Deep Blue Eternity by Natasha Boyd

Author:Natasha Boyd [Boyd, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781472219695
Google: rk6NBQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00V1YYH4O
Barnesnoble: B00V1YYH4O
Goodreads: 24700453
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2015-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

THE MARINA WAS waking up as I stowed my bedding and changed. I pulled my big fleece jacket on and opened up the cabin to the chilly morning air. The sky was gray, the water choppy. Gator was heading down the stairs from the marina office with two coffee cups.

“Hold up, Gator, I’ll come to you,” I called.

“How d’ya know this one’s yours?” he groused and turned around. I grinned and jogged up the jetty.

“Got my first dolphin tour of the season today,” he said as soon as I entered. “Group staying on Tybee.”

“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed the cup he held out. “The sky says otherwise.”

“P’shaw. It’ll hold off ’til late afternoon.”

And based on Gator’s prior predictions, he was probably right.

“It’s gonna be a good summer. You give any thought to doing some sailing classes for me?”

“Not yet. It’s not that I don’t want to, but with school, and helping out Pete, I’m not sure I’d have much time,” I evaded.

The truth was I didn’t want to be in the public eye. The chances of running into someone I knew would go up exponentially. Not that my old blue-blood crowd who grew up spending summers at the country club, or learning to sail at Camp Seagull, would be taking lessons as an adult on a ropey looking Catalina moored at Bull River. They’d probably be farther up the creek at the Savannah Yacht Club if they weren’t summering in Nantucket.

But they might come this way. And that was reason enough.

Gator studied me from under his duckbill cap as he brought his mug to his mouth, nestled in a long, shaggy gray beard. The fisherman’s version of Santa Claus. “How about we put you on a schedule two afternoons a week—”

I shook my head.

“Now, now, I’m not done. And, and, I take their names and call you first before you decide whether to take the job.” He took a long, noisy slurp of coffee.

Pursing my lips, I now shook my head again, this time with resignation as I watched him put his coffee down, a smug grin on his face. “You’re not called Gator for nothing. You’re a tenacious old fart, aren’t you?”

He swung his feet down to the floor with a thud and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper. “Who you callin’ old, boy?” he boomed and swatted at me.

I raised my hands to cover my head. “Get off,” I groused, laughing. “Old you object to, but fart’s fine?”

“Now, now,” Pete’s gruff voice cut in.

We both straightened ourselves up.

I saluted Pete as he walked in, then headed to the small bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth. I tried not to look myself in the eye. When I stepped out, I caught the tail end of something Gator was saying about the Department of Natural Resources patrol in the marshes having been stepped up. “Fisheries are joining up with the Coast Guard to cover more area. That means there’ll be less competition for y’all who do it by the book.

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