Re: dock: atticus and mal
"Just a touch." Conversing with a stranger in a boat was one thing - stepping in alongside them was another.
He crossed to the end of the dock and slowly sat, leaning a little awkwardly on his left hand, the right still anchored in the pocket of his hoodie. His feet dangled from the edge of the dock in worn blue hi-tops, toes skimming just above the water. "Ah. Signaling for rescue," he said, looking at the fire.
He smiled. There was nothing lazy or easy about him. He was still and dry, but not as distant as his upbringing ought to have made him. He was always a little too involved, and he was now, watching Atticus and coming up with theories why a twenty something guy would move to Repose's weird lake island. "I used to hear stories about that island in high school." Yes, yes, it was high school, that one had been beaten into him rather quickly. "Are you one of the ghosts?"
Mal might not be ready to hop into the boat a few seconds after meeting, but he didn't think Atticus looked like a serial killer either. He also knew too well that looks could be deceiving. Nevertheless, he liked Atticus' lazy smile and casual friendliness. "I think I know that name," he said. The wind riffled his hair, and he swept it away from his eyes with his free hand. "The McVickers owned the B&B. I remember them, they were sweet people. Any relation?" They were also dead, of course, but this man could be an estranged nephew for all he knew. He looked too young to be much closer than that.