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  He went to her side. “That won’t work with me, Pilar.”

  For a second he expected a scolding, but it didn’t come. Good, because there was a whole world out there for Pilar to experience.

  ****

  “You kissed him?” Blanca said, as though Maya had been with an axe murderer. Blanca had come into Maya’s room and was standing there with her arms folded.

  Cara stood in the doorway to Maya’s room. “Was he any good?”

  “Cara!” Maya peeled off her clothes. Those she dropped in the laundry basket. The sweater she put in a small bag for hand-washables.

  Rick letting her go after the kiss still irked, even though she was the one who demanded to be released. Once she made the demand, she needed to continue acting like she didn’t want to be kissed. If he had tried a little harder, she would have surrendered. When he let her go, she had no choice but to smooth her skirt, return to the car, and drive away.

  Why had she acted so starchy? The twins would have had no such qualms. Well...Cara wouldn’t, anyway. She would have kissed Rick properly.

  Cara was staring at her with those brown eyes that slayed men left and right. But what was there to say about the kiss? It had melted her knees? Not to mention her resolve? Would she say it had made her imagine Rick’s hands on her body? Her naked body?

  Cara didn’t miss her long pause. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

  “Cara, stop it. I’m not going out with him. Yes, we kissed. It was an accident, but I’m never going to—” Maya thumped the basket by the door.

  “Wait, wait, wait! Back up. The kiss was an accident?” Cara burst into laughter. Even Blanca giggled.

  Maya huffed into the bathroom where she filled the sink with water and powdered soap for delicate fabrics. She didn’t dare look at herself or at her sisters, who were smirking at her in the mirror.

  Cara turned to whisper something in Blanca’s ear. Blanca jammed the side of her hand under her nose, a gesture everyone knew she did to suppress a guffaw. Blanca tried hard not to show ripples of emotion on her calm surface in public.

  “Don’t get hopeful. I told him to leave me alone.”

  “You what?” Blanca and Cara chimed.

  Her reflection in the mirror sagged. On a deep breath, Maya squared her shoulders and pushed Sin’s sweater into the warm sudsy water. She wove her fingers through the loosened stitches. The fibers were silky to the touch. Both girls were now wedged into the bathroom door. Maya took a deep breath. She met their gazes in the mirror in time to register the exact moment they saw her tears.

  Their faces crumpled. They rushed to her. Blanca smelled of apricot, Cara of musk. Maya smelled of pathetic.

  “There, there,” murmured Blanca, patting her back. Or maybe it was Cara’s hand, Maya couldn’t tell.

  “I’m sure there’s a way to work around it, to give him the green light again,” Cara said. “For example, I can go over there to tell him—”

  “No!” Maya said. She released them. “Cara, you better not!”

  “No, Maya’s right. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Thank goodness for Blanca, who often supported Maya in guiding Cara. Blanca had helped Maya discourage many of Cara’s harebrained ideas. Cara was so impulsive, she was a worry.

  “But I do agree with one thing,” Blanca said, betraying Maya. “You need to fix this. Why don’t you make Rick dinner?”

  Hmm. An apology dinner. Maya’s grin was reflected in the faces of her sisters. Guess another one of those kisses wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe this time she wouldn’t push him away…if he tried again, that is.

  ****

  The fishing party boat Rick wanted was available on Thursday. He didn’t need the excuse any more, since Cara’s flirtation was only meant to flush out his and Maya’s secret interest in each other, but the fishing idea had taken hold.

  Rick arrived at the pier just at sunrise. The hustle bustle of the harbor was contagious. Maybe he could get used to an early schedule if he could be outdoors. In Silicon Valley, rushing in to work meant getting into an office early. Meetings weren’t exactly an incentive for early rising.

  The wood planks of the pier echoed beneath his feet. The captain, with only a rumpled cap with “scrambled-eggs” indicating his rank, occupied the bridge. The twin diesel engines rumbled to life. Running, Rick jumped onto the deck of the schooner. And promptly lost his balance.

