Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I don’t disagree, but I’m more skeptical, I guess, and decided to take this one hour at a time,” I said, feeling the silence building inside me, keeping me from saying more, I needed time to think.
“Kiss me. Curl my toes again. You can be the guide to where we go from here. I promise, I don’t need more than you’re willing to give.” Dash brought his hand forward, sweeping the hair off my forehead, but the unkempt style had it falling right back again.
“I’ll cut it,” I murmured.
He stared at me, seemingly taking in every part of my face.
“Don’t change a thing. You’re perfect.” Dash lifted his head, his lips parting as he sought mine. I met him halfway for another soul-searing kiss.
One week later
“Brooks.” I released my hand off the pressure washer lever, instantly stopping the spray, and glanced over my shoulder to my new boss, Guy. His gruff, loud voice held authority, and carried all the way to Mexico, I was certain. “Finish what you’re doin’ then mop the patio then take off. I’ll log your hours in the mornin’.”
“Got it,” I hollered back, lifting a thumbs-up high in the air just in case he couldn’t hear me.
He didn’t pay any attention to my response as he locked the back door to the charter boat office. I waited to see if he had more to say. Sometimes his directive came in two barked sections, minutes apart.
As Guy fisted his keys in his palm, he pointed a finger at Dash who hung out in his normal spot, sitting on a ledge at the end of a retail leasing complex, facing me. “Your old man doesn’t need to know I’m leavin’ early.”
This was a regular conversation between the two of them. Dash grinned from his perch on the property’s edge, his feet dangling, his arms hanging over the bottom rail. “Got it.” He gave his own thumbs-up to drive his oath home.
Guy checking out before the end of his shift was a daily occurrence. He hadn’t been caught yet, which probably meant it didn’t matter to anyone in charge.
As expected, Guy finally remembered he had more to say and pivoted around, walking closer to me. “We’re shorthanded on the booked charters next week. You’d have to be here by five in the mornin’ and stick around to do your afternoon duties.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but I felt like there was a question in there. “Yeah, I can do it,” I said, beaming. I’d be out in the ocean, helping people fish, or probably just doing work no one else wanted to do, but still a dream come true.
“Will he be paid overtime?” Dash called out, inserting himself as my acting manager.
I shrugged at Guy’s burst of irritation as he swung his head toward Dash. “Yeah, I guess so now. And this is between me and my employee. Stay out of our business.”
Dash nodded approvingly and shot out his own thumbs-up. When Guy turned his exasperation back at me, he whispered loudly. Dash had to have heard. “Don’t you have any less annoyin’ friends?”
I don’t know why the question tickled me so much. Maybe due to this perpetual happiness following me everywhere I went. I snickered because the answer to his question was no, I didn’t. Dash and I spent all our free time together, and I wasn’t looking to change my circle of friends.
“He’s just lookin’ out for me,” I finally answered pretty lamely and did my best to hide my joy. Guy rolled his eyes then pivoted on the heel of his old work boot. A perfectly executed move for someone with a sizable beer belly that made him as tall as he was wide.
“We’ll need to cap your time at thirty-five hours next week. You’re gonna work more than that, but I’ll catch up the next week. No one needs to know you’re workin’ that much.”
“Sure, it’s not a problem. Thanks for the work.” I started the sprayer back again.
Guy started for his truck with a carelessly given backhanded wave. Once he’d made it to the front parking lot, I finished the last section of the dock, keeping one eye on Guy’s truck until he left. My hand lifted off the nozzle as my excited gaze flipped to Dash. “I’m makin’ two hundred fifty dollars next week to fish.”
“And maybe that same amount the next week,” he piped in. “I’ll keep up with your hours and make sure they pay you properly.”
The idea of Dash managing Guy through the payroll process made my heart smile. The gruff, grumpy old man already had a distaste for office work. He was sure to be driven crazy by Dash watching over his shoulder.
“What’s your schedule next week?” I called out, bringing the hose back up to the porch to finish cleaning there. Missing Dash might be the only downfall to fishing all day.