Free The Mariner's Gift by Kaylie Newell Page A

whole time while her scarf flapped merrily in the breeze behind her.
    “All ready!” Zola hoped she sounded chipper and professional. Of course, the sound of her voice would be in direct contrast to the tint of her face, which was probably green.
    He was still standing there. She could feel him.
    Tugging the scarf away from her throat, she turned. Oliver Tworek had always been the cutest boy in high school. A veritable teen girl magnet. His parents had emigrated from Poland when he was eleven, so his accent hadn’t hurt either. The years had been kind to Oliver. He’d filled out. But he’d also grown into his looks in a way that made her even more self-conscious than before. His gray eyes and close-cropped, blond hair were the same though. His features were sharp and distinctive. His nose was just a little big, a slight imperfection that had only increased his appeal for teenie bopper Zola. And turns out, thirty-eight-year-old Zola as well. He wore a navy blue, fleece jacket, which was open at the throat. The logo on the chest read Alcatraz Boat Tours , and below that, Captain O. Tworek .
    She smiled. “You look very official.”
    “It’s no Coast Guard uniform, but it’ll do.” He was smiling back. With dimples.
    She wanted to throw up.
    “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, reaching for her arm. “But you don’t look so good.”
    Why had she forgotten that dratted Dramamine? Oh, yes. Hottie boat captain. If that wasn’t grounds for distraction, she didn’t know what was.
    “I’ll be okay,” she managed.
    The boat rocked again and she leaned into his hand which was anchoring her in place. Brushing her flattened bangs from her eyes, she looked around the deck where dozens of other people—families, couples, friends—looked eager for departure. Wreaths hung amidst tiny, white Christmas lights that draped the entire outline of the boat. Normally, she would have thought it was lovely. Now, not so much.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be driving or something?” she asked.
    “Here.” He motioned for her to sit on one of the benches. “Look at the horizon. It’ll help.”
    She plopped down, grateful for something solid beneath her, and clutched her big, leather purse to her chest. This wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured this outing. Last night as she’d been drifting off to sleep, she’d imagined Oliver coming up behind her, a soft ocean breeze ruffling her perfectly coifed hair. He’d have said something like Zo, you look beautiful , in his slight, but exotic accent. And she would have responded with Oh, no . And then she would have laughed charmingly before flashing a demure, but totally dazzling smile.
    This sea sickness routine was screwing up her reunion mojo.
    Oliver sat down next to her, and even with the stiff wind howling over the deck, she caught his scent. Yum.
    “Howard’s got the wheel. I’ll sit with you for a while if that’s okay?”
    The engine roared again, vibrating the entire boat. It lurched away from the dock, sending Zola into a fresh round of pukiness. She smiled her best smile, although she was pretty sure it wasn’t demure or dazzling.
    “Thanks, Oliver.” She focused on his eyes. Screw the horizon. “It’s been a long time. How’s the tour business going?”
    “It’s good. Still getting used to dealing with the public, but that’ll come in time, I guess.”
    From what she’d deciphered over the phone, he’d been retired from the Coast Guard for a year. He’d been living in Newport, Oregon, all this time. When his marriage ended, he’d decided to come back to San Francisco and go in on an Alcatraz tour business with some seafaring buddies with deep pockets.
    She hadn’t seen him since their ten year high school reunion, when he’d been a young, up-and-coming boatswain’s mate and his wife had been pregnant. They’d seemed like the perfect couple. They had the perfect life.
    So it was really with no other intention that Zola had contacted him on