  Fortunately, he was able to grab hold of the railing before he fell on his ass. The boat’s two mates, who were standing ready to cast off, appeared to stifle guffaws.

  “I’m Rick. I’m a beginner. I’ve never done this before. Tell you what, there’s an extra fifty bucks for each of you if you’ll show me how to do this. Make me look good today, okay?”

  The two men nodded. One came over to him, pumped his hand vigorously. “You got it, boss! I’m Jonesy, and that’s Hawg. We’ll take good care o’ yer!”

  A knot of men were down at the stern. Making liberal use of the railing, Rick made his way over there. The slight rock in the quiet bay was surprisingly hard to navigate compared to land. The six men were obviously together. They spoke with heavy Boston accents.

  Rick inserted himself into the crowd. “Hi, I’m Rick Nordan.” He thrust his hand out to the tall one. He wore a nylon hat and seemed to be the one with the most to say.

  The man hesitated, but then shook hands. “Rick Nordan? Of GameCom?”

  Rick dipped his head. “Afraid so.”

  “I’ve got stock in your company,” a short stocky man said.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “So am I, lately.”

  “Yeah, me too. You better keep it up.” This last came from a third guy. They all looked to be about in their thirties, maybe a little older than Rick.

  “So what are you doing out here in Lobster Cove?” the fourth guy said.

  Before Rick could answer four more groups of men came on board.

  Rick was odd-man out until the orientation started. Everyone fell silent to listen to the mate. First came the law of the land, then the mate talked about how to fish. He didn’t bother asking if anyone didn’t know how, thankfully, because Rick would probably have been the only one to raise his hand. There seemed to very specific protocols to avoid losing or damaging the tackle.

  “When ya get a fish on the line, ya need to yell out, ‘Fish on!’ Ya don need ta say on what.” The crewman paused for a moment. There were a few chuckles at his joke. “You hear those words, it’s yar job ta manage yar lines so they don’t get tangled.”

  Rick pictured what a mess twenty-five fishing lines could create, if they tangled. Avoiding chaos seemed like an impossible task.

  “If ya get a bite, let the line slip out but not free. Ya gotta set the drag right, or the line’ll get tangled or worse, the hook can come out, or the fish’ll get caught in the line and cut in half.”

  This was starting to sound hard. He would probably look like an ass the whole time. What was the drag? Hope this whole trip isn’t one. No, far from it. The air was cool. The excitement on deck was palpable.

  They headed out across the harbor, passing several islands and curving coastlines. A cruise ship was anchored off the shore of Bar Harbor. They motored for an hour before they had a strike. The chaos when the first guy hooked a fish was as anticipated. The mates were shouting to no avail. Four lines tangled. The fish dove under the boat. The line broke. They had the perfect storm.

  Jonesey was red in the face probably from having to suppress a stream of expletives. “Don’t let loose o’ yer tackle, those’r two-hundred dollar reels!” The captain was giving him the evil eye from the outskirts of the three-ring circus.

  Things settled down. The trawling boat dragged Rick’s line through the water. The sun beat down on his hat. The fishing vest supplied by the party boat organized all his essentials in pockets. It hung over a moisture-wicking T-shirt. Heavy-duty sunscreen blocked out the cancer rays. There was no substitute for good gear. Jonesey had co
me over to him and showed him how to turn the star-shaped drag to increase the friction on the bait-casting Shimano Curado reel. He showed Rick how to keep enough tension on the line while they were trolling but loose enough to let the line run if he got a bite.

  Rick’s line jerked. His heart jolted. But nothing else happened. He relaxed again. Then suddenly the line spooled out so fast his pole arched. His already tight grip tensed around the cork handle at maximum force. He loosened the drag. The fish was pulling the bait away from the other lines because Rick was positioned astern. Perfect!

  Exhilaration rushed through his veins. “Fish on!” he shouted.

  Hawg appeared at his elbow. “That’s right. Let it run to keep tension on the line. Like you’re doing. Just keep it up. That’s it! Okay give it more line. Okay it’s looping back! Reel it in! Reel it in!”

