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Tara winced as she hefted another bundle of seaweed onto the pile, her arms burning from the effort. Her shirt clung to her back, damp from exertion, and the sharp tang of brine mixed with the earthy scent of the shack she knew a little too well now.

The shack, no longer a place of menace under the daylight, thrummed with quiet, purposeful activity. Residents worked in synchronicity, their boots scuffing on the dirt floor, crates thudding softly as they were filled, and voices murmuring instructions.

But no one was talking about her crime. They were being nice. It was freaking Tara out.

‘How’re you holding up, Tara?’ a man asked, his voice rough but kind as he passed her with a crate of seaweed. She thought his name was Finn.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, offering him a quick smile.

Another woman—Mary?—her hands stained green from the seaweed, called over, ‘Gave us all a scare!’

‘Yeah, I owe you all one for pulling me out,’ Tara said, her voice sincere. She recognised a few of them now from the faces that had hovered over her when she’d lay there sputtering like a beached whale.

‘You owe us nothing,’ Mary replied with a grin. ‘You’re up and working now. That’s what counts.’

A chorus of murmured agreements rippled through the shed, and Tara felt simultaneously warmed and unsettled by it. The islanders’ easy camaraderie left her feeling both welcomed and painfully aware of how much she didn’t deserve it.

‘I’m sorry you had to do that for me, after what I did,’ she said to Finn.

‘Oh, that, yes,’ Finn said awkwardly. ‘Well, it wasn’t good. But there are worse crimes, I think.’

‘Are there?’ Tara asked.

He nodded. ‘Amelia told us you’d been through enough. That you just made a mistake and, at the end of the day, you’re a good soul who’s trying to help. I’m inclined to agree. I was partial to the odd shenanigan in my youth. I once climbed a tree and fell right through the vicar’s roof!’

Tara was touched beyond belief that Amelia had gone to bat for her with the island. Not only that, but that she had forgiven her. She’d meant what she said. ‘There’s more to you than what you’ve done wrong.’

‘I’ve written the lease application, and it will be delivered as soon as I get back,’ she vowed to Finn.

‘We know, and we thank you,’ Finn said with a smile.

‘I hope it’s enough.’

He shrugged. ‘The weight of Solhaven cannot land solely on you. But fingers crossed,’ Finn smiled and went back to his work.

Tara turned to see Amelia standing on the other side of the shack, her sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, and a faint sheen of sweat catching the light. She moved with an efficiency that Tara envied, hefting bundles of seaweed like they weighed nothing. Every motion seemed effortless, her strength woven into the grace with which she navigated the space. The set of Amelia’s shoulders, the focused line of her jaw, the way her hands handled the heavy bundles with ease.

Good god, she was hot.

Tara’s distraction cost her. The ropes in her hands slipped, and the seaweed fell with a wet thud at her feet.

‘You’re gripping it wrong,’ Amelia said, suddenly beside her.

Tara was startled, her cheeks heating at being caught off guard. Amelia crouched and lifted the fallen bundle.

‘Hold it like this,’ Amelia said, stepping closer.

She adjusted Tara’s grip, her fingers brushing Tara’s briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a spark down Tara’s spine.

‘Got it,’ Tara mumbled, her voice lower than she intended.

Amelia’s eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze for just a moment too long.

‘Good,’ Amelia said finally, stepping back, though her expression was unreadable.

Tara exhaled, suddenly aware of the tension coiled in her shoulders. She busied herself with the bundle, trying to focus, but her senses stayed attuned to Amelia—her voice cutting through the din as she gave instructions, the occasional sound of her laugh as she bantered with the others.

Amelia approached again, this time with a cup of water in hand. She gave it to Tara without a word, her fingers brushing hers once more.

‘Thanks,’ Tara said, her voice tight. She took a long drink, the cool water soothing her dry throat.

‘You’re doing better than last time,’ Amelia said with a slight smirk.

‘High praise,’ Tara replied, arching an eyebrow.

Amelia’s smirk deepened, but there was something softer in her gaze, something that made Tara’s pulse quicken.

‘You’re trying,’ Amelia said simply, her tone matter-of-fact. ‘That counts for something.’

Tara wanted to push back, to say something clever or deflect the vulnerability creeping into her chest. Instead, she nodded, the weight of Amelia’s gaze grounding her in a way she wasn’t used to.

As the morning wore on, they continued to work side by side. The moments of closeness—Amelia’s hand briefly steadying Tara’s arm as they lifted a particularly heavy crate, their shoulders brushing as they passed—seemed to linger, leaving Tara hyperaware of every small interaction.

By the time the last of the seaweed was packed, Tara’s arms were trembling with a combination of fatigue and sexual tension. Packing wet seaweed with your crush put the gym to shame.

But Amelia looked like she was barely breaking a sweat. She had a strength in her that took a while to see. But it was there. Tara was only just getting to see who she was.

Tara wished… What did she wish? It was absurd to even imagine. This was Amelia’s home. She wouldn’t leave it. And what was the alternative? That Tara moved her life here to attempt to romance Amelia and scandalise Solhaven as its first out lesbian? Laughable.

So why was Tara’s mind searching for any kind of way it could work?

‘Hey, the boat doesn’t come for an hour. Would you come back to mine for some lunch?’ Amelia said.

This was it, the last few moments of Amelia. Tara would take them.