Chapter 76: Business Before Pleasure
By the time James reached the part about Farrow complaining with a Spanish sergeant over a mortar using nothing but wild gestures and pure stubbornness, three mugs sat empty beside his elbow, though he couldn’t have said when that happened.
Somewhere along the way, Anne had stopped pretending she wasn’t paying attention.
She’d shifted her chair closer without seeming to notice it, one hand resting lightly on his forearm instead of the table.
"And that was before Mackerel Jim convinced the deck he’d wrestled the swamp panther twice."
James laughed. "Once for the tale, and once again after enough rum made everyone willing to believe it."
Anne’s lips twitched, though there was more bite than warmth in the expression. "If a man told me that many lies in a single afternoon, I’d cut his tongue out with my belt knife and call it kindness for stopping there."
"Ye’d never last a week at sea, lass. Ship’s never quiet."
James grinned into his mug. "Timber creaks all night, some poor bastard snores through the hammock beside you, another’s leanin’ over the rail emptyin’ his stomach before dawn. Ye’d have the whole crew tongueless before we ever reached Tortuga."
"The fellow behind you’s spent the last hour crying over five different whores who took his money and left him."
Anne never so much as glanced their way.
"If that hasn’t driven me to drink lamp oil, you were never likely to manage it."
That one earned a laugh.
Anne’s hand stayed where it was, her thumb gently playing with the fabric of his sleeve. The motion had drifted well beyond anything she’d meant to do.
"A tale shared over rum makes for a fine evenin’, lass."
James turned the mug slowly between both hands. "But they can never taste the sea for you."
Anne didn’t answer at once.
Her gaze slipped past his shoulder, beyond the crowded room and some off-key fiddler, following thoughts somewhere else entirely.
Her thumb finally came to a stop against his sleeve.
James reached across the table before she even realized she’d drifted away. His fingers brushed her jaw, then gently caught her cheek between thumb and forefinger, giving it a slow, teasing squeeze.
"There ye are again."
His grin softened as he watched her blink back to the present.
"Off dreamin’ about horizons that don’t belong to ye just yet."
He started to draw his hand away.
Anne moved first.
Her lips closed around the pad of his thumb, teeth following a heartbeat later. They pressed in just enough to sting, enough that he felt the sharp warning without ever threatening to break skin.
She held him there for a moment, savoring the tiny win, before her tongue flicked lazily across the sore spot before she finally let him pull away.
"Touch my face again and you’ll be counting fingers afterward."
James blinked at her for a heartbeat before a surprised laugh escaped him.
"Bold little..."
A chair scraped hard across the floor, cutting him off before either of them realized someone had arrived.
Thatch dropped into it as though the seat had been waiting for him the entire evening. Without asking, he reached across the table, stole a swallow from James’s mug, then calmly set it back in the table.
"I’d let the pair of ye a fair chance to finish whatever this was."
He glanced between them with a crooked grin. "Then I decided I’d grow old waiting. Next thing I knew, I’d be interruptin’ ye in a bedroom instead of a tavern."
Anne’s eyes narrowed despite the flush appearing on her cheeks.
"Keep talkin and I’ll use your beard to mop the floor."
James laughed.
"Leave the man be. He’s harmless once ye get used to the oversized ego."
He nodded toward Thatch. "So what is it? You don’t interrupt a man’s evenin’ with a lady unless there’s a job somewhere in the conversation."
"Bit more than a mark this time, Calloway."
Thatch’s grin remained, though something behind it gave way to seriousness.
"Word’s spread about your ambition. That’s worth interruptin’."
Anne caught the shift in the conversation before James answered and quietly pushed back her chair.
James caught her wrist before she’d risen more than an inch.
"Nay. Sit back down, lass."
He gently tugged her back toward her seat. "You wanted to know what this life truly looks like not ten minutes ago. Well, here’s your answer happenin’ right in front of you, decide what you think afterward."
Thatch didn’t even glance her way.
"Makes no difference to me whether she stays or goes."
He reached for James’s mug again.
"Just don’t spend all night decidin’."
Then he leaned forward, forearms resting on the table.
Every trace of teasing vanished from his face. "I’ve had a feelin’ about you since Pensacola, Calloway. The very one I had the night ye told me ye wanted a corner of this sea that belonged to ye and nobody else. A man doesn’t say somethin’ like that unless he means to build it."
He tipped his head toward the harbor outside.
"Now ye come home with a corvette ye never needed to build up a fleet."
Thatch spread both hands. "That’s a man knockin’ on the door of somethin’ bigger, seems plain enough to me."
James caught back the mug and rolled it between his palms.
"Aye. You’re not wrong."
"So here’s how I see it."
Thatch settled back in his chair. "Partners get further than strangers forever tradin’ favors. Seems a waste for us to spend months circlin’ each other before either of us admits what’s obvious."
James barely needed time to think.
He’d trusted Thatch before. This wasn’t all that different.
"There’s a bay."
James started to explain. "Hard place to reach unless you know the way, and that’s exactly why I like it. Water’s sweet, trees are thick, and the land’s just waitin’ for someone stubborn enough to claim it."
He met Thatch’s eyes. "But I need folk either desperate enough or foolish enough to take that step."
A grin tugged at his mouth.
"I’m startin’ to think you qualify on both counts."
Thatch’s smile returned, a touch sharper than before. "Nassau works for us well enough, but let’s not pretend she’s built on anything sturdier than greed and good fortune."
He gave a single nod.
"A man ought to have somewhere to run when friends stop bein’ friends."
Beside James, Anne had gone completely stiff.
Both elbows rested on the table now as she leaned close enough for her breath to brush his shoulder every time Thatch spoke.
"Then here’s where you can actually help."
James grinned. "I’ve got a ship in that harbor without a captain. Grey’s been conning her through sheer stubbornness while still tryin’ to do his own work besides, so I need someone who can command the ship and let him get back to his charts."
Thatch barked out a laugh loud enough to make people two tables away glance over.
"That corvette, is it?"
He shook his head.
"Christ, careful now, or she’ll start thinkin’ ye don’t love her anymore."
He scratched at his beard, his grin widening. "Matter of fact... I might know exactly the man. Fool enough to want the job and rich enough not to mind that he’s terrible at it."
He twisted in his chair, cupped both hands around his mouth, and shouted across the tavern.
"BONNET! Get yer arse over here, I’ve found ye a..."