We gather our fishing gear, no sharks caught, no sea monsters spotted, just a bucket of memories and a heart full of complicated feelings. Aidan chatters the whole way back to the marina about the proposal, adding details that definitely didn’t happen, like fireworks and a marching band and a dolphin who jumped out of the water at the exact right moment.
I let him embellish. Imagination is free, and joy should never be corrected.
The marina is quiet when we get back, the boats rocking gently in their slips, the water dark and still. Our houseboat sits at the end of the dock, warm light glowing from the windows where I left a lamp on.
Home. It’s starting to feel like home.
“Emma.”
The voice comes from the shadows, and I jump approximately fourteen feet in the air.
Paul steps out of the dock office, arms crossed, expression set to its default state of vague irritation. He’s wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his son Dawson is behind him, headphones around his neck, looking bored.
“Paul.” I match his tone exactly. “Lovely evening for lurking.”
“I wasn’t lurking. I was locking up the office.”
“At sunset. Dramatically. In the shadows.”
“The shadows were incidental.”
“Sure they were.”
His jaw tightens. Six months of living next to this man, and I still can’t figure him out. He’s grumpy and particular and has very strong opinions about my coffee maker’s electrical demands. But he also fixed my dock line last month without being asked, and his son Dawson has been surprisingly patient with Aidan’s sharkobsession.
“Your port running light is out,” he says.
“I know.”
“It’s a safety hazard.”
“I know that too.”
“So you’re going to fix it?”
“When I get a chance.”
“A chance.” He says it like I’ve announced plans to personally insult his mother. “It’s been two weeks.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for basic maritime safety?”
“Too busy for your maritime lectures, definitely.”
Dawson and Jenna exchange looks. The look of teenagers who have watched this exact argument happen seventy-three times and are deeply bored by it.
“I’ll fix it tomorrow,” I say. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“You don’t look ecstatic.”
“This is my ecstatic face.”
“Your ecstatic face looks exactly like your annoyed face.”
“Maybe I’m ecstatically annoyed.”