  Rick did as he was told, reeling in the line as fast as he could until he felt the fish pull away. He didn’t need the crewman’s instruction to let it run again. He was getting the hang of it. Holy crap, this was a kick! The fish really pulled. Back and forth, he’d reel it in, then when the line went taut, he’d let it out. Little by little, he spooled in more of the line, finally bringing the fish alongside. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Whoa, now what?

  He turned to call Hawg back. “A little hand here.”

  Hawg expertly dipped a pole with a net on it into the water. “Okay, let it loose.” He lifted the wildly wriggling fish onto the deck, grabbed a wooden pin, and whacked the fish to stun it. He removed the hook, and held it by the gills for all to see. “Holy mackerel!” He grinned. “He’s a big’un, ’least 20 inches.”

  Hell, this was the most fun he’d had in years. Rick caught the rounded eyes of the other fishermen and a few nods of acknowledgment.

  Hawg fitted it into a big bag, wrote Rick on it, and dumped it into the big ice hold. “We’ll clean ’em for ya later, make sure we put all you’rn inta this bag, ’k?”

  By the end of the day, with Jonesey and Hawg’s help, Rick had caught nearly a dozen good-sized mackerel. They cruised in toward the harbor, the mates cleaning the fish. They tossed the scraps of innards to the gulls following the boat, who swooped to catch the pieces before they hit the water. Rick’s arms were tired. His face was covered with salt spray, but exhilaration rushed through him like the winds of the open sea as they planed through the water, the twin diesels roaring.

  At the end of the trip, he took care of the two mates, as promised. They congratulated him on his catch, and on having won the pool for the most fish, which he gave to them in addition to the promised tips.

  He stepped off the boat and swayed, his sea legs betraying him on dry land. Hefting the nearly 30 pounds of fish in the bag over his shoulder, he wondered, what the hell am I going to do with all this fish?

  ****

  Maya planned to cook dinner for Rick at the family house. At “the rental” as she remembered to call it. It wouldn’t do to use the key to enter the place, but she had a plan. The food truck was on wheels for a reason.

  The warm evening would be perfect for a traditional Lobster Cove bake. Maya tuned the radio to the local rock station. She swatted the pots with wooden spoons. Then she buckled down to work. After peeling four new potatoes she rinsed the starch and bits of skin from their smooth surfaces. The cold water over her hands refreshed her from the growing humidity in the truck.

  She had purchased just one lobster. It was huge, should be enough, especially when she added kielbasa. The sausage popped and hissed when it hit the melted butter—ahhh. She tossed in some chopped onions, bopped a pot with a spoon and turned a little spin.

  There was Rick outside the truck, wearing a big grin. “Hi. I just figured I’d be coming over to your house for dinner.”

  “I figured this would be better. After all, you already passed the test of the twins’ party. I thought you deserved a little privacy tonight.”

  “Was the lunch a test?”

  She grinned. “In a way.”

  He nodded. “Do you and your mom do a special meal whenever your sisters come out?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess it’s a test you’ve used before.”

  She hadn’t. If she had, she would have recognized Garth for a jerk much sooner. “I admit nothing. How was the fishing trip?”

  “Not bad.”

  She lowered the flame under a pot. Rick was squinting over the counter at the stove. “Did you catch anything?”

  He held up the Styrofoam box. “Seven mackerel.”

  “Good job!” She took the container. “Did you have a good time?”

  “It was a blast, if a bit chaotic.”

  Maya laughed. “Was this your first fishing trip?”

  Rick nodded. “Can I be any help to you in there?”

  Maya shook her head. “Go inside. Get comfortable. I’ll have this ready in a few minutes.”

  After he disappeared, she remembered the bread. She hadn’t made any. What were they going to use to soak up the broth? Yikes. She eyed the sandwich bread getting stale on the shelves. She would replenish it first thing in the morning, of course. But today’s leftovers weren’t really good enough to serve for dinner.

