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Chapter Twelve

EDEN

My newfound love of boats doesn’t extend to inflatable dinghies.

This goddamn boat goes any way besides the direction I want it to. My lungs are burning, my arms feel like limp spaghetti noodles, and my stomach aches like that one time I tried a social media sit-up challenge.

Worst of all, the smell of fish and chips has been tormenting me for the last twenty minutes. I’m right next to Sunrise Island’s floating restaurant, which doubles as the waiting room for their tiny passenger ferry.

I want to just lie down and let the sea take me.

On the bright side, I’ve created a problem that fixes another problem. Being really bad at paddling means I’m splashing myself with every stroke. And if I’m soaking wet, I’d like to think I won’t pass out from heatstroke in the ferocious afternoon sun.

Murph’s right: I need a real boat. If I make it back alive, I’ll pour caffeine into my veins and study buoys and flags until my eyes cross.

A few feet away, there’s a chattering noise.

“Not you again,” I groan, twisting around and pushing my sunglasses up my sweaty nose for the umpteenth time. Sure enough, almost within touching distance is the fuzzy face of the new nemesis I’m calling Mr. C. Otter.

I haven’t decided what the C stands for yet, but I’m starting to get some ideas.

Mr. Otter has been following me ever since I left the houseboat, popping up every few minutes to check on my progress. And I swear to god he’s laughing at me.

“Hey. I wouldn’t make fun of you for trying to climb a tree,” I complain.

Mr. Otter twists onto his back and paddles, cutting through the water in the blink of an eye as if he’s demonstrating. Then he pops upright and chitters.

“Jerk. It’s not that easy for us humans—” Mr. Otter disappears underwater, so I break off with a huff. “Thanks for the moral support.”

Time to get going again.

I grit my teeth and dig deep, sticking my paddle in the water and hauling myself forward. I’m almost at the passenger ferry dock. I was originally aiming for Sunrise’s public wharf, but I’m never going to make it there in my lifetime.

One last push. I’ll pretend George is behind me, and Murph is ahead. In fact, Murph’s at the restaurant with a dozen roses… and he takes his shirt off to give it to me while I dry off…

As I clear the building, every paddle stroke seems to carry me further. Holy shit, I’m actually moving the way I wanted to! I rub the sweat away from my forehead with my arm, finally glancing up to gauge how close I am to the ferry dock.

Shit. A handful of people are coming out of the restaurant door—and they’re waving, cheering me on like they’ve been watching me this whole time.

Just kill me now.

I’m dissolving into a puddle of sweat and mortification. Turns out there is something worse than being mocked by a sea otter, and it’s being overheard talking to said sea otter.

“You made it!” a pink-haired guy exclaims in a thick Irish accent as I approach the dock. “You must be exhausted.”

I don’t even have enough breath to answer. I nod, trying to grab the cleat on the dock, but a little wave tugs me just out of reach. I lean further—to a chorus of “No!”s.

The boat’s tipping over.

“Shitting fuckballs…!” I yelp. I grab the edges of the dinghy and brace myself for a cold shock. But the boat steadies itself instead, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. I’m already wet enough, thank you very much.

Once I can hear them properly over the adrenaline, there’s just friendly laughter and encouraging advice. They’re pointing to the front of my boat—and the rope attached to a cheap plastic ring on the front of it.

“Oh, right.” I groan and lean forward, untangling the soaking wet rope from around my ankles. Then I throw it to the dock, and someone catches it midair.

They’re pulling me in, and I feel like I’ve been lost at sea for days.

“Stand up slowly?—”

“The ladder’s right there, grab the railing?—”

“Here, I’ll take your paddle?—”

Hands grab my shoulders and arms, helping to pull me up to the dock. Then they slap my back and squeeze my shoulders, passing me water and even a little bar towel. Secretly, I feel so… alive . I never felt a rush of accomplishment like this from crossing the road in Vancouver to the overpriced, underwhelming chain grocery store.

Granted, I also didn’t have to worry about how many canned goods would sink my home. But hey, nowhere’s perfect.

“Thank you,” I mumble, mopping the worst of the sweat from my face and hair. “Holy shit, I’m never doing that again.”

There’s more friendly laughter. “Give me a hand, Alph,” someone says to another guy wearing a short-sleeved shirt with the Sunrise Island Ferry logo. Together, they wrestle the dinghy from the water up to the dock.

Then Alph straightens up and winks at me. “Technically, this isn’t a public dock. But all things considered, it’s probably safer to have you on dry land.”

