The day had begun with Amy and Hunter on the water, talking about nothing in particular. They had been together most of the night, in fact, just talking, no more lectures. And now, in the golden light of early morning, they were attempting to haul in the shrimp nets they had set at dawn.
“Take me around this point,” Hunter said to Amy, who was now in the stern, steering.
“Like clockwork,” said Amy.
“You’ve been peeing on the same clump of sea oats at the same time for the past ten summers.”
“And you have a problem with that? Would you rather I just cut loose off the bow here? I can do it.”
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t scare me. I have two brothers, Hunter.” She eased toward the bank and let the boat scrape to a halt on the sand, catapulting Hunter from his stance in the bow. Without missing a beat, he strode up the bank, grinning perversely at her over his shoulder, and disappeared from view.
In two seconds, he was back, yelling at the top of his lungs, sand flying before him.
“There’s a dead guy up there!” he shouted. He hit the bow at a run, shoving the boat off the sand.
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