The Hitchhiker in Panama (Love and Wanderlust Book 1) Read online

  I blew out a breath and slumped back, opening my eyes again. Edith patted my shoulder. “Buck up, you’ll do it all again tomorrow.”

  Realistically, I had known that it was unlikely my first day would be successful, but my optimistic nature had taken a hit.

  Edith and I refilled our coffees and went back up into the cockpit of the boat, where it was much cooler. Peter stayed down below to prepare brekkie.

  “While our boat was hauled out,” Edith said, “we didn’t stay on it. Sometimes we had to stay in the marina’s hotel. It’s nice and cheap, but it’s not a home, and every cent of money saved counts. But most of the time we relied on the kindness of our friends and slept in their boats. Why don’t you let us return the boat karma, and come stay with us?”

  I didn’t know what to say. People invited total strangers to live with them? I thought about the cramped quarters downstairs and my light airy room in the hotel. Then I thought about my bank balance and carefully detailed budget.

  “Think about it,” Edith said. “Why don’t I walk you through the marina this evening around happy hour and introduce you to a few people who may be looking for crew?”

  Two

  Edith’s offer to walk me around the docks in the evening was invaluable. The sailors were out in the cooler temperatures, finishing their projects or cracking open a cold beer. We walked from boat to boat, and Edith knew everyone—not unsurprising, since Silver Lining had been in the marina for nearly a year. A handful of boats were looking for an additional crew member, but none of them fit my timetable.

  As it was getting dark, and my stomach grumbled in hunger, Edith and I agreed to head back to Silver Lining. There was always tomorrow.

  When we returned, Edith and I had our own sundowners—boat-speak for happy hour—in the cockpit while Peter cooked in the galley.

  “You’d really be okay with me moving in?” I asked. “Even if it’s a week or longer?”

  Edith patted my hand. “I am absolutely sure.”

  “Did you talk to Peter about it?”

  “PETE!” Edith shouted. “LILA IS GOING TO STAY WITH US!”

  “Yes, dear,” came his voice from down below. And that was that.

  The next morning, I moved in, checking out of the hotel with a very understanding Paula. When I showed up at Silver Lining with my bags, Edith led me downstairs and Peter set the coffeepot to brew.

  She pointed to the back of the boat. “This is our cabin. The head—that’s the bathroom—is through here.” She waved to an open door. “Galley here on the port side, Peter’s desk and a seating area on the starboard side. You’ll be up here.”

  I stood awkwardly for a few moments while she bustled around, moving things out of the way.

  Through the doorway was a small bedroom. Wedged up into the bow of the boat, the bed had a V-shaped cushion with a gap at the wide end. A tiny amount of floor space at this side of the bed contained bins and piles of unidentifiable boat things.

  “It’s not much; we usually use this room for storage. But it’s free, so it’s better than staying in the hotel, and you won’t be spending much time in the room itself. This is a head in here”— Edith put her hand on a closed door just outside my new room— “but it’s full of stuff, and being in a marina anyway, we use the bathrooms in the marina facilities. You can use the kitchen sink to brush your teeth on board. Everything else, go ashore.”

  I put my backpacks on the bed, as there was no other place to put them down in the room. When I pressed on the mattress, I found it stiff and unyielding. Was this a better option than the hotel room? Free, free, free, I reminded myself.

  “Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”

  “You are welcome, dear. Now, make yourself at home, and don’t let us old farts slow you down!”

  After I dumped my meager things in my new room, Peter and I drank coffee in the cockpit until the net. I got no leads on a position for the canal.

  After breakfast, Edith rushed off to join the shuttle to the supermarket, which left me alone on the boat with Peter.

  “What are your plans for the day?” he asked me.

  I shrugged. “No plans. You?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a pump I need to rebuild down in the bilge. It shouldn’t take too long, though. I don’t suppose you would want to help?”

  I hesitated for a moment. It sounded like something completely outside of my expertise. But Peter and Edith were giving me a free place to stay; the least I could do was help out. “Sure.”