I crack up at his good-natured grin. “Sorry—thanks—I mean—” I pant, waving a hand as I stop for breath.

“Don’t rush it. Take your time,” another guy urges me, stepping forward to grab my hand for an enthusiastic handshake despite my spaghetti arms. He looks and talks like the kind of guy who’d get voted in as mayor. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Berty, president of Sunrise Island Residents.”

“I’m Eden.”

“We weren’t sure you’d make it over here,” Berty says. “You know that thing’s a pool toy, right? Did you see it say that on the box?”

What? “I… don’t remember reading the box, actually.” Everyone’s laughing, including me. “I guess that explains the beer holders.”

Berty claps my arm. “You did a great job getting over here, son. But it’s easier in a real dinghy. Reminds me of the first time Doug and I went kayaking?—”

“So what brings you here?” Alph interjects hastily.

“Groceries.” The look on everyone’s faces makes my heart sink. “If they’re still open…” I bury my face in my hands. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.

“Not to worry!” Berty exclaims, making his way back to the restaurant door. “Justin’s here. I’ll go get him!”

“Oh, uh?—”

There’s not a chance to get a word in edgewise. Berty’s already disappeared inside.

“Don’t fight it,” Alph advises me with a laugh. “Berty’s the entire Sunrise Island Fan Club in one man. He’ll open up the museum and give you a personal tour if you so much as mention the word history . It won’t be less than three hours long.”

“I’ll mind my vocabulary,” I snort, handing back the bar towel to the pink-haired guy. “Thanks, everyone.”

“Let me give you a ride back once you’ve got your groceries,” one of the neighbours says with a kind smile. “You can’t go back out in that.”

“Not if there’s any wind, that’s for sure. But I saw a little rowboat going cheap.”

“What about a kayak? Might be easier to paddle.”

“A rowboat would carry more.”

Before I know it, someone is adding my phone number to the Sunrise Island “Stuff for Sale” group... and two more groups. Someone else is showing me the “for sale” noticeboard in the ferry waiting room.

I just can’t get over how nice everyone’s being. I’m starting to see why Murph is the way he is. Maybe there really is nowhere quite like Sunrise Island.

“Oh, here’s Justin!”

The newcomer gives me a friendly nod as he digs around in his pocket for a jangling handful of keys, all hanging from a huge foam keychain. “You’re the guy who needed groceries?”

“Desperately.” I tell him, and then I nod around at the others. “Thank you, guys. I really appreciate it.” And it’s true—but I don’t want to do my grocery shopping with half the island crowding around me.

Once the goodbyes are over, Justin leads me up the ramp. “So, you got a real Sunrise welcoming committee.”

“Yeah. I sure did. And I made the worst first impression ever.”

Justin laughs as he unlocks the door of the store, revealing a couple of tiny aisles crammed with floor-to-ceiling shelving. “Until you’ve ignored every bit of advice and run a sailboat aground slap-bang in the middle of the Maple Island strait… you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t want to jinx me,” I laugh. “Trust me. If it wasn’t for Murph…”

Justin flicks on the lights and glances at me. “Oh? You know him?”

It’s all I can do not to glow. I know he’d be embarrassed to have anyone else find out about it, but he’s earned all the credit I can give him. “First day on the water, he rescued me.”

Justin doesn’t look surprised. “Yeah. That’s Murph. He’d give the shirt off his back. So, you need help finding anything?”

I grab one of the three tiny baskets by the door. “Capers? Pine nuts?”

“Trying to impress someone?” Justin grins, rummaging on a shelf nearby to produce them both with a flourish. “Call me if it doesn’t work out. I’ll close early for capers and pine nuts any day of the week.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure he’ll show up,” I tell him as he pretends to be disappointed. “But thanks again for opening for me. I’ll be quick.”

“Oh, take all the time you need,” Justin says, and really seems to mean it. He plops onto a stool behind the checkout desk, picking up a sudoku book as he winks at me. “This sounds like an important meal.”

“Yeah,” I admit softly as I tighten my grip on the shopping basket. “Yeah, I hope it is.”

I’ve had months of practice cooking dinners to make a man want to come home… and when I say Murph will show up, I actually believe it. That’s worth embarrassing myself in front of my neighbours, Mr. Otter, and the president of the whole freaking island.

Even if I’m cooking with a kettle and a single-burned electric hotplate, I’m determined to show Murph that I do have talents. And if I play my cards right… dinner won’t be the only thing spread over the table tonight.