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Chapter Twenty-Three

MURPH

“Still not telling me where we’re going?” I grunt.

I’m trying my best not to bite my client’s head off. George is stressed, of course. It’s one of the most important days of his life. But he’s also the kind of guy who’s naturally extremely… well, for lack of a better word, punchable .

“No. Just head for the strait,” George says, his voice clipped as he keeps his arms tightly folded, standing right in the middle of the huge wedding arch, covered in white flowers. “I’ll tell you where to go from there.”

“Tell me where you’d like me to go, and I’ll tell you if I’ll do it,” I correct him. I still don’t even know the name of his soon-to-be fiancé, but that part doesn’t matter. I’m the skipper on board this vessel, and I’m responsible for everyone’s safety—including the passersby gawping at the spectacle I’m facilitating.

George huffs and gets all fussy, but his event planner, Meghan—and I still can’t believe he has an event planner on board—coaxes him into the corner for another run-through of the script in hushed mumbles.

Normally I’d never agree to set off without knowing where we’re going… and none of this is remotely normal. But I still love being out on the water, with a customer on board.

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it… even if I’m pretty tired of the customer in question. Good thing I’m getting all that danger pay, navigating through these crowded waters. Most people are anchored, but anyone who’s not is staring too hard at us to watch where they’re heading.

And I can’t blame them.

It turns out that when he said love barge , he meant it. There’s the huge arch covered in fake white roses, of course. But there’s also rose petals strewn across the barge, and gaudy fairy lights—I vetoed the candles. There’s fake topiary hedges, and a plastic bench made to look like old concrete.

He’s basically created some kind of hideous, Italian-style garden out of plastic and thin air, on my poor barge. And did I mention the giant parasol at the back of the barge, to keep the half a dozen violinists from fainting in the sun?

Yeah. There are half a dozen violinists on my boat. I don’t know what the fuck is going on—so not knowing where we’re going is pretty much par for the course.

From here, I can make out Dawn’s Embrace. I can even just about tell which of my friends is on the stern. The flash of pink hair must be Kieran, but we’re a little too far away to make out the rest yet.

We’re approaching from behind, and they’re all looking the other way toward the harbour where the race is underway.

Obviously, George insisted on waiting until the most chaotic window of time—right when the actual competitive bathtub racers are about to start arriving, while the amateurs are floundering about in the hopes that they might not sink.

There—I can see them now. I tick off their names in my head as I squint through the bright sunshine, looking for one face in particular—or, at the very least, a bright orange lifejacket.

I don’t see it, and I sure as hell hope that doesn’t mean they’ve skipped the lifejacket.

“Still this way?”

“Uh huh.”

My heart pounds with excited trepidation. We’re finally almost within hollering distance of Dawn’s Embrace. I think my friends—and Eden—are going to get to see this whole show. If it turns out to be a debacle, at least they’ll get front-row seats.

“Come on. Where is he?” George hisses, raising his binoculars. And he doesn’t even have normal person binoculars—or the rich guy kind that you’d see at a hunting lodge.

No, he brought these tiny, tacky, bright gold binoculars.

“Look, man. Help me help you. I told you, if he’s one of the competitive racers, they’re not going to stop until they get to the finish line. We’d be better off waiting closer, so he doesn’t have to get back out?—”

“He’s not,” George snaps back at me. “Just head for that piece of shit.”

I cut off my words, glaring right back at him.

My hackles are officially raised. I might make fun of Eden about Dawn’s Embrace, but that’s different. When this asshole is casually saying that… there’s no warmth underneath.

“It’s a houseboat,” I tell him calmly. “An old one, but it’s still a boat. Treat her with as much respect as you’d treat this one,” I pat the side of my barge.

George scoffs. “Sure. Respect.” I might be wrong, but… there’s something weirdly bitter in his tone.

Something isn’t right here.

“Holy fucking shit. Murph?” That’s Alph, turning and shielding his eyes against the sun. “What are you doing here?”

Shit. What am I doing here? The pieces are clicking together.

I’m not going to be a paranoid new boyfriend. We’re not even boyfriends yet. But…

But there’s this rich asshole who happens to know someone out on the water today. And did I mention he’s an asshole? And he’s gay. The boyfriend is someone I don’t know about yet. Sure, I don’t know every gay guy in Nanaimo. But the circle of gay guys who would take part in the bathtub race is a hell of a lot smaller.

Who do I know that once dated a guy from Vancouver with way more ego than he deserves to have?

I don’t know a lot about Eden’s ex, but I know the shape of the storm clouds that haunt the man I’ve found myself falling for. And this is exactly the kind of guy who would suck Eden in, suck him dry, and laugh about it later with all his friends.

Shit.

I cut the throttle almost back to nothing, slowing our approach as I calculate whether there’s enough room to turn around and take us straight back to the Nanaimo side.

Alph leans on the railing, frowning at me. “Murph?”

I shake my head once, tensely cutting him off. “Where’s?—?”

“Inside. Making h’ors d’oeuvres.”

The relief I feel is brief, yet intense. There’s no time to waste. I think I need to protect Eden—and if I’m right, I have to do it now . We’re inching closer and closer to Dawn’s Embrace, and all my manoeuvring can only buy us so much time.

