Page 4

cilla

The wind whips my hair into a tangled mess as Rowan's boat cuts through the water of Cedar Bay. I should have brought a hair tie, but I was so excited when he texted about the J-Pod sighting that I barely remembered my jacket.

"You okay over there, Professor?" Rowan calls over the engine noise, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles.

"Perfect," I answer, and for once, I'm not being polite. The bay stretches out around us, a sheet of rippling silver under the cloud-dappled sky, and somewhere ahead are the orcas I've dreamed of seeing up close since I was a kid, with Free Willy posters plastering my bedroom walls.

Rowan throttles down the engine as we approach a cluster of boats in the distance. "Listen, I know I ambushed you this morning. I just thought?—"

"That I'd want to see them," I finish for him. "You were right."

He looks relieved, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly as he navigates toward the gathering of vessels. I'm still not entirely used to how... large he is. Not just tall but solid, like something built to withstand Pacific storms.

"I'm sorry if I've been a pain," I say, surprising myself with the admission. "I'm not usually so..."

"Prickly?" he offers with a teasing grin.

"I was going to say 'reserved,' but fine, prickly works too." I roll my eyes but can't stop my smile. "It's just that I moved here to focus on my dissertation and teaching. Dating isn't exactly on my academic calendar."

"Who said anything about dating?" Rowan asks innocently, but there's that dimple in his left cheek that appears when he's being deliberately charming.

"Oh, please. The entire town has informed me of your reputation, Mr. Malone."

He winces. "Small towns."

"Microscopic," I agree.

We fall silent as he cuts the engine further, letting us drift closer to where the other boats have gathered. I pull out my binoculars, scanning the water's surface.

"I'm interested in your friendship," I say quietly, not looking at him. "For now. If that's something you'd consider."

When I finally glance over, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. Something more serious than his usual easy grin.

"I can do friendship," he says finally. "Though I should warn you, I'm exceptionally good at it. You might get addicted."

I'm about to deliver what would have been an excellent sarcastic comeback when I see it—a sleek black fin breaking the surface about fifty yards away.

"Oh my god," I whisper, grabbing his arm without thinking. "Rowan, look!"

His whole face lights up, not at the orca, but at my excitement. "Three o'clock," he says, pointing toward where more fins begin to surface.

I gasp, fumbling with my phone to capture what I'm seeing, but quickly abandon the effort. Some moments deserve full attention.

"There must be at least six of them," I breathe, counting the distinctive dorsal fins as they rise and fall in a synchronized dance. "Look at that one—the tall, straight fin. That's likely a mature male."

Rowan nods, his face alight with boyish wonder. "They've been coming back more regularly these past few years. Conservation efforts are working."

I glance at him, surprised. "You follow the marine conservation work?"

He shrugs, suddenly looking almost sheepish. "I read."

"You read scientific journals about orca populations?"

"Not exclusively," he says with a small smile. "But when you grow up on these waters..."

The sentence hangs between us, and I feel a small shift in my perception of him. The quarterback-turned-soldier-turned-construction-magnate reads scientific literature in his spare time. Interesting.

The largest orca suddenly breaches, his massive black and white body arcing through the air before crashing back into the water with a spectacular splash. I squeal in delight, grabbing Rowan's arm again.

"Did you see that? Did you see that?" I'm practically bouncing, my academic composure completely abandoned.

Rowan's laugh is deep and genuine. "I did. Though I'm enjoying your reaction almost as much as the show."

I should be embarrassed by my childlike enthusiasm, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when the pod is now swimming in graceful circles around us, their sleek bodies gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"They're so much more magnificent than anything I've read," I whisper, transfixed as a mother and calf swim past, barely twenty feet from the boat.

"Some things you just have to experience firsthand," Rowan says softly, and when I look up, he's watching me instead of the orcas.

My cheeks warm, but I don't look away. "Thank you for bringing me out here."

"Does this earn me friend points?" he asks, his lips quirking.

"Significant friend points," I admit. "Though don't let it go to your head. I still have standards."

"Noted, Professor." He reaches over and tucks a wild strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my cheek. "Standards are good."

The touch is brief and casual, but something electric shoots through me. I clear my throat and turn back to watch the orcas, willing my heartbeat to slow.

Friendship, Cilla. You said friendship.

But as the afternoon stretches on, with Rowan pointing out landmarks along the shore and telling me stories about growing up in Cedar Bay, I wonder if friendship with Rowan Malone will be as straightforward as I'd hoped.

