Page 6

Pearl

My phone was wedged between my ear and shoulder while I tried to zip the side pocket on my duffel bag with one hand. Of course, the damn zipper stuck.

“Just yank it, Pearl,”

Dad’s voice said through the phone.

“You always overthink the damn zipper.”

“It’s not the zipper, it’s the overstuffed pocket,”

I muttered, finally managing to get the metal teeth to close over the bulging edge.

“And maybe if I didn’t have to pack my entire life for this job, I wouldn’t be fighting with it.”

“You’re going forty-five miles north, not the Amazon.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen this place, Dad. It’s spooky. In a good way. But still spooky.”

He chuckled.

“You’re going to be fine. Just don’t let Anchor scare the sass outta you.”

I rolled my eyes. That man. Just his name made my stomach flip, like a bucket of nerves had upended itself in my gut.

“Speaking of,”

I said carefully, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“is everyone staying in the cabins?”

There was a pause.

“About that,”

Dad said, and I could already hear the tone of his voice shifting into that dad-trying-to-smooth-things-over pitch.

“Brian, Jake, and Molly aren’t staying. They’ve all got families. Said they’ll just do the drive back and forth.”

I stopped mid-motion. My half-packed bag sagged over, falling onto its side like it was disappointed too.

“Seriously? They’re going to commute? It’s forty-five minutes one way.”

“They’re grown adults, Pearl. They can handle a drive.”

I bit down on the sigh rising in my throat. I’d figured if the rest of the crew stayed in the cabins, I’d be fine. We could all hang out in the evenings, maybe watch a horror movie to get in the spirit of the job. Safety in numbers.

But now? Alone. On a haunted island. With him.

And I hadn’t been afraid of Anchor. If anything... I was dangerously, stupidly attracted to him. Like, instinctual, prehistoric-level attracted. I was pretty sure any human with working eyes and a pulse would be. The man was carved out of raw masculinity and attitude.

Still, it changed things.

“Should I stay on the island?”

I asked slowly, already bracing myself.

“Of course,”

Dad replied instantly.

“Bernice will be with you.”

I groaned and flopped back onto the bed. My head landed near the phone, and I could hear him laughing softly.

“Dad. Bernice is eighty. She’s in bed by seven and up by four.”

“Exactly,”

he said.

“Those are the exact hours you’ll be working. You’ll have someone close by, and you won’t be alone.”

“She’s practically nocturnal. In reverse.”

“And that’s why she’s perfect,”

he argued.

“She’s steady. You need steady.”

I stared up at the ceiling and watched the slow swirl of the fan overhead. I loved Bernice. She was amazing. Her brush technique was something to envy, and she could still out-paint most people half her age. But she wasn’t exactly a wild card when it came to anything outside of painting.

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s a gem,”

I admitted.

“But she’s not exactly... my speed.”

“That’s the point. You don’t need a speed. You need someone to keep an eye out, and she’s loyal as hell. Besides, she’s tougher than she looks.”

I rubbed at my temple and tried not to let the tension win.

“You’re not staying there by yourself, Pearl. It’s either going to be Bernice or me.”

I sat up with a laugh.

“You remember the last time you didn’t sleep at home with your special pillow and C-PAP machine?”

He burst into laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. I woke up sounding like Darth Vader and terrified the night nurse. That’s why you need to cut your old man a break and be fine with Bernice staying in the other cabin.”

“Fine,”

I sighed.

“I’ll take the spooky cabin and the geriatric sidekick.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll meet you all at the island tomorrow morning. We’ll get you all set up.”

“Sounds good. Night, Dad.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

I hung up and let the phone fall beside me on the bed. For a moment, I just sat there, letting the silence of my apartment settle around me.

I turned back to my bag, determined to finish packing. I added a few extra sweatshirts, leggings, and another flashlight. Tossed in a backup charger and a tin of mints.

Still, no matter how hard I tried to focus on the job, my thoughts kept drifting back to Anchor.

That voice. That stare. Those tattoos that crept down his arms like they had a story to tell.

And the way he’d looked at me, like he couldn’t decide if I was trouble or a puzzle. Like maybe he wanted to figure me out just enough to know where to bury the pieces.

He’d been gruff. A little rude. But he’d taken the time to walk me through the whole place, to listen to my ideas, and offer cabins for our crew. He didn’t have to do any of that. Which meant he either respected my skills... or he was curious.

Or both.

I sighed and zipped up the main compartment of my bag, then set it by the door. My place already felt empty. Like I was halfway out the door and my brain had left a few hours ago.

I changed into a tank and sleep shorts, brushing my teeth slowly, trying not to overthink tomorrow. But my heart thumped faster than usual. Anticipation. A little anxiety. And okay, maybe a sprinkle of excitement.

By the time I crawled into bed, the street outside was quiet. The soft hum of my fan was the only thing cutting through the silence.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, imagining the creaking haunted house, the eerie fog along the trail, the dusty chandeliers and cracked plaster. The crooked signs. The old wooden dock. The fortune teller booth that looked like it belonged in a gothic fairy tale.

But mostly... I thought of Anchor.

The way his voice rumbled like distant thunder. The way he towered over me on the porch with dark eyes studying me like I was something dangerous.

“Perfect, doll.”

His words echoed in my chest like a drum.

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and smiled as I drifted off to sleep, already wondering what it would feel like to hear him say something else. Something meant just for me.

Tomorrow, I’d wake up and head straight back to the island.

And I couldn’t wait.