  Two hours later I leaned headfirst into the bilge of the boat, an area under the floorboards that was full of water with a greasy sheen and a strong stale smell. Peter had me holding a hose up in the air, trying to keep it from leaking water into the boat.

  My skin was covered with sweat and I had a big splotch of oil on my cotton tank top. When the end of my ponytail got soaked with bilge water, I almost cried.

  Peter could tell I needed a break. “Here, take this outside and see if you can get the hose clamp undone.” He handed me a hose with some kind of connector on the end. When I took it, he piled more into my arms: a screwdriver, pliers, and a few other tools.

  Staggering up the stairs, I started to set the parts down on the deck.

  “Set up on the dock, please,” Peter called up.

  I climbed off the boat, then kneeled to inspect and fiddle with the hose clamp. I knew how these things worked—theoretically. But even with the right tools, the screw wasn’t budging. I needed a vise.

  By getting on all fours, I could hold the connector with one hand, pin the hose under my knee, and twist the screwdriver with my other hand. Sweat dripped down my chin, and my butt was sticking up in the air, jean shorts creeping up between my legs, while I strained as hard as I could against the screwdriver. I made a grunt worthy of a caveman.

  A throat cleared.

  I looked over my shoulder, and my upturned ass, to see a man grinning wickedly behind me. The sun was directly behind him, so I shaded my eyes to see him better. He was fair-skinned and stocky, wearing a threadbare T-shirt that accentuated his bulky shoulders and muscular arms.

  “Hallo,” he said, ticking up an eyebrow.

  I froze, recognizing the accent. It was the man I’d seen that first day on the docks. My cheeks heated at the embarrassing—and overtly sexual—position I was in. What even was the etiquette for this situation? Shouldn’t he just politely step around me and then we could both pretend this had never happened?

  I sat back on my heels and looked up at him, dusting my hands off and squinting into the afternoon sun. His grin went crooked, eyes roaming over me.

  “Hmm, a beautiful woman in need of some help?” His accent was soft and lilting, and my brain skipped for a moment on his words.

  I glanced down at myself, at my chest sticky with sweat and starting to turn pink from too much sun, at the grit sticking to my skin, at the big splotch of oil streaked onto one boob. I looked around, just to be sure.

  “Me?”

  He laughed, tossing his head back. “Yes, a beautiful woman in need of some help. I am most definitely here for it.” He dropped to his knees beside me and leaned in to inspect the hose clamp. “What have we here?”

  I watched him, struggling with the desire to be the adventurous, independent Lila versus the Lila who wanted help, all while appreciating—in multiple ways—the bicep curled next to me.

  He braced both ends against the dock and nodded at me. “Try it now.”

  Self-doubt won over and I tried to hand him the screwdriver. “You should do it. You’re stronger.”

  “I have faith in you. Come on. Show it who is the boss.” He winked.

  I notched the screwdriver back into the head of the screw. While my assistant held the connector and hose with both hands, I bent over and twisted the tool with all of my strength.

  “Almost,” he encouraged.

  Finally it gave, rust crackling away from the clamp. “Yes!” I shouted, throwing my hands up in the air, a
nd he laughed with me. We both sat back and I grabbed the hem of my tank top and wiped the sweat off my face. When I looked back up, his eyes snapped from my midsection to my face.

  “Thank you so much for your help.”

  “You are welcome.” He offered me his hand. “Eivind.”

  “Lila.” We shook.

  “Well, Lila, now that I have done my knightly duties, I must move on.” He mock saluted and winked. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  As he departed, Eivind glanced over his shoulder and busted me watching him. I blushed and gathered up the parts. But not even the prospect of helping Peter rebuild the pump could wipe the grin off my face.

  Three

  Edith and I were preparing to walk the docks again that evening, still hoping to find me a boat. She had returned from the trip into town and found me deep in the bilge, holding the pump and hose together while Peter tried to reconnect everything. Tools were strewn all over the boat, storage lockers emptied out, and both Peter and I were drenched in sweat. Edith had shooed me out of the boat, and as I walked down the dock to the pool, the sound of her scolding Peter faded.

