Free Storms of Passion by Lori Power

sea faring family,” his mother once said. “Tourists come to see us and should be pleased by what they see. Taken back in time as it were. We can’t have hinges like the regular ones they sell on the shelves.” She admonished him when Tuck laid the hardware on the counter the first time he attempted to do this job.
    Tuck had fished the receipt out of his pocket. “Ma, I’m sure when the house was originally built, Ole’ Captain’ MacLean bought supplies at the local mercantile.” Tuck argued fruitlessly, but knew he would be taking the hinges back
    Putting the new hinges back in the hardware bag, his mother smiled, a slight twinkle to her eye causing laugh lines across her beautiful cheeks. “That’s just it, and so they should look just like what he would have purchased off the shelf in the eighteen century.”
    The manufactured sign of straining hinges greeted his ears as he opened the back door. Convinced there were no screen doors until the middle to late nineteenth century, he opened the box that arrived yesterday, containing the hardware he had found on the internet. Expensive, but matching the historical hinges even Ole’ Captain MacLean would have purchased.
    Only the sound of the ocean lapping and the occasional dog barking marred the silence surrounding Tuck as worked on the door. He smiled, knowing he was fixing an historical landmark. There were several older homes in the town of MacIntosh, but the MacLean home had always belonged to a family member in one way or another. The house held many lifetimes of fond memories. The front porch, where his mom and dad sat on their favorite swing in the evenings and greeted the neighbors. The veranda on the back of the house overlooked an acre of pristine property edged by the sea. The kids always loved the lookout window in the in the attic, complete with a spyglass where they could view ships of all shapes and sizes in the far distance.
    Tuck didn’t know a lot about architecture, but in town they referred to the MacLean house as a Captain’s House for that is exactly what it had been in the eighteenth century, a captain’s house built for a ship’s captain.
    Great, great, however many times it took to go back to Grandpa MacLean to get to the right generational gap, was by all accounts the original sea captain. Gerald MacLean crossed the pond from Scotland in the eighteenth century. He set sail, brought along his men and their families for a fresh start away from English rule. Here, life began anew for this branch of the MacLean’s on this side of the Atlantic aptly named New Scotland at the time, now Nova Scotia.
    Being true to your roots only went so far with Tuck. Nothing would convince him that having to pay twice as much for a set of hinges and having them shipped across the country was worth it. A little over the top, but if it pleased his mother, so be it.
    A warm day, the sun shone directly on Tuck’s back. A trickle of sweat danced off the tip of his nose, He sat back on his haunches and reached in his shirt pocket for the old-fashioned hankie, wiping the sweat from his brow. He slipped it back into his pocket and grabbed for a screwdriver, cursing when it slipped from his sweaty hands.
    Even while focused on his task, he couldn’t miss the scent of coconuts and pina coladas as it sailed up his nose. Directly beside the ancient toolbox, a set of candy apple red toes suddenly appeared. Huhh . Tuck’s gaze followed the cute toes, to the flawless skin on the long legs that seemed to go on forever. He stretched from his crouch position to stand upright. Sparkling . Her arms and legs had some sort of glitter coating them, making the reflecting light sparkle over her skin in the sunlight. He inhaled her scent. An inviting tropical beach .
    Tuck’s gaze continued to her almond shaped, sea green eyes which were staring at him, questioningly.
    “Good morning, Tuck,” Vivian said. Her low toned, husky voice seemed to be more suited to a late night