Page 27

Amelia watched Tara from a distance, suppressing a smile as Tara awkwardly fumbled with the seaweed baskets. The reality of seaweed farming, it seemed, was coming as something of a shock.

‘It’s not a handbag, Tara,’ Amelia couldn’t help but murmur to herself as she watched Tara try to sling a basket over her shoulder.

The basket wobbled dangerously, its contents—wet, slippery seaweed—threatening to spill out at any second. Tara’s face scrunched up in concentration, and she staggered under the weight before nearly tipping over.

She managed to regain her balance, but only by the skin of her teeth, swaying like a boat on rough waters. Amelia bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Tara was trying hard, though. Amelia could see it in the way she gritted her teeth, as if sheer force of will could make her competent.

‘What on earth is she doing?’ Solomon asked as he passed Amelia with a basket.

‘Her best,’ Amelia told him.

He tutted and shook his head, walking on.

‘Uh, Amelia?’ Tara called, her voice rising with a slight quiver. ‘This doesn’t feel right. I think I’ve... tangled it.’

Amelia tried her best to maintain a neutral expression as she walked over. ‘It’s seaweed, Tara. It’s meant to tangle.’

Tara’s brow furrowed, clearly frustrated as she inspected the mess in her hands. ‘I’ve never... I’ve never actually seen seaweed before, you know? Like, I’ve seen it, but not…’

Amelia nodded. ‘Don’t worry. You’re getting it,’ Amelia lied.

Tara waved a hand at the nets. ‘But this... this looks like... it needs more skill than I’m giving it.’

Amelia chuckled, unable to resist anymore. ‘Do you think so?’

Tara made a face at her. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘A bit,’ Amelia admitted, her grin widening as she crossed her arms.

Tara gave her a mock glare. ‘I can definitely do this. Just need... a little more time.’

She straightened and eyed the nets with renewed determination, attacking them once more. But instead of making any progress, she managed to trip over the thick rope that ran between the seaweed beds, stumbling forward and narrowly avoiding landing in the shallow water.

Amelia’s mouth went dry as she watched Tara’s flailing attempt to regain her footing. She should’ve stepped forward, should’ve helped, but for some reason, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of Tara, so out of her element, so very not the slick mainlander Amelia had first encountered.

‘Are you sure you want to keep going?’ Amelia asked, trying not to sound too smug.

Tara, who had recovered and was now holding onto a post for balance, shot her a glare. ‘I’ve got this. Just you wait.’

Amelia was still grinning as she leaned against the nearby shed, arms folded. ‘Alright. I’ll give you another five minutes before I save you from yourself.’

Tara looked at her, a little embarrassed but stubborn as ever. ‘I don’t need saving.’

‘Oh no. Of course not.’ Amelia crossed the small patch of sand and bent to grab a basket herself, deftly slinging it over her shoulder with one smooth motion. ‘You’re practically a master,’ she added.

Tara huffed, wiping sweat from her forehead. She was trying, and Amelia knew that was what counted, even if Tara was hopeless at the task. Still, it was hard not to enjoy watching someone so composed and collected looking entirely out of place.

But even though Tara had bungled the seaweed basket twice, and Amelia could tell she was getting frustrated, she didn’t stop. She was stubborn, even if it made her look ridiculous.

Tara finally threw up her hands in defeat, strands of seaweed hanging from her arms. ‘OK, OK, you win! You do this. I’m rubbish.’

Amelia couldn’t help it—she laughed, loud and unrestrained. It wasn’t malicious; it was just the absurdity of it all, the way Tara had walked here with her usual swagger and yet couldn’t even handle a basket full of seaweed.

‘Let me show you,’ Amelia said, catching her breath. She shot Tara a wink and easily grabbed the basket from her.

Tara shot her an exaggerated look of exasperation. ‘You’re making it look easy on purpose.’

‘I’m making it look easy because it is,’ Amelia said, walking past her with a grin.

As she returned to the seaweed beds, she glanced over her shoulder at Tara, who was wiping seaweed off her hands, muttering something under her breath. It was nice to have her here, Amelia found. Even if she was a terrible seaweed farmer.