The Wrong Kind of Right

chapter 6

My father called it "team building." I called it a mistake I should've seen coming.

"You and Aria are running the yard together this week," he said over breakfast, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "I'm heading to the marina conference in Traverse City. Figured you two had a good rhythm going."

"We have a working rhythm," I said. "That's different from a running-the-whole-yard-unsupervised rhythm."

"She's capable. You said so yourself."

I had, unfortunately, said exactly that — once, out loud, in a moment of honesty I now deeply regretted.

Aria, for her part, looked far too pleased when she found out. "Look at you, delegating real responsibility to me. Growth."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late."

The week that followed should have been chaos. It wasn't. If anything, it was worse than chaos — it was easy. She picked up the ordering system faster than I expected. She charmed the regulars in a way I never bothered to, remembering names, asking about people's kids, turning transactions into conversations. By Wednesday, old Mr. Halloran, who hadn't said more than ten words to me in three years, was laughing at something she'd said and calling her "the fun one."

"You're better at this than me," I admitted, grudgingly, closing up on Thursday.

"I'm not better. I'm just friendlier. You're better at the actual boat stuff. We balance each other out."

We. The word landed somewhere I wasn't prepared for.

I locked the front gate, and she fell into step beside me on the walk back, close enough that our arms brushed once, twice, neither of us moving away.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, quieter than her usual tone.

My stomach dropped, half-certain she was about to bring up the photo, the engagement, all of it. "Depends what it is."

"Do you actually like running this place? Or did you just end up here?"

Not what I expected. Somehow harder to answer.

"Both, I think," I said finally. "I didn't plan on it. But I don't hate my life, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"It's honest."

She looked at me for a long moment, like she was deciding whether to push further, then let it go, which I appreciated more than I could say. We walked the rest of the way in comfortable quiet, and it wasn't until I said goodnight at the top of the stairs that I realized I'd spent the entire walk not thinking about Claire once.

Not once.

That scared me more than anything else had all week.