George’s whiny voice is back, in full force. “Hellooooo?” He waves a hand as if trying to get my attention. “What’s going on? Who the hell is that guy? I’m paying you to pay attention to me . Focus!”

“This guy you’re proposing to. What’s his name?”

George rolls his eyes. “I told you, it’s a surprise?—”

“Is it Eden?”

George’s jaw drops, and he turns to stare at me.

If he’s seen a ghost… so have I.

Jesus Christ.

George slowly stands up from where he’s been crouching behind the floral display. “I knew it,” he hisses, as the event planner tries to step between us. “I knew—there had to be another man. Is it one of them? No, it’s not. It’s you, isn’t it?”

I steel myself, calling up every bit of calm in my body. I don’t give him a thing—not a word, not even a twitch. I have to keep this boat under control. And if I get mad at him… well, it’s game over.

George huffs and puffs right into my face, while Meghan tries to pull him back. “Just tell me he isn’t your boyfriend,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips.

Aboard Dawn’s Embrace, it’s just chaos. Some of the guys are arguing with each other, others are trying to cup their hands around their ears so they can hear what’s going on with me and George.

“What the hell is going on?” Kieran snaps, raising his voice to be heard above it all.

But George steps right between me and them, blocking my view again with that smugly triumphant face. “You’re not, are you? Boyfriends?”

Shit.

Almost isn’t enough. Not when the question’s phrased like that. And I want to tell him that we’re as good as boyfriends… but he’s here with six violinists, a floral arch, and a drone to photograph it all.

I don’t think as good as will count with him.

George is suddenly eerily calm. He backs down, brushes himself off, even adjusts his sleeves. “All right. Okay. It’s fine. I don’t mind competition.” He lifts his chin, and the smugness oozing from his voice makes me want to smack him that much harder. “All’s fair in love, war, and business.”

“It’s not a fucking business deal,” I grit out coldly.

Shit. We’re just about alongside Dawn’s Embrace. If I reverse now, it’s going to cause a hell of a racket. And if Eden hasn’t already seen us creeping up on him… there’s no failing to notice a love barge trying to speed away.

“Says you,” George smirks. “Now, you’ve done your job, boatman. You brought me here. I get to make my pitch, and then he can figure out what he really wants. Or who he wants, I should say.” He glances between the barge—and all the hideous shit he’s put on it—and then me.

The audacity of this man.

With everything I know about George, it’s a freaking miracle I haven’t already heaved him bodily overboard. But if he keeps it up, I might not be able to hold myself back for much longer.

But I said I’d protect him. My best chance is to turn around now ? —

There’s the sound of a voice, and everyone goes silent: me, George, even my brothers. They’re all turning toward the door to the boat interior. Alph gives me a brief, panicked glance, and I know what’s coming.

George signals for me to cut the engine, and I don’t see a choice. I cut it, so I can hear him. So we can all hear him. And this time, we can make out the words.

“What’s going on?” That light, musical voice that makes my heart sing… well, right now, it’s making my heart sink. All the way to the fucking ocean floor.

It’s too late to sneak away now.

No matter what I gesture to my friends, or what kind of look I give them, there’s no rescuing me now.

I’ve fucked it up. Really, really badly.

“Nothing,” Alph tries his best anyway, striding toward the doorway. He elbows Gage on the way by.

“Oof. I mean, yeah! It’s boring out here!”

“Yeah. Nothing’s happening,” Kieran hastily chimes in. “Are there more nibbles?” There must be more nibbles—do you need help?”

If there’s a bad acting award, I’ll give it to every single one of them. Besides, it’s already way too late. Meghan raises a hand and drops it. “Go!” she calls out.

And just like that, the dominoes are falling. The sound of the drone grows louder as it takes off the barge. I turn around, searching for a way out. But I don’t see one—and instead of curious stares, all I see are phones in front of people’s faces, all pointed our way.

The violinists start playing, and George ducks down to hide behind the enormous floral display.

Eden’s voice is louder. “What the fuck is happening?—”

I can’t stop myself. “Just stay inside, Eden!” I have to pray that he’ll listen to me. But a second too late, I realize my mistake.

“Murph?!”

There he is, shouldering his way past my brothers and onto the deck, his face lit up with this painful mix of confusion and hope and… god, I don’t even want to think about what else.

He’s beautiful. And I wish I’d kept my fucking mouth shut.

I’m frozen—right in the middle of the floral arch, in front of all the tacky fake garden accoutrements, with violinists playing a soft love song.

“ Murph ?” Eden repeats, his mouth hanging open.

“I… It’s not what it looks like.” It’s half a defense and half a warning. I hold out my hands, palm-out, like I can physically push him right back into the boat to hide from this mess I’ve made.

I just want the ocean to swallow me whole. I don’t fuck up often. But when I do… I ditch the man I’m falling for at the last minute, in order to deliver his ex straight to him… on a flower-strewn platter, with live orchestral accompaniment.

Eden might be accident-prone, but if there’s a bigger way to fuck up… I can’t think of it. Whatever Eden thinks is going on, he’s about to find out the truth.

I just have to pray that there’s a way back.