Or so he’d hoped.
“Not now, I’m concentrating,” Seb grunted, though his heart wasn’t in the protest. “You know the marsh is tricky this time of day. One wrong turn and we’re grounded on a sandbar or tangled in whatever until the tide changes.”
“And yet, you wanted to take the boat.”
“Well, sure,” he admitted. “Anyone can drive to a restaurant.”
Her soft chuckle felt as sweet as a touch. “You won’t hit a sandbar,” Holly said, standing with a perfect balance that spoke to a lifetime spent on the water. “I told you, I’m your guide. Take a left at that cluster of palmettos up ahead. It’s a shortcut to Parker’s that only the locals and the dolphins know about.”
Seb followed her direction, easing the throttle back just a hair. As she stood beside him, her shoulder brushed his arm. It was a light contact, barely there, but it sent another tantalizing jolt through his system. He was acutely aware of the height difference, the heat and energy she radiated, and the fact that she was the first person he’d allowed on this boat after his few lessons with the instructor.
“I am curious,” she murmured. “Why the boat, Seb?” Her voice dropped into a softer, more intuitive register. “Anyone can drive and most do. It would’ve been a quick fifteen minutes down the island road. It’s easier.”
“Easier isn’t always better,” Seb replied, his gaze fixed on the water. “On the road, you’re at the mercy of traffic, stoplights, and other people’s bad decisions. Granted, I’m new to this, but on the water... there’s more space. I choose the path and in general, I’m solely responsible for the vessel. The whole system makes more sense to me. Feels right.”
He saw her nod from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t making notes or using the recorder now, she was just listening. Intently.
“You didn’t expect that?”
“Not at all,” he replied.
“Control,” she whispered. “You like being the one in charge of the outcome.”
She’d pegged him in one guess. “I like knowing the variables that affect the outcome,” he corrected.
They glided gently into a stretch of quiet water, the tall grass shielding them from the wind. The silence that followed wasn’tuncomfortable, but it was heavy. Seb found himself thinking about the tabletop games he played—the way a single roll of the dice could advance or ruin a perfectly planned strategy. Life, he had learned, was a lot like a bad roll of the dice.
“My parents were like you,” he said, the easy confession surprising him. He hadn’t talked about his parents to anyone other than his sister. “They loved the adventure of discovery, of not knowing what was around the corner. They lived for the unexpected variables.”
Holly stayed silent, her presence a warm, grounding force beside him.
“They were on a tour in Alaska,” Seb continued, his voice steady but low. “A single-engine Cessna. They wanted to see the glaciers from the air, to get as close to the wilderness as possible. But the pilot hit a pocket of unpredictable air and they went down. No survivors.”
He gripped the wheel a little tighter. Seeing his knuckles turning white, he forced himself to take a breath and relax his hands. “I was twenty-four. My sister and I spent the next three days waiting for a call that they’d found the wreckage.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Closure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Grief still hurts.”
He grunted his agreement. “My sister and therapist tell me the loss exacerbated my natural search for control.” Why was he telling her all of this? “They’re not wrong.”
Holly reached out, placing her hand over his on the wheel. Her skin was soft, warm, and real. She didn’t offer empty platitudes. She simply stayed with him, present and calm until something in his chest loosened again. Seb looked down at her hand, then up into her eyes. The transparency she’d demanded from him was right there, reflected in her gaze. She wasn’t pitying him; she was acknowledging him.
“So you built a fortress,” she murmured. “Encryption. Gated estates both online and in person. You’ve spent ten years trying to make sure there are no more unpredictable variables.”
“Until a white fluffball and a persistent reporter showed up and obliterated the secure perimeter,” he said without an ounce of heat.
Holly laughed, the bright, melodic sound chased away the ghosts of losing his parents. “Digby and I aren’t ruinous, Seb. We’re just... unexpected features. Like that hidden channel up ahead.” She pointed toward a narrow opening in the grass. “See? There’s Parker’s Fish Camp. If you can dock this thing without hitting the pier, I might even share my order of fried green tomatoes.”
Seb felt a strange, unfamiliar lightness in his chest. He steered the skiff into the channel, the rustic wooden pilings of the fish camp coming into view. The restaurant was a Brookwell staple—a sturdy wide building built over the water, with weathered cypress siding going silver. The aroma of fresh fried seafood, garlic, and butter mingled with the briny air in the marsh. He could already hear voices and easy laughter of folks inside. People who had probably known each other their whole lives.
His stomach dropped. Was he really going in there with the editor of the local paper? Meeting people wasn’t his strong suit. But he stayed the course, having given Holly his word. He coached himself that the whole thing would be an interesting experiment. Would it help to have her at his side as he got familiar with the residents of his new home town?
As he maneuvered the boat toward the dock, Seb realized this was bigger than learning to drive a boat or take a shortcut through the marsh. He was navigating a shift in his own internal code. The aloof and prickly personality he’d cultivated as adefense mechanism was failing, replaced by a curiosity about the woman who saw right through it.
He cut the motor, the sudden silence filled by the lap of the water against the hull. He stepped onto the dock, securing the lines with an efficiency that would make his instructor proud, then turned to offer Holly a hand up.
