“I am all set.” Zoey raised her Alaska bag and waggled it at him. “Do you need to take any? I have nondrowsy, nondrowsy extra strength, and one prescription-strength, nothing’s going to make you sick, but you’ll probably pass out medication.”
“Born and bred Alaska. If I couldn’t keep my sea legs, I’d get kicked out of the state.”
His eyes lingered on her, causing Zoey’s face to heat up at his attention. It was impossible not to, even with all the passengers in between them. Smiling at him, Zoey turned around in her seat, keeping her legs tucked in and her elbows to herself. Yes, they had started this trip out annoying everyone, but she was determined to be a good passenger.
“Oy. Zoey. Zooooooooooey. Psssst, Zoey.”
“What?”
“Hey, you know the humpbacks are—”
“On the left, you’ll see the Chugach Mountain Range,” the driver droned into his intercom, the loud shrill speakers above their heads squawking in protest and cutting Graham off.
“I can’t hear you,” Zoey mouthed, teasing him. “Sorry.”
Graham rolled his eyes and settled into his seat with a clear sigh.
“She’s so mean to me,” he said to the man next to him. “You should see how she is with the kids. All sweet as sugar to them, but I’m chopped liver.”
Zoey listened intently to the guide’s spiel, ignoring Graham’s increasingly detailed and forlorn description of his and Zoey’s married life. His imagination was impressive, and as she made mental note of the inconsistencies between the guide’s talk and the extensive research she had done on the area, Zoey found herself growing increasingly distracted by Graham’s tale.
“Oh, and the fights we have over the bills. Don’t get me started. I mean, I work hard every day to make sure the Hamburger Helper is on the table when she gets home, but does she appreciate it? Nooooo. She’s always saying, I make more money than you. I don’t forget to mail in the mortgage check. My boss doesn’t think I’m a drunk.”
Graham sighed so loud he drew nearly all the bus passengers’ eyes. “It’s just rough. I think she needs to go to rehab.”
Twisting in her seat, Zoey gave Graham her best death stare. “Seriously?” she stage-whispered.
“What was that, dearest? I couldn’t hear you over the factually inaccurate account of our homeland.”
A modest wooden sign appeared in the distance, next to a building that Zoey had been waiting to see.
“Oh. Oh! Can we stop?” Half standing in her seat, Zoey nearly jumped with excitement. “Please, just for a moment.”
“No stopping.”
“Hey, man, my emotionally unsupportive spouse wants to see something. We’re good on time. Ten minutes won’t kill you.”
Bless the man. He might be annoying, but he was quick to jump on her side. The tour guide frowned in the mirror.
“No stopping. Please remain seated until we arrive at our destination.”
Disappointed, Zoey slid back into her seat.
“I would remain seated,” Graham drawled loudly, “but I’m pretty sure someone in here’s about to have a bathroom emergency.” He waited, then said, “And you’re gonna get stuck cleaning it, buddy. Sure you don’t want to stop?”
The guide’s eyes narrowed, just a little, then he slowed down just in time to make the turn-off into a tiny gravel parking lot. As soon as they came to a stop, Zoey rushed outside, the crisp mountain air hitting her nostrils, wiping away the scent of stuffy, grumpy bus.
Graham joined her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You know about this place, huh?”
“Of course.” Zoey pulled her well-worn travel book out of her bag, thumbing open to an earmarked page and reading aloud the words. “‘Bob’s Banana Blasters. An oddly non-banana-shaped and non-banana-flavored treat that will change your existence as you know it. Do not miss this one if at all possible.’ And I do not intend on missing it.”
“This thing again?” Graham scoffed playfully, tapping her copy of Luffet and Mash’s How to Do Alaska. “I’ve got to find you a better tour guide.”
The shuttle driver gave them a dirty look. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, Zoey slipped her arm through Graham’s and tugged him toward the building. The actual shop was the length of the single-wide trailer it once started as, but in the years since inception, the shop owner had added more than a few lean-tos off the exterior. It was also a knife shop, and inside, dusty glass displays stuffed with all kinds of weaponry filled the trailer, with a few stools pulled up in front of carved animal horns. And at the far end was an overweight man on a stool, beard halfway down his paunch, standing guard over an old freezer and a bucket of cash.
“You ran screaming from me, but this place you want to go into?” Graham murmured in her ear.
“Your steel box of horrors wasn’t non-banana-shaped.”
“Do you think he calls himself the blast master when he’s alone?”