  I secretly hoped we would run into Eivind again, especially now that I was clean and feeling more deserving of flirting with a hot guy.

  As if by fate, Edith pointed and said, “Oh, this one might be right for you. They’re around your age, take on crew, and it’s a beautiful boat.”

  My eyes roamed over the boat as we walked down the dock. Eik was written on the bow, and she was beautiful. The deck was open and uncluttered, and the stainless steel shone (something I’d learned takes an inordinate amount of time to polish). Instead of the rough nonskid fiberglass that some boats had, Eik’s deck was striped brown with thin black lines. The middle of the deck, like most boats, bulged up to accommodate the cabin, but Eik was low and sleek.

  Edith knocked on the boat. “Jonas! Eivind!”

  I perked up, and delightful bubbles of anticipation hit my stomach.

  Eivind climbed out of the boat first, and he was ready with a smile for Edith, but his grin lit up even more when he saw me. “Ah, Lila, I knew you could not stay away,” he crowed.

  “Oh, you’ve met?” Edith nudged me playfully.

  “Come in, come in. It is just Jonas and me here right now. The girls are at the pool.”

  The whos are in the what now? Those playful bubbles popped with a sour taste.

  I followed behind Edith as we climbed into Eik’s cockpit and I hid my disappointment over a potential girlfriend. Another man climbed up out of the boat, obviously related to Eivind: they had the same strong jawline, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Where Eivind was stacked with drool-inducing muscles, Jonas was taller and leaner. When I repeated his name back—Yonas—he clarified that it was spelled with a J. His hair was long and curled around the edges, a contrast to Eivind’s close-cropped blond cut.

  “How did your project turn out?” Eivind asked me as we settled into the bench seats around the cockpit.

  “That was the end of my hard work, thankfully. Peter got the pump back in working order, and I suspect I didn’t have a whole lot to do with it.”

  “You were very helpful, dear.” Edith patted my knee. “Speaking of which, Lila here is looking to be a linehandler through the canal. Do you have your date yet?”

  Jonas shook his head and focused his attention on me. “No, but the agent comes tomorrow. I was going to hire a linehandler through him.” Eivind nudged Jonas. “But you could save us some money,” Jonas finished with a smile.

  “Right.” I nodded. “And I can cook and clean, too. But I don’t know much about, like, knots or anything . . . seamanship . . . stuff.”

  “I can teach her what she needs to know,” Edith assured them.

  “That is okay,” Jonas said. “Marcella and Elayna know what to do, and you will most likely just be along for the ride.”

  “A warm body,” I agreed.

  “You should come by tomorrow morning. You can meet the rest of our crew and then the agent, Robert, will come in the afternoon to give us the details.”

  We made plans for me to swing by after breakfast the next day, and Edith and I departed.

  Down the dock, I did a little jig next to Edith and sang, “I’m going to find a boat, I’m going to find a boat.”

  We laughed and bumped hips. I threw a last glance over my shoulder, and Eivind was on the bow of Eik, holding on to the rigging and watching us walk away.

  When we got back to Silver Lining, Peter was nearly done cooking dinner. I collapsed dramatically onto the couch.

  “He’s so cute.”

  “I know, that whole boat. Everyone’s so young and good-looking, it makes me wish I were decades younger.”

  I lifted my head up. “Those guys would be chuffed to have you, I’m sure.”

  Edith barked a laugh. “I hate to say it, dear, but I think maybe he’s got a partner,” she said while pouring herself another beer.

  I sat up straight. “Really? He was so flirty.”

  She held out her hands, palms up. “Maybe I’m wrong. You two would be a gorgeous couple, in my humble opinion.”

  “Aw, thanks. Well, maybe he’s single, maybe he isn’t. Either way, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

  Whether Eivind was available or not, I reminded myself that this trip wasn’t about having a fling. A fling would just be a momentary distraction, and I wasn’t going to let anything disrupt my plans.

