I climb into my truck, the leather seat creaking under my weight as I settle behind the wheel. Through the windshield, the harbor spreads out in shades of blue and gray, boats bobbing in the gentle chop.
I slide my key into the ignition, but don’t turn it yet.
I adjust my rearview mirror and catch my own reflection, the furrow between my brows, the tight set of my jaw, the silver hair that frames a tired face.
What does Jared see when he looks at me? What draws him to someone who carries so many scars, literal and otherwise?
My fingers drum once on the steering wheel. I don’t have time for this complication. The Wright Pack is counting on me to finish the Homestead so they can stop living cramped in that one-room cabin. Then there’s the service cabins and Phase Two to start.
I rub my temple, where a headache threatens. This is why I hate guessing games, especially when feelings get tangled up in them. Give me a blueprint with precise measurements any day over the murky waters of attraction and interest.
Options tick through my brain, organized like a punch list. I could ignore it and hope his interest fades. I could confront it head-on and tell him nothing will happen. I could ask Kyle to not bring him in the crew pick-up times, keeping our paths from crossing.
None of these solutions feel right. The first seems cowardly, the second cruel, and the third unfair to a young man who’s done nothing wrong except develop an ill-advised crush.
The pragmatic path would be to keep our interactions professional but kind, to maintain clear boundaries while treating him with the respect his work deserves. To let him know through actions rather than words that, while I value him as part of Misty Pines, anything more isn’t on the table.
I settle on the plan that aligns most with who I am and how I operate. No drama, no confrontation, no avoidance, just clear boundaries maintained with quiet consistency.
So why does a small part of me feel disappointed?
Chapter Six
Jared
The life vest straps slide through my fingers as I count them for the third time. Twelve vests, all present and accounted for. The checklist on my phone stares back at me, each item ticked off in sequence.
This is my first solo run as captain, and everything has to be perfect. My cousin trusted me with this run after weeks of training, and I refuse to let him down.
“Engine oil level, checked. Fuel, full tank. Safety equipment, all present,” I murmur, moving down the checklist in the hope it will still the flutter of nerves.
The late afternoon sun glints off the water of Misty Pines’ main dock, turning the ripples intoflashes of gold that dance across the hull of the water taxi.
My hand glides over the smooth edge of the steering console, memorizing every switch and dial by touch. The boat sways in a gentle rhythm that’s worked its way into my bones after weeks on the water. I’ve finally found my sea legs. No more tripping over myself or splashing coffee across the deck.
In front of Emily.
The memory of her heats my face, and the flutter in my chest grows. I shake my head and focus on my pre-launch tasks. No distractions today.
I check the time. Ten minutes until scheduled departure, and the dock remains empty. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. Kyle handles this job effortlessly, chatting with passengers while steering between Misty Pines and Pinecrest with the ease of someone who’s spent decades at the wheel.
Movement on the trail catches my eye. Two pairs of hikers approach along the shore path, backpacks loaded, hiking boots crunching on the gravel. Four people total, three men and a woman. They walk close but separate, and I remember howthey had arrived this morning at different times. So probably not close friends.
“Good afternoon,” I call out, straightening my posture and adopting what I hope is a captain-worthy stance. “Welcome to Misty Pines Water Taxi. Headed to Pinecrest?”
The tallest man steps ahead of his companion, a woman with copper hair pulled into a tight ponytail. His chin tilts up, shoulders broadening as he looks at the other two men. “That’s right.”
I bring up the check-in, check-out list of visitors on my tablet. “Names?”
Nobody buys return tickets, but the water taxi is in charge of keeping a list of everyone who visits the island in case someone goes missing.
“I’m Derek.” The tall man announces, resting a hand at the small of his companion’s back. “And this is Mia.”
The other two hikers exchange a glance I can’t quite interpret. One of them smiles at Mia, revealing perfect teeth. “Great hiking today. Perfect weather for it.”
“Sure,” she mumbles and shrinks closer to her companion, tension tightening her features. I note the way her body angles toward his, using him as a buffer between herself and the other two men.
I cross their names off my list to indicate that they left the island and turn to the other group.