  Well, they would have to do. She warmed some butter, pressed garlic, and spread the bread slices on a baking sheet where she put it all together. The sheet went under the broiler. She watched through the oven window until the bread turned golden brown. The simple aroma brought water to her mouth.

  Rick ambled down the front steps. He wore a sweater and jeans. “Sure I can’t help?

  “Now you can.” She handed him a platter of mussels, crayfish and lobster. He gave her an expression she could only describe as...crestfallen. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m allergic to shellfish.”

  “What?” He had to be kidding. Because if he wasn’t, it would be the worst thing possible. She surveyed the platter of nothing-but-shellfish. “Then why did you go fishing today?”

  “Mackerel aren’t shellfish. It’s shellfish that kill me.”

  “Kill you?” She felt like crying. Maybe killing him wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Yes.”

  “What about the twin’s party?” Whoops, her fists were on her hips again. She took them off. With her hands by her sides, she probably looked like a wilted plant.

  “I fed the lobster roll to the dog.”

  “You what? No wonder Ripper had a bad case of gas.”

  “Hey, you gotta swallow it before you can get the farts.”

  She giggled then sighed. Her apology dinner was a total disaster.

  “Here,” Rick said from below, holding up his hand. “Come around here. Let me take care of you for once.”

  Maya changed into her heels and toddled down the stairs. She tried to stay angry, but when his strong supportive hand closed over hers, that was a lost cause. “Carry the food inside,” she managed. “It is not going to waste. I’ll eat it. You can just starve. Since you didn’t tell me.”

  “Okay.”

  His dimples appeared. Damn him. It was hard to stay mad at him.

  The inside of the house smelled like heaven. “What is that?” She wrinkled her nose as if in disgust, but it was more dismay. Because the house smelled like a bakery. “Don’t tell me you bake too.”

  “This is a bad thing?” He was leading the way with the platter.

  “You can do everything else while all I do is cook, yet you do that better. You can even tell me how to run my business.” She fought tears. “And not be wrong!”

  He set the seafood on the table and circled her in his arms. His warm breath soaked through the top of her hair. He whispered in her ear. “You can do much more.”

  Now he was being suggestive. Anger fired her veins. She shoved him away hard.

  He stumbled back. “What the hell?”

  “I am not your toy.”

  Rick looked wounded. “I never said you were! I meant you are smart as hell. Yet you persist in underestimati
ng yourself. Look at all those books over there.” He waved at the cases without turning around. “You are incredibly well-read.”

  “How do you know those don’t belong to my mother or my sisters?”

  “Something about the fact every book has your name in it?”

  Pride quelled her fire. It was kind of nice he’d noticed her interest in books.

  “So why do you sell yourself short? Why are you running a food truck in this Podunk little town?”

  The pride went up in smoke. “Podunk little town? This is my family’s home! This community is my family. Oh—forget it. You have no idea. You come from a world where everybody is out for themselves. Where it’s all about getting ahead.”

  “Isn’t California where your sisters are going to school right now?”

  Dang it, he would bring up that little matter. “Yes. They’re who you should be dating. If you are going to date anybody at all. Because you’re not dating me. We are obviously totally mismatched.”

  “I should be dating both of them?”

  His lewd typically male bad-twin joke fell flat. She could kill him. The image of wrestling with him brought feelings sharply in contrast to what she was thinking, though. Once again her brain was completely disconnected from her body. When would her body get the memo? She. Was. Not. Interested. In Rick Nordan! Especially…in that way.

  “You really need to give up the seafood,” he said, his mouth stern as though he were communicating something of great import to the worldwide economy.

  “Why, because you’re allergic to it?”

  “No. For the reasons I said before.”

  “You just don’t understand my cooking. You never will. You have no idea what it’s like to have to make a living.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Her mind reeled back to the conversation with Cara and Blanca. Oh yeah. Rick had made his own way. The twins said he’d funded his startup with money he’d earned in college with his hot gaming rigs. They understood him while she had no clue. Nor did he understand her. This—whatever it was—was not a recipe for love. This thing between them was a recipe for disaster.