Nothing about him seems straightforward, and that's the problem.

I force my thoughts back to the orcas, to my dissertation, to all the reasons I moved to Cedar Bay that had nothing to do with hazel-eyed contractors with surprising depths.

"Look!" Rowan points to where the largest male breaches again. "They're putting on quite the show for you."

"For us," I correct him, though I'm secretly pleased at the thought that these magnificent creatures might be performing just for me. "I can't believe how close they're coming to the boat."

"They're curious," he says, leaning against the side of the boat, his shoulder barely brushing mine. "J-Pod is known for being more interactive with boats than some of the other pods."

"You really do know your orcas," I say, impressed despite myself.

He shrugs, that half-smile playing at his lips. "I've spent my whole life on this bay. These waters are home."

The simple sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. There's something deeply appealing about someone so rooted in a place and connected to the natural world. My academic life has always been nomadic—California for my undergrad, Boston for my master's, and now here for my PhD work. I've never felt the kind of belonging that radiates from Rowan when he talks about Cedar Bay.

"What made you come back after the Army?" I ask before I can stop myself. "You could have built your business anywhere."

His expression grows thoughtful as he watches the orcas. "After my tours, I needed somewhere that made sense. The world gets... complicated out there. Cedar Bay has always been simple for me. Clear water, clear purpose."

"Building things," I say.

"Rebuilding myself, at first," he admits, and there's a vulnerability in his voice I haven't heard before. "The construction came later."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod. We stand in comfortable silence as the orcas continue their ballet around us, their sleek bodies gliding through the water with impossible grace.

"Does St. Agnes feel like home yet?" he asks after a while.

"God, no," I laugh. "I still get lost trying to find the faculty parking lot. And my students look at me like I'm an alien when I reference anything from before 2010."

"The burden of being the cool young professor," he teases.

"There is nothing cool about me, Rowan. I have color-coded sticky notes for my dissertation research. I talk to my dachshunds in complete sentences. Last Friday night, I stayed up until 2 AM reorganizing my digital photo albums by historical period."

"Sounds pretty cool to me," he says, and the worst part is he seems to mean it.

"You're ridiculous," I mutter, but I'm smiling.

"And you're interesting," he counters. "Cedar Bay doesn't get many PhD historians who look like you and talk about orcas with that kind of passion."

"There are dozens of us," I deadpan. "We have secret meetings where we discuss dorsal fin variations and migration patterns."

He laughs, the sound warming me more than it should. "I'd believe it."

The largest orca suddenly leaps completely out of the water, spinning slightly before crashing back down with a thunderous splash. Several boats erupt in cheers and applause.

"Holy crap!" I exclaim, momentarily forgetting my location. "Did you see that? He must be thirty feet long!"

Rowan raises an eyebrow at my word choice.

"Crap?" he repeats, his lips twitching. "Is that the best you can do?"

"I keep the profanity for special occasions," I inform him. "And for when my students aren't listening."

"I'd like to hear that someday," he says, and that flirtatious edge creeps back into his voice.

"Friends don't corrupt other friends' professional vocabulary," I remind him.

"Fair enough, Professor." He checks his watch. "We should probably head back soon. The light will be fading in an hour or so."

I nod, though I'm reluctant to leave this magical bubble where orcas dance, and complicated men say simple things that make me question all my careful planning.

"Thank you again," I say as he starts the engine. "This was... perfect."

"Anytime," he says, and I believe him. That's the problem.

As we turn back toward shore, I take one last look at the pod, committing their graceful movements to memory. The largest male's fin cuts through the water, a powerful silhouette against the darkening horizon.

"They'll be back," Rowan says, reading my thoughts. "And so will we."

We. Such a small word to cause such a complicated flutter in my chest.

"I'd like that," I admit, and I mean it more than I intended to.

The boat picks up speed, sending spray across my face. I close my eyes and let the salt water mingle with the wind, feeling more alive than I have in months. My dissertation waits on my laptop at home. My carefully planned, academically focused life waits in my little bungalow by the bay.

But for now, I'm here with Rowan Malone, watching orcas in Cedar Bay and wondering if friendship is going to be enough for either of us.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks as we near the marina, the wind carrying his voice to me.

I could lie and say something academic about orca migration or the historical significance of cetaceans in Pacific Northwest Indigenous cultures, but something about the fading light and the lingering magic of the afternoon makes me honest.

"I think Cedar Bay might be more complicated than I expected."