I drink my coffee. Try not to think about that. Fail.
Justin showsup at seven to help reinforce the walkway ramp to the yacht. The wedding is ten days out, and every inch of this dock needs to hold up under a crowd of guests, a catering crew, a band, and whatever chaos Delilah has planned that she hasn’t told me about yet.
He moves stiff this morning. Slower than usual coming down the dock, favoring his left side, rolling his right shoulder like he’s trying to loosen something that won’t cooperate. Bad day. I file it away and say nothing.
“Morning.”
“Ramp’s listing to port.”
“I noticed. I shimmed it yesterday but the wood shifted overnight.”
We work side by side for an hour. Drilling, bracing,testing weight. The sun climbs. Sweat builds. Justin doesn’t complain. Justin never complains. He just moves a fraction slower and grips the tools a fraction harder and hopes nobody’s paying attention.
I’m always paying attention. I just pretend I’m not.
“Hand me the level,” I say.
He reaches for it and his shoulder catches. He covers it by adjusting his ball cap. Smooth. I wouldn’t have noticed five years ago. Now I see every micro-adjustment, every careful breath, every moment where his body argues with his ambition.
“You good?”
“Yep.”
One syllable. Conversation over.
We finish the ramp by eight-thirty and move to tightening the rope hardware on slip three. The metal tie-downs are corroded from salt air—everything out here corrodes eventually, the salt eats whatever you don’t protect—and half of them need replacing before the wedding.
“I ordered marine-grade replacements,” I say. “They’ll be here Thursday.”
“Good. The current ones wouldn’t hold a kayak in a strong tide.”
We work in silence. Comfortablesilence, the Spencer kind—not the absence of conversation but a form of it. Two brothers who grew up on this dock, who learned to read weather and water and each other without words.
“So,” Justin says, not looking up. “Emma.”
“What about her?”
“Heard you went for a swim.”
“The kid’s elephant fell in.”
“The stuffed one.”
“The kid’s elephant.”
“I know what Stomper is, Paul. Aidan’s told me the rescue story approximately nine times. Each version has more drama. In the latest one, you fought off a sea creature.”
“That did not happen.”
“Aidan says otherwise. He’s a very committed narrator.”
I tighten a bolt. Justin holds the brace.
“Also heard you took your shirt off on the dock.”
“It was wet.”
“Right.”
