“Oh, you definitely did,” she says. “I didn’t expect to like any of my time on that boat, but arguing with you was kind of fun.” She leans her head from side to side. “All things considering.”
I’m not going to say it to her, but I can admit to myself now that I didn’t hate having someone onboard who knew about the 1698 Act of Grace either. Even if she tried to misapply it.
“But I’m still sorry,” she says again, glancing at the laptop.
“One review isn’t the problem. Most people taking a boat ride to see a mermaid don’t care about Abram Quary or Dorcas Honorable.”
She makes a face. “They should, but fine, okay, I take your point.” Then, more carefully, she adds, “But you know the answer doesn’t have to be him instead of you, right?” She turns fully, leaning back on the desk, facing me directly now. “It doesn’t even have to be all fluff over facts. Why not work on something that brings in more mermaid lore but weaves in entertaining historical stories too?”
“It’s a little late for that,” I say.
“Because of what your dad wants? What if we give him a revised version first and then maybe work on amping up your delivery? Let him see you try out some new material before he makes you hand the tour over to Tate?”
I don’t miss the way she sayswe. “Amping up my delivery?”
She ignores the question. “I’m just saying, maybe we could get him to give you another shot before changing everything.”
My laugh is bitter, sharp. “Wearen’t going to do anything.”
She half rolls her eyes. “Fine, but have you tried? I mean, really tried? Because I think you care about this more than you’re letting on.”
My irritation flares. “My dad and I don’t work like that.”
“It sounds likeyoudon’t work like that.” She pushes off the desk, crossing her arms. “How do you know he won’t change his mind? Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean you don’t try.”
I slam the laptop shut with more force than I mean to. “And what would you know about hard, Tourist Girl? What have you ever done that wasn’t easy?”
“Easy?” Her voice cuts through mine, sharp and incredulous. “Are you kidding me? It took my dad dying to get my mom to let me come back here.”
I freeze.
Her breath is uneven, her cheeks flushed. “She swore that she would never set foot on this island again after the divorce because, in her mind, he chose his past here over our present there. I spent months trying to convince her to let me have one more summer in a place that she hates almost more than I love. You have no idea how hard it was, but I did it because there wasn’t another option for me. I wasn’t going to stop.”
Her voice catches on the last word, emotion pressing against it. I suddenly have a hard time not staring.
“Okay, I shouldn’t have said that,” I say, quieter now. “But this is my whole life here. Don’t you think I would’ve taken the chance to change things around here by now if I could?”
Her answer is immediate. “That’s the difference, Wren. You’re waiting for opportunities. I’m telling you to create them.”
Before I can argue, she flips open the laptop, starts a fresh document, and looks at me expectantly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Not enough mermaid details—easy fix. Dry historical facts—just about the delivery.” She lifts her chin. “Between the two of us, we can fix this. So stop being a baby and help me write the best damn mermaidandhistory tour possible.”
Her determination is a physical force, pressing into the space between us. My irritation spikes, but somehow, I can’t look away from the blank document.
It’s not that I believe this will change anything.
But something about her confidence makes it impossible to say no.
Twelve
Lili
Over the next week, Wren and I settle into a rhythm. Each morning, I either check inventory or run the register in the gift shop. It’s not glamorous, but I don’t mind. The familiarity of retail work is grounding, even if the mornings drag. Wren leads the occasional tour of the museum, but mostly he’s holed up in the back room. Without him around, time crawls.
By noon, though, the energy shifts. Eryn arrives like clockwork, balancing paper bags filled with lunches from the café that make my stomach growl before she’s even through the door. Her presence inevitably summons Tate from whatever corner of the museum he’s been lurking in, like some kind of caloric bat signal has been activated.
He and Wren seem good, but then, I didn’t see them interact much before.
