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It takes him another few minutes before he’s brave enough to get out of bed, though. He slept in just his boxers, and I watch with rapt attention as he pulls his gray sweatpants back on. My mouth goes dry when I get a look at the impressive morning wood that I was feeling. Images of Carter pressing me into his bed all those years ago flash through my mind.
Tell me how bad you want it, Ange.
I turn around quickly and face the other side of the kitchen. I don’t want him to catch me ogling.
We busy ourselves getting ready, and eat some of the muffins Margery left with us and pack a few for the trip along with some (shudder) protein bars. Carter doesn’t say a word about the fact that we slept in the same bed and that I was actually able to fall asleep next to him, and neither do I. I’ll figure out what it means later.
We head outside and walk through the sleepy, tiny town towards the docks. The sun has been up for a while already, and it’s another clear, bright day. It’s even sort of warm out, and I’m glad I wore layers. Maybe I’ll be able to strip out of them on the boat and get some sun.
We head through the town and past all of the shops, and make our way to the docks where only two boats are tied up. A long figure, who must be Archie, is standing at the end of the dock, staring out to sea.
On a whim, I take my phone out and snap a picture.
“I want to paint it,” I say by way of explanation. “When we get back.”
I’ll have to buy completely new supplies, and I’m probably no good anymore, but the picturesque nature of this island has reignited that place inside of me that sees things in shapes and colors—how they’ll look on a canvas.
Though, maybe it’s less the island itself and more the fact that this is the most time I’ve had off of work all year.
“That’s a great idea,” Carter says encouragingly. “I can’t wait to see it.”
I snort.
“I mean it,” he says.
I don’t tell him that there’s no way in hell I’m going to show it to him. We may have reached an unspoken détente over the last few days, and the chemistry between us might still be there, but I’m under no illusions as to what is likely to happen once we get back to Harborview.
“Are you excited to get back home for anything?” I ask him, turning the conversation away from myself.
“Not really. I need to get back to work on my dissertation. And I have to apply for a job.” He pauses for a beat and then says hastily, “One at the university.”
Strange. Why would that matter? He can work wherever he wants.
I’m prevented from meditating on this anymore because we reach Archie on the docks, where he’s now standing by what must be his boat. It’s small, but it’s a classic Maine lobster boat, like the ones I’m used to seeing in the waters around Harborview. Archie’s boat is called “The Agnes,” and the name is painted in swirling black paint.
“Who’s Agnes?” Carter asks.
“The boat,” Archie grunts, but I notice that he furrows his brow and frowns as he says this. I’m sure Carter notices as well, and I don’t think he’ll be asking any follow up questions.
Agnes must be a real person, and I don’t think Archie wants to talk about whoever she is. He helps us onto the boat and insists gruffly that we both wear life jackets.
“I’m not having any accidents on my watch,” he says.
I accept mine willingly because honestly, dying in the frigid Maine waters after nearly dying in a frigid Maine storm a few days ago is something I’d like to avoid. Enough things have gone wrong for Carter and I this week.
“You look cute in a life jacket,” Carter says.
I take a gulp of my coffee. “What has you so complimentary this morning?” I grumble.
“Neon orange suits you, Angel. I can’t help myself.”
I roll my eyes, and turn my attention to Archie, who is unmooring the boat. Soon enough, we’re heading out to sea. The contrasting sensations of the warm sun and the cold wind feel refreshing and after a few minutes my second dose of coffee seems to start working and I fully perk up.
At the helm, Carter and Archie are talking together while Archie steers. Carter calls me over, and when I get there he explains that Archie has just outlined the day for him.
“We’re going to head around the coast of the island, and check the inshore lobster pots Archie has set,” Carter explains.
“Is it warm enough for them to be inshore?” I ask, knowing a bit about lobsters from my years living in Maine.
