When the last customer leaves, the clock reads six thirty. Dusk is already licking at the edges of the water. I close the register, straighten a stack of bookmarks, and tell myself not to check my phone.
He hasn’t texted today. Not once. It shouldn’t sting, but it does.
Maybe he’s busy. Maybe Rowan dragged him into another farm emergency. Maybe—
No. I promised myself no maybes today.
I pull on a sweater and head down to the dock with a book and the leftover scone from Daisy’s that no one bought. The boards creak under my weight, familiar music. I sit at the edge, legs swinging above the water, the pages fluttering in the breeze. The smell of rain lingers—sweet, clean, almost electric. I read three paragraphs without understanding a word.
Behind me, the lighthouse hums. The beam flickers once, twice. The bay answers in silver ripples.
I tell myself I’m fine and that I don’t need him to show up. That the calm in my chest isn’t just waiting for the sound of his truck.
I even believe it—for maybe thirty seconds.
Because that’s when I hear it.
Gravel crunching. A low engine idle. Then silence. My heart trips. I don’t turn right away. I tell myself it’s anyone—a tourist lost, a delivery, a ghost. But then his voice drifts down the path, low and certain.
“Couldn’t stay away.”
The words ripple through me like warm water meeting cold skin. I close the book, pulse pounding, and turn.
Crew stands at the top of the dock, half silhouetted against the dying light. His hair’s damp, shirt clinging in a way that should be illegal, jaw shadowed, eyes locked on me like he’s memorizing the way I breathe. He’s carrying a takeout bag and that small, infuriating smile that saysI thought about this all day.
He steps closer, boots thudding against wood, every one of them a heartbeat I can feel in my ribs.
“I was going to wait till tomorrow,” he says, voice rough. “But waiting’s never been my thing.”
I try to speak. The words tangle. “You—You didn’t have to come.”
“I did.”
He sets the bag on the railing, hands sliding into his pockets like he’s trying not to touch me too soon. The air between us hums. The bay hushes, listening.
“I missed this,” he says quietly. “Missedyou.”
My throat goes dry. “It’s been one day.”
He smiles, slow, dangerous. “Longest damn day of my life.”
The wind lifts my hair. He reaches out before he can stop himself, tucking a strand behind my ear, fingertips trailing against my skin. I forget how to breathe.
He steps closer. Close enough that the space between us feels like it’s about to catch fire.
“Crew—” I start, warning, pleading, everything at once.
His eyes drop to my mouth. The world holds still.
“Tell me to go,” he whispers.
I don’t. Can’t.
Lightning flickers far out over the bay, quiet and harmless. It’s the time of year when storms linger. The lighthouse beam cuts across his face, then mine, painting us in alternating light and shadow.
He exhales, slow and steady. “Guess that’s a no.”
I try to look away. I fail spectacularly. “You’re trouble.”
