On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,41

like the sun had gone behind a cloud, and even the breeze off the water felt cold, which was silly, really—more than silly—when I thought about it. This was a guy I’d known for less than half a day. He’d said nice things, but in the end, was it really a shock that he’d established the same opinion about my intellect after spending a few hours with me that the rest of Whispering Key had after knowing me for decades?

“So how long until we reach this island?”

“A few minutes.” I pointed ahead of us. “That bit of land is Menucha.”

He turned to look at it, then glanced back at me. “It looks delightfully dry.” He grinned.

I gave him a clipped nod. “There’s actually a small dock on the northwest of the island where we can tie up, so you won’t have to get wet at all. If you grab the binoculars from my bag, you can probably see it.”

Toby frowned, probably because my jokey-ness had evaporated, but he opened my bag and removed my binoculars, looped the strap behind his neck, and set his sights on the island.

“The east side is…” I frowned as I noticed a boat in the distance getting steadily closer, and adjusted our course to make sure we passed them to starboard.

“Is?” Toby prompted.

“Full of mangroves,” I finished, watching the other craft. “What the hell is that guy doing?”

Toby lifted the binoculars. “Dancing. I’m guessing TikTok is involved. And there are a bunch of people in bikinis and board shorts. T-shirts suggest Sigma Alpha… something.” He grimaced. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Great. Once again, I adjusted the tiller and steered wide to avoid them.

“You know, I wasn’t kidding.”

I shifted my gaze back to Toby. “Yes, I know. It’s definitely five o’clock somewhere. Probably France. I understand how time zones work.” How dumb did he think I was?

He laughed shortly. “Not that. I mean, that you probably haven’t read anything I’ve written. It wasn’t a slam. Not to you, anyway. I don’t talk about work, Beale.” He hesitated. “I can’t, even if I wanted to, which I do not. I signed a nondisclosure agreement years ago.”

This was unexpected. “What do you write, man? Hateful political tirades?”

“No, darling. Nothing that terrible.”

“Is this the reason you had to leave New York?”

“No, I… No. That was a whole different—” He broke off as the thumping bass of the Venga bus song floated across the water, along with high-pitched squeals.

It seemed like no one on the party boat was paying attention to their heading or the location of any other boats in the water, because their current course and speed meant they’d collide with us in about a minute.

I cut the tiller sharply, setting us on a westerly course that would put us nearly parallel to the wake of the other boat, which was going to suck but would be infinitely better than a collision.

“Hang on,” I told Toby sharply. I twisted the tiller to slow us a bit as the other vessel passed, but we still hit the trough of their wake at the worst possible angle. The boat dipped and rose like a roller coaster.

Toby hunched over and grabbed onto my right leg with both hands, throwing me off balance. In a panicked voice, he asked, “Would now be a good time to mention that I can’t swim?”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“The murder cats and the yoga weren’t enough!” he wailed. “Now the sea will claim me!” He buried his face in my thigh.

I resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, I grabbed the back of his neck with my free hand and stroked the skin there gently, feeling way more protective than the moment called for.

“Hey, it’s alright. Look, Toby. Toby, it’s fine. They’re gone. We’re back on course. It was just a blip.” I tugged gently on the hair at the nape of his neck. “Shhh. We weren’t in any danger, okay? And I wouldn’t’ve let anything happen to you, even if we were. Your life jacket would’ve kept you afloat, and I’d’ve taken care of everything else,” I soothed. “If you’d told me you couldn’t swim, I’d’ve explained that before. It’s all good.”

“Just a blip?” Toby lifted his head enough to look around.

“Just a blip,” I confirmed. “It happens.”

He peered at the asshole boat speeding off into the distance, and my gaze followed his.

“Sea Me Beachin.” I read in disgust, my hand still stroking his neck. “That’s maybe the douchiest boat name I’ve ever heard. Don’t worry, Toby,