Snickering, Zoey hurried to be first in line as the busload of tourists obediently shuffled toward the blast master. Graham followed at her heels.
“Buy a guy a blaster?” he asked hopefully.
Zoey was more than happy to peel out enough bills to cover two of the oddest treats she’d ever seen in her life. And Luffet and Mash weren’t wrong. It didn’t taste like a banana, even though it was vaguely flesh colored, yet whatever it was she put on her tongue melted with utter deliciousness.
“Thanks.” One single word, but the way he said it had her toes curling. While Zoey was busy hiding behind her treat and uncurling them, Graham peered around the establishment with a critical eye.
“I bet Harold would eat this place alive.”
“Who’s Harold?”
“Long story.”
“Graham, look.” Grabbing his hand in excitement, Zoey pulled him to a glass counter, her focus on the wall behind it instead of the artifacts inside. “See that picture? I read that all the movie stars coming through here used to stop and take their pictures with the original Bob.”
“I think the original Bob retired somewhere warmer a long time ago.”
“I think the original Bob is hiding beneath that beard. Do you think he’d take a picture with us?”
“I think going whale watching is as close to tourism as I can conscientiously endure. No selfies.”
Grinning around her provided wooden spork—because whatever they were eating had enough lumpy parts to require some stabbing—Zoey shook her head.
“You’re a selfie snob.”
“You’re…” He paused, considering it. Finally, Graham said, “You’re trouble. Do you like your goop?”
“I love my goop.”
“Yeah, me too. Damn that book.”
It wasn’t fair how good-looking this guy was. Zoey licked her spork nervously. Was he thinking about kissing her? Because she was thinking about—
Pain. Lots and lots of pain.
“Whoa. What’s wrong?”
Zoey gestured frantically at her face. “Splinter in my tongue. Spinter in mah tongue!”
“Let me see.”
“No, you can’t—ahh! Let go!”
“That’s right, say ahh.” Graham winced, a mixture of concern and amusement in his eyes. “Ooh, that looks painful.”
It was. It really was. Graham pulled out a knife from his pocket, flipping it open. “Hold still. Come on. Don’t be a baby. I’m not gonna—oops.”
For a horrifying moment, Zoey’s brain refused to acknowledge what that oops might mean. Then Graham, beaming with pride, held up a half-centimeter-long wooden splinter.
“All good.”
“Did you use the knife?”
“Only a little.” At her look, Graham chuckled. “I have godsons. That’s not the first tongue splinter I’ve plucked.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, feeling her face heating. He must have known she was embarrassed because Graham scooted closer, arm brushing hers.
“Had to earn my keep, gorgeous.”
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
The blare of a megaphone made them both jump. “Back to the bus,” the tour guide said. “Please return to the bus.”
“An air horn is better,” Graham whispered to Zoey as she worked her jaw, squishing her tongue back and forth to make sure it was there. “Come on. Let’s beat the masses.”
This time, Graham darted in and took the front seat, pulling Zoey in next to him.
“That’s my seat.” A disgruntled passenger said, glaring at them, but when Zoey went to move, Graham snuck his pinkie around hers, tugging lightly in silent request to stay.
“Yes, and I totally stole it. What the wife wants, the wife gets.”
After patting the free seat next to them, Graham handed the guy a Tourist Trap business card, printed in the style of a Monopoly “go directly to jail” playing card.
“Life’s rough, isn’t it? Here’s a coupon.”
Chapter 8
Their boat was not the stuff dreams were made from.
Graham didn’t consider himself a particularly picky man, but even he gave the vessel some serious side-eye as they boarded. Zoey was either oblivious or even less picky than Graham because she ignored the ship completely in favor of reading aloud from the brochure.
“Even though peak gray whale viewing season is during their migration in April, a variety of sea life can be seen in the summer months in Resurrection Bay. Sea otters, sea lions, killer whales…oh! Listen to this. Dolphins often swim next to the ships.”
Lost in her reading, she was oblivious to everything around them. Graham placed his hand on her shoulder, gently steering her forward as they did the tourist shuffle toward the SS Problematic.
“Watch your step, Zoey.”
Graham didn’t make it down to Seward much, and he never came during summer. Unlike the Cook Inlet outside Anchorage, Resurrection Bay was more than deep enough to accommodate the massive cruise ships visiting during peak tourist season. The little coastal town was a nice place to get lunch and maybe hike up Marathon Mountain for some fun. But the sheer number of tourists waiting around for whale watching tours in Seward was overwhelming.