Page 2 of The Sailor

“Zach.”

Zach’s hand closed around hers—and she was surprised to feel a jolt move up her arm when he touched her. That had never happened to her before, and she had no idea what it meant.

She kept the smile on her face, not willing to give any hint that this introduction was different from the dozens of others she’d had in the last week. Eliot seemed to delight in introducing her to anyone and everyone he knew, so she’d met a lot of people recently.

But none had caused a reaction like this man.

When she pulled her hand back, Marit couldn’t stop herself from taking a step backward, wanting to kick herself for letting even that small sign of discomfort show. She was known for being stoic; she’d learned not to let her true feelings show because they could and would be used against her . . . at least, they had in the past.

She listened as Eliot and Zach discussed how many lobsters he wanted, and as they chatted about the upcoming weather for the Lobster Fest. It was supposed to be sunny but not too hot, which was perfect for the vendors at the festival.

Eliot packed a crate full of lobsters for Zach, and without thought, Marit reached over and picked it up. It was heavy, but she’d been hauling lobster pots in and out of boats for years. It was no heavier than those. “I’ll help you load up. Lead the way,” she told Zach.

He stared at her for a beat, and she wanted to kick herself. This man didn’t need her help. He could’ve easily carried the crate himself. But she was curious about the guy who’d caused such a reaction with just a simple handshake. Wanted to get to know him better.

Which was shocking. When was the last time she’d had the slightest interest in a guy? Years. It had been years. She’d been too busy working. And therefore, the men she saw the most were the ones she worked around every day . . . and they weren’t exactly the type she envisioned for her future.

She didn’t want to marry a lobsterman. She had nothing against them. She just assumed that, eventually, she’d get to a point in her life where the physical demands of working on a boat would become too much, and she’d transition to another career. And while she’d always be grateful for working on the boats, she wasn’t sure she’d want to be around them forever, especially if she could no longer do the work. If she married a lobsterman, she’d end up tied to them for life.

To Zach’s credit, he didn’t ask if she could handle the crate of lobsters, he simply gave her a small smile and a nod as he leaned over to pick up the second, smaller box Eliot had loaded up for him.

They walked along the dock, toward the parking lot. Marit was at a loss as to what to talk about, now that Eliot and Jonah weren’t there to contribute to the conversation.

She glanced over at the man next to her. Zach Young was good looking, there was no doubt. He was tall and slender, with dark hair and hazel eyes. He had a beard . . . well, it wasn’t exactly a beard, but it wasn’t a five-o’clock shadow either. It was the perfect amount of facial hair. Not scruffy at all. His biceps bulged as he shifted the box in his arms, and she couldn’t help but notice his hands. The one closest to her looked a little rough, had a couple of small scars . . . and it was huge.

Of course her brain decided to go there. She was well aware of the correlation between the size of a man’s hands and his . . . wait, was it his hands or feet?

Glancing down, she saw that Zach’s feet were also large.

Before her mind could go somewhere inappropriate—or, to be honest, fall even deeper into that topic—she noticed he was limping. It was subtle, and if she hadn’t been paying attention, she wouldn’t even have noticed.

“Are you all right?” Her gaze swung up to his face.

He frowned. “Yeah, why?”

Marit second-guessed her question. She had a tendency to speak before thinking, which she was regretting right now. Men didn’t like when any kind of flaw was pointed out. “Just checking,” she said vaguely, quickly trying to come up with something else to say.

“No, why do you ask?”

Shoot. Fine. She’d just ask and get it over with. “You’re limping. Not a lot, but . . .”

To her surprise, he grinned. “Didn’t think it was noticeable.”

“It’s not. Not really,” Marit was quick to say. “I’m just used to observing others.”

He tilted his head at that, as if trying to figure out the deeper meaning behind her words. He was obviously intelligent and quick. Because there was a deeper meaning behind her need to study others. As a small woman, she always wanted to be ready to react however a situation merited. Whether that meant getting out of the way of a fist swung by a drunken lobsterman in a bar, or clearing the area of ropes that a careless coworker had coiled wrong on a boat . . . or figuring out what kind of mood one of her brothers was in so she could respond accordingly.

Not wanting to go there, she pushed thoughts of her siblings to the back of her mind, where they usually resided.

“Had two knee surgeries when I was in the Navy. Every now and then they ache. Especially when I’ve been standing for a long time. It’s one of the reasons I got out of the military. Spending all that time standing in the galley was hell on my body.”

“And you’ve been standing a lot lately, I’m guessing. Getting ready for Lobster Fest.”

“Bingo,” he said with another grin. “Not as long as you, though, I’m guessing. Working on a lobster boat isn’t easy.”

Marit couldn’t help it, she chuckled. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“But you’re good at what you do.”