Page 158 of Rhodes

“Thank goodness you didn't give in. This is really great.”

We keep walking.

She shows me where the first shell will go, not scattered directly onto the flats but staged for the next phase of shoreline work. The details are more complicated than I remember from the first time she tried explaining any of this to me, mostly because I was too busy watching her mouth back then to absorb half of what she said.

Now I listen. By the time we loop back toward the shed, Dale is gone. She sets the remaining flags on a workbench and reaches toward a row of waders hanging from pegs.

“What size shoe?”

I look at her. She holds up a pair.

“No.”

“You wanted to see the project.”

“I have seen the project.”

“You saw it from dry land.”

“Which is my preferred way to see most things.”

She tosses the waders at my chest, and I catch them.

“Put those on.”

I stare down at them. I'm immediately taken back to the morning in Louisiana.

“You know the last time you recruited me into oyster labor, I ended up tossing forty-pound bags across a boat.”

Her mouth curves. "That's right. You know the gig. I forgot you're an old pro."

I step into the waders. They're a little short, but I loosen the shoulder straps, so they'll do.

Tallulah looks me over and starts laughing.

“Don't.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Thanks for setting me up for that.”

“I didn't know your legs got longer.”

“Right. Of course. I’ve been the same height since high school.”

I adjust the crotch, pulling them down as low as I can. My hardening cock isn’t helping. “I have access to your shell shipment, you know.”

“That threat would carry more weight if you weren't so damn helpful.”

She says it lightly, and our eyes meet.

I nod once. “Good point.”

She hands me a bundle of flags.

“Try to keep up.”

We spend the next couple of hours placing flags along the edge of the marsh, resetting markers ahead of Monday's delivery and checking the paths they will use to move material from the staging area.