome railing on the side of the boat. “Wait, that’s a yes?”
“Tomorrow night,” she said, frowning at him. “I’ll be at the Pamlico House. Eight o’clock.”
“Ha! Yes!” he yelled, a triumphant fist raised high. “Okay, then!”
He couldn’t help the smile that widened his lips to the point of aching until he stood there chuckling. This wasn’t the last time he’d ever see her. The boat started leaning away, and he let go of the railing just before it pulled him into the water. He raised his hand to wave to her, excitement making him feel uncharacteristically giddy.
“See you tomorrow, Freckles!”
She nodded, her eyes both annoyed and troubled as she backed the boat away from the dock without waving good-bye.
Chapter 4
Laire’s father had two boats: the commercial fishing boat and a smaller, prettier leisure boat they used for the occasional cruise on a Sunday afternoon when Hook wasn’t working, or for the trip to Ocracoke for a nice supper at one of the cafés over there. And while borrowing either for a good reason had never been an issue, borrowing one to go to the Pamlico House Bed & Breakfast to meet Erik Rexford and accept a summer job wasn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park.
That said? Laire had two good reasons to figure out a way to make it work:
One, she wanted the job Ms. Sebastian was offering. If she worked every day from now until Labor Day, she’d amass a small fortune by the end of the summer. And if she was able to keep the job through the end of next summer? She should have enough money saved to start college that September.
And two, Erik’s threat was real. She could tell by the crazy glint in his eyes. If she didn’t show up at the Pamlico House at eight o’clock tonight as promised, she had no doubt he’d arrive at Corey bright and early on Monday morning, as soon as the post office opened for business. And the last thing she needed was the rumor mill—which already had a false story about her and Brodie for fodder—to explode with the news that Laire Cornish was dating a dingbatter. No, thank you.
Her father wouldn’t be home until late afternoon, which left most of the day for her to figure out the best possible argument for her cause. She emptied her father’s ashtray beside the reclining chair and put his two empty beer bottles in the recycling bin. She made a chicken and rice casserole for his dinner, then scrubbed the kitchen floor, sink, and countertops until the old Formica gleamed. With vinegar and newspaper, she shined the kitchen and oven windows, the same way her mother had done so many years before.
“You got coffee on?” asked a sleepy Kyrstin, shuffling into the small kitchen around eleven and taking a seat at the four-person table by the newly cleaned window. Their mother had made the cheerful oilcloth curtains when her daughters were little, and though they were discolored with age, none of the Cornish girls had the heart to replace them.
“Three hours ago, yes. Now, no.” Laire glanced at her watch. “It’s almost noon!”
“Make me a cup?”
“Make your own.”
“My head throbs like the devil,” said her sister. “What time did I get in last night?”
“Heard you banging around at about two.”
“Remy and his brother made a bonfire on the beach,” said Kyrstin. “You could’ve joined us, Laire.”
“Was Brodie there?”
“Course.”
“Then it’s good I wasn’t.”
“Maddie Dunlop was all over him like a cheap shirt.”
“Maddie Dunlop is more than welcome to him. He isn’t mine.”
“You say that like you don’t love him!” teased Kyrstin. Laughing to herself for a moment, she sobered when she looked up and caught the expression on her younger sister’s face. “Okay. Okay. Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll quit teasin’.”