Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

“You?”
    “Nope.”
    “Boyfriend?” He nodded his head toward Aidan.
    “No boyfriend. You?”
    “No boyfriend, either.” He smiled and her insides fluttered.
    So much for cooling things down.
    Her hotdog caught fire.

    Dinner with the Savonskis was proving to be a welcome amusement. Garrett had been all work and definitely no play for far too long. It had been a long time since he’d felt this quickening of his pulse and heating of his blood. His relationship with Mel had been more friendly than frenzy. They’d used each other to scratch an itch when the need arose. Looking at Sonya, he felt more than an itch rising.
    The fire had died down to a comfortable level. It was doing a good job of keeping the bugs at bay since the breeze had lulled. The sun hung steady on the horizon despite the late hour.
    The sea hugged the shore as though content, but Garrett knew the calm surface belied the activity going on beneath as millions of salmon made the run up the rivers for spawning. The fishermen would be churning up the waters trying to catch them come tomorrow morning’s high tide.
    “Sonya,” Nikolai said. “Maggie May wants to hear you play something.”
    “Gramps, I don’t have my—”
    Nikolai waved his hand. “Not to worry. I had Peter run and get it.”
    Peter smiled as he handed her an instrument case he’d stashed behind the log he’d been sitting on. “Here you go, Ducky.”
    Sonya narrowed her eyes, which seemed to promise retribution, and she took the case. Garrett wondered briefly over the nickname.
    “If I have to play, so do you,” Sonya said.
    Peter shrugged. “I don’t have my drums.”
    “I’m sure you can find something to beat on.”
    “The cooler’s empty,” Nikolai said. “It’ll make a good sound.” He thumped it for emphasis.
    “Yes, Peter. Please, I’ve never heard you play,” Lana said, her voice sweet and bright much like her blond cheerleader good looks.
    Peter’s cheeks pinked and he picked up the cooler, trying his hand at it. He sat, positioning the cooler between his legs. “Ready, whenever you are.”
    Sonya stood, opened the case, and picked up a violin, checking it for tune. She looked at Garrett. “Sorry about this. Gramps likes to show us off.”
    “Don’t apologize. I’m enjoying myself.”
    Sonya nodded at Peter and positioned the violin under her chin. “Try and keep up.” She strung the bow across the strings. It vibrated and sang with a voice of its own. The music she chose to play was a lively Celtic tune, and when Peter joined in with the beat of the cooler-drum, Garrett swore the flames of the fire flickered in time to the tune.
    Here he was at a fish camp roast on the South Naknek side of Bristol Bay, much closer to Russia than the continental United States, with sand all around, gray cliffs towering over them, and the world’s deadliest ocean at their backs. Not a theatre or opera house for three hundred miles, and he was being treated to a first class violin performance. He was captivated by Sonya’s fingers as they danced over the chords, her hand commanding the bow as it stroked sound from the strings. Her hands would be picking fish out of a net come morning, yet tonight they brought forth music.
    The woman had facets.
    She finished with a flourish, her hair having come loose as she’d lost her ball cap with the fiery way she’d played. Her hair was dark and thick, longer than he’d first expected.
    “Another,” Nikolai requested. “Something sweet for my Maggie May.”
    Sonya gave the violin a slow caress of the bow, and Garrett felt the notes loosen something inside him. Nikolai rose and reached out a hand for Margaret, and she gracefully stepped into his arms. They swayed over the sand to the haunting music Sonya aroused from the strings. Peter sat this one out and let Sonya entrance the group. The music was potent, passionate, hypnotic.
    And Garrett was snared.

    Sonya laid the violin lovingly back in its case. Her emotions were heightened whenever she played. The treasured violin had been her mother’s. She always felt connected to her on a spiritual plane whenever she coaxed a tune from the instrument. It didn’t matter if she played for a group, like tonight, or alone. Something about the music beckoned and bewitched.
    “That was amazing,” Garrett said. “Can you play another?”
    “Better not,” she replied, her voice too breathless for her liking. She cleared her throat. “Fishing tomorrow.” They