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There were too many people in his boat. No, there were too manykidsin his boat.
The evening sun began its lazy late summer descent, casting a golden glow atop the waves of Magnolia Bay. Linc Fontenot held back a scowl as yet another sticky-fingered, freckled-faced child grabbed for the steering column of Linc’s twenty-foot pontoon. Of all the nights for Anthony, his college-aged tour guide, to call in sick. Should have told him to pop an ibuprofen and get to work.
“We’ll be off shortly.” Linc attempted a less-fake smile at his pontoon full of eight Croc-wearing, camera-clutching tourists. He probably sounded as annoyed as he felt, which wasn’t great for the five-star reviews he was in desperate need of, but some things, like the weather and this wind stirring up waves, just couldn’t be helped. The boat rocked again, and he braced his legs as he stood starboard, arms crossed.
The dock—unlike the boat—sat annoyingly empty as they bobbed. Where was Zoey? She’d sworn she was on her way ten minutes ago. And not that she’d lie, exactly, but it’d be just like her to leave him hanging, stretch him to his max before swooping in to help at the last minute.
“What’s this do?” The same freckled, sunburnt kid reached for one of the levers on the steering column.
Linc swatted his hand away, let his scowl free. “Blows up the boat.”
“Really?” The kid lowered his hands to his side, blue eyes wide against red cheeks.
Linc narrowed his eyes. “Wanna find out?”
Freckles adamantly shook his head and cowered into his mother, who wore a buckled life jacket despite the fact they hadn’t even set sail yet and vests were optional for participants over twelve. The mom frowned at Linc, wrapping her arm around her son.
Five stars, five stars.“Uh, help yourself to the sodas in the cooler there.” Linc stepped away, turned his back. See? This was why Anthony did Boiling Bayou tours in the off-season. Linc was better with crawfish than people.
He shaded his eyes and gazed up the dock, toward the boat house and the slightly leaning, boarded bathroom facility and the minuscule concession counter that made them able to pitch this bay-side tour business more legitimately. In the bow seat, a middle-aged couple wearing straw hats started arguing, one of them sounding like they’d already hit up happy hour at the pub before boarding. Great.
He could probably only stall about five more minutes, and then he’d be forced to drive the boatandtalk, God help him. Maybe they’d get lucky and see a dolphin, despite the last sighting having been weeks ago. No way would Linc be able to create the same energy Anthony did—giving facts about bay life and stats about the gulf beyond, making the tourists laugh and want to come back. Honestly, it was just a bay.
But he’d come back years ago, hadn’t he? So maybe it was more.
Two kids started a loud game of rock, paper, scissors, and Linc wondered for the tenth time if he could raise his age limit for tours. But then he’d be turning away families, and exhausted dads with fat wallets looking to sit down for an hour were the only reason he was able to keep things running in the off-season. The hurricane last year made this past crawfish and shrimp haul the smallest Linc had ever had. He just had to make up the difference this fall and winter with these side hustles, then hope for a solid season next spring. Problem was, he wasn’t generating enough traction on the tours yet, and Elisa, who’d helped market his buddy Noah’s inn recently, suggested he focus on getting people to leave reviews.
Positivereviews. He winced. This was all doable, right? No need to worry.
Except for the fact Zoey might not show up and he might have to play the role of fun-loving guide.Thatwas reason to worry.
But thereshe was, finally, jogging over the sun-warped planks, dark hair bouncing over her small, fairy-like frame. Her slouchy, oversized bag slammed her jean-clad hip with each step, her smile wide and knowing as she barreled straight down into the boat.
“Took you long enough.” Linc kept his voice low, his stance solid as she braced one hand on his shoulder to soften her abrupt landing. Wasn’t that what he always did for her? Had done while she’d stood and watched her own business burn to the ground several weeks ago?
He wasn’t the only one needing to make up profits. At least his status wasn’t emergency. Yet, anyway.
She blinked up at him, blue eyes large beneath thick bangs, her smile far from innocent. “Now, did you think I left you here alone with all these”—she dropped to a horrified whisper—“peopleon purpose?”
“Yes. I did.” His shoulder tingled under her touch. Been doing that lately. Somewhat bothersome.
“And yet you called me anyway.” She winked, moving her hands to plant on her narrow hips. “I sort of like being your only hope.”
He scowled again as he made his way to the wheel, shaking off the lingering burn on his arm. “Desperate times.”
“Am I getting paid for this?” She unzipped that ridiculous bag and pulled out a black band.
He plopped down on the captain’s chair. “No.”
She affixed the band over one eye and struck a pose. Good grief, she’d brought an eye patch. “What about now?”
He snorted. “I asked you to lead the tour, not channel your inner Captain Hook.”
“Same thing, right?” She pulled a fake goatee from her purse, peeled off an adhesive strip, and affixed it to her cheeks and chin. Then draped a gold chain over her neck, rolled up her shirt sleeve to reveal the fake—pleasebe fake—bicep tattoo of a heart reading MOM, and turned to the tourists with a grand gesture. “Ahoy, mateys! Welcome aboard.”
Oh, brother. Linc shifted into reverse, and the boat puttered away from the dock as Zoey launched into an even thicker accent, sounding more British than pirate. But the kids had quieted down, and even Mrs. Uptight looked relaxed now, leaning back against the seat and smiling as her son stared, mesmerized, at Zoey.
