Page 10 of Weathering The Storm

For the past four years, it’s never mattered how busy we are or how exhausted he is. Seth has always made the time, at least twice a day, to stop in with a cup of coffee.

Except for yesterday.

It used to catch me off guard when we started working together. It’s supposed to bemyjob,mypriority, to make sure everyone on my crew gets enough rest, enough breaks, enough food to keep their spirits high during these grueling workdays. My dad instilled those values into me, and I watched him live them with the way he cared for his men over the years.

This work is bullshit most of the time. There’s no sugarcoating it. It’s fucking draining, it’s fucking freezing, and it’s fucking backbreaking.

I’m not the type to shy away from getting my hands dirty on deck. I did my time as my dad’s deckhand, and later his first mate. But there’s no denying that the physical demands of navigation and logistics aren’t as strenuous as hauling pots and sorting crabs.

I’ve never thought of myself as the one who needs to be taken care of, but I can’t deny… it felt good whenever Seth brought me a fresh mug of medium roast and a bite to eat.

I’m pretty sure that’ll never happen again though. Our interactions yesterday were few and far between. A shift change in the wheelhouse, ten minutes of exclusively work-related conversation, and a scattering of updates over the crew radio. Because no matter how uncomfortable I’ve made him, Seth is still one hell of a first mate.

He just doesn’t want to be alone in a room with me anymore. I can’t blame him.

We’ve already had a long day, setting our first pots of the season to soak. It’s been about sixteen hours since I last stepped away from the helm, and my eyes are starting to feel it. They’re dry. Heavy-lidded.

I’m mapping out how long it’ll be before I’m able to get my caffeine fix when a series of footsteps ascends the carpeted stairs that lead from the bridge to the crew mess.

“Captain,” Seth’s voice comes from behind. That perpetually upbeat tone I know so well. “Sorry it took me so long. It’s been a busy one. Wanted Jorg to have a shot on the launcher this season, give him some experience.”

Even though I’m not totally sold, I’m grateful he’s giving us both an avenue to move past my moment of weakness. I hope I manage to wipe the surprise off my face before I turn over my shoulder and see him standing there with a cup of coffee. Acting like it’s all copacetic between us.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not my waiter,” I say. “How’d he fare?”

“He’s a smart kid. Got lots of potential. If he can learn to shut the fuck up once in a while we’ll be golden.”

That gives us both a laugh.

Seth tosses a granola bar onto the captain’s chair and deposits the mug directly into my hands. His fingers brush mine when I take my gloves off to feel the warm ceramic against my palms.

It’s completely innocuous, but that brief contact is enough to recall the feeling of his hand in mine, helping me up. His hands braced on the edge of the steps as his body came down on top of me. Hard and heavy.

“How are you doing, Cap’?”

“Better now,” I mumble around the rim of the mug. A truth and a lie. “Thanks.”

He smiles, and I look away.

I’m so infatuated with him, the smallest token of domesticity sends me spiraling. Suddenly, I’m picturing him in the kitchen at my cabin, both of us waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.Rich, nutty steam curling in the air as I hook my hands under his thighs and lift him up on the counter…

“New gloves treating you well?” he says conversationally.

This past winter turned my knuckles into chunks of ice, shattering every time I closed them around the wheel. There’s no way he knows how much his gift truly means to me.

I almost wore the gloves to sleep last time, and when I remembered to take them off, I set them down on my nightstand and stared at them like the creep I am.

Telling myself,They’re just gloves. Seth is just a nice guy, and he’s the best friend you’ve ever had. Don’t scare him off,until I finally fell asleep.

“They’re great,” I say. “Really, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Hmm.” He reaches over and grabs my hat, stopping my heart as he rubs the fabric between his fingers before tugging it down further over my ears. “Maybe I’ll have to get you a new hat, too.”

“I can buy my own clothes, Rit.”

“‘Can’ and ‘will’ are two different things. Youcanmake your own coffee, too, but I’m here ‘cause you don’t.”

“You’re here because I can’t operate a hundred-foot fishing vessel on my own. I’m not gonna fall asleep at the helm.”