  I lay in bed the next morning, thinking about my new possibilities. If Eik worked out, I would accomplish what I came here to do—transit the canal. I couldn’t help but think of Eivind, too. He was very good-looking, and I could already tell he was a flirt. But my first priority was to transit the canal—not get into shenanigans with a hot sailor.

  Not counting my chickens before they hatched, I still announced on the morning net that I was available to crew.

  After the net, I walked down the dock to Eik and along the side pier. A figure stood in the cockpit, and he poked his head around the canvas when I called good morning. Mouth full and toast waving in the air, Jonas gestured to me to come in.

  I picked my way around to the cockpit and climbed down onto a seat. Jonas swallowed his bite of brekkie and wished me a god morgen. People rustled around downstairs in the cabin and the scents of butter browning and sticky jam wafted out.

  I settled into a cushion on the seat. “So, where did you sail from to get here?”

  He swallowed the last bite of his toast and told me about the trip from Grenada. It took six days for Eik to sail over.

  “Beautiful spinnaker sailing,” Jonas said.

  I made a mental note to ask Peter and Edith what a spinnaker was.

  At one point, Eivind’s head came up, followed by his arm and a plate with two pieces of sliced bread. “God morgen, Lila. Toast? Coffee?”

  “Oh, coffee, please, and thank you. I already ate.”

  Eivind shrugged and set the plate down on the table. He disappeared back into the boat to return a few moments later with a jar of jam and a knife.

  “Hey!” a lightly accented voice called out from below. “Thief! That’s my jam.”

  “My boat, my jam,” said Eivind. He sat across from me and tucked into his brekkie.

  A woman walked up the stairs holding another plate with a piece of toast and some cut-up fruit. She put her free hand on her hip. “It is not your boat.”

  Eivind smirked at her. “Then it is not my jam.”

  The woman huffed at Eivind and used her free hand to ruffle what little hair Eivind had. She sat down next to him cross-legged and put her plate in her lap. “Who is this?”

  “Lila, Marcella. Marcella, Lila.”

  Marcella was leggy and older than the rest of us. Her tanned skin and light accent led me to guess she came from Italy or Spain.

  As Marcella dug into her breakfast, Jonas set aside his plate and turned to face me.

  “So, the canal.”

  I clasped my hands togeth
er in front of me. “Yes.”

  “As you know, we need five people total; the captain, which is me, and four linehandlers, ja?”

  I nodded. I’d read what to expect online in blog posts, so this information was not new.

  “We will discuss the configurations today with the officials,” he went on, “and we will be assigned a date soon. It is a two-day trip, and you would be departing from our boat in La Playita Marina on the other side of the canal. This is good?”

  “Yes, so far so good. Will you want me to chip in for food?”

  Jonas waved the question away. “For one night, it is fine.”

  “I can cook? I know you have to feed the canal officer dinner.”

  Jonas gestured his mug toward Marcella before taking a sip. “Marcella is our chef—and a professional—so she cooks all our meals.”

  Around a mouthful of brekkie, Marcella interjected, “You can clean, though.”

  “Of course. Where will I sleep?” I eyed the cushions around the cockpit. Sometimes the linehandlers—even the professional ones—slept out in the cockpit at night.

  “Yes, where is she going to sleep?” Eivind cocked his head at his brother.

  Jonas cleared his throat. “She will sleep in the crew cabin with Marcella.”

  Eivind and Marcella exchanged looks I couldn’t read. “Then where will Elayna sleep?”

  “She’ll stay in my cabin.” Jonas avoided meeting his brother’s gaze, and Marcella watched the two carefully. When neither took the conversation further, Marcella ignored them and smiled at me. “We have bunk beds, like a slumber party.”

  I set my mug down. “Okay, hold on. Jonas and Elayna are . . .” There was a lot of avoiding eye contact and squirming, while Eivind smirked at Marcella. “Complicated?”

  “Ah . . . yes,” Jonas confirmed.