Page 5

Chapter Four

EDEN

“So, those are basically public parking spaces, right?” I ask as we climb up the ramp toward real dry land.

The railing is metal, hot in the sun, so I’m relying on the terrifyingly sharp-looking little circles punched into the ramp to keep me upright.

Murph grunts, and then he glances over at me. “You weren’t joking about being new to boats.”

“It’s okay, I learn fast.”

The first-date nerves are alive in the air between us, but it feels strangely nice. It’s nice that there’s finally something important—or potentially important—on the line.

“Dry land,” I breathe out as Murph leads me to the top of the wharf. He heads onto the gravel path, but I pause after that first step to lean against the notice board next to me. “Why does it feel so…?”

I don’t even know how to describe it, so I trail off and gesture at the ground.

Recognition sparks in Murph’s eyes. He nods. “Congratulations. You’re starting to get your sea legs, little mermaid.” I laugh and shove him, though he seems to notice it more than actually feeling it. “Big merman?”

“No, I’ll be the mermaid. And someone has to be the sailor.” I wink up at Murph. “If all the stories are true, anyway.”

Murph clears his throat and hastily glances away, scratching his neck. “Well, then. Feel good being back on land?”

I frown as I try to figure out the answer. It feels so… solid, so unmoving. Like I’ve forgotten how gravity works and if I step wrong, I might just stomp a hole through the earth.

“Weird, but good,” I decide. “Right. Okay. Let’s go. Where’s this coffee shop?”

“This way.”

Murph leads me up a path toward the gravel road, and there’s nothing but the simmering tension and sound of our footsteps crunching.

Every time I steal a glance at Murph, the sparks between us flash a little bit hotter. I’m pretty sure he’s sneaking looks at me exactly the same way. After the constant noise of the outboard motor, I hardly know how to fill this silence.

Luckily, we’re emerging from the trees into a parking lot like nothing I’ve ever seen.

“What the shit?”

There are rows and rows of golf carts.

The only time I’ve ever seen so many golf carts is at George’s dad’s fancy country club. It always felt like the rows of sleek, identical, highly-polished golf carts were judging me. But here, the majority of the golf carts here are painted in bright, gaudy colours. There are even rusty, beaten-up three-wheelers with tiny trailers.

“There’s only one car on Sunrise Island. Ladybird,” Murph says like it’s perfectly normal. “Everyone here drives a golf cart.”

I slowly shake my head. “Okay, I definitely need that coffee to process this. Where—” I cut myself off. I see a row of storefronts, and a hand-painted sign that just says “coffee”.

“There,” Murph says, unnecessarily.

I laugh. “Right. Okay. I probably wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

“Mmm,” he hums, looking perfectly innocent as I pretend to glare at him.

“I looked it up on Google Maps,” I shake my head. “It didn’t tell me anything. There isn’t even Street View here!”

“No. They keep calling me up to barge the car over to the island. I tell them cars are banned and offer to put them in touch with a buddy who’ll sell them a golf cart. For some reason, they don’t call back.”

I laugh as we approach the glass front window of the coffee shop, but there’s a sudden, sharp tapping noise.

Someone’s knocking on the glass window.

The place is the size of a postage stamp—and it’s completely full. Almost all the patrons look like the kind of older ladies who embroider rude words, dye their hair outrageous colours, and wouldn’t hesitate to tell off any troublemakers.

One of them is waving, grinning wickedly as she glances back and forth between us. And the others are already sneaking looks.

I brace myself for a real taste of being a stranger in a small place—but Murph stumbles to a halt, nods politely at everyone waving, and looks at me.

“Changes of plans. This way.”

Instead of going inside, we head around the corner to a metal roll-up takeout window in the side of the building. The barista is a bearded guy in a black apron, and his name tag says “Jamie”.

Jamie waves to us with a friendly smile.

“Hey! I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Sure,” Murph grunts, like he’s got to pay for every syllable he uses.

“Hi, Murph!” someone calls out from beyond the counter—which now separates us from the crowd, at least.

He nods politely back at the greetings, but he keeps his eyes on Jamie as he leans over the counter to deliver a coffee to the nearest table.

“I guess you know all the neighbours here, huh?” I ask, barely bothering to hide my grin. I know how to try to avoid conversations in a small town, and Murph’s obviously a pro at this.

“Yes,” Murph says, studiously polite. “You’ll get to know them all soon, too.” But it’s the look in his eye that tells me he’s trying to avoid us being seen together.

“Extra cinnamon? Oh, you’re an angel, Jamie.”

“Hey. Don’t ruin my brand,” Jamie says before turning to us. “Thanks for waiting, folks. Morning, Murph. The usual?”

“Mmfh,” Murph grunts back. I’m getting to know his nonverbal language enough to tell that that’s a friendly grunt, not just a polite one.

Jamie glances at me, openly curious. “And I don’t think I’ve seen you, have I? Welcome, uh…?”

“Eden,” I tell him, grinning. “But if you end up writing any Aidan-adjacent spelling on the cup, it’s okay. Except for Sweden. You wouldn’t believe how often that happens.”

Murph snorts, and Jamie outright laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” he taps his temple. “Now, what can I get you?”

“Vanilla oat latte, please?”

“Coming right up, Finland.”

I burst out laughing as Jamie turns away, glancing up at Murph.

I’m definitely not in Vancouver anymore.

Hold on. Amongst all the older ladies inside, there’s a guy about my age. And he’s trying to watch us. The more Murph shuffles as if to hide me from view, the further back he leans in his chair.

Finally, Murph coughs and turns his back. The guy grins and plonks his chair on the ground, winking at me before turning back to the others for a whisper-conference.

“So?” I fold my arms playfully as I look up at Murph. “Nosy neighbour? Ex-boyfriend? Scandalous fling? I want details.”

Murph huffs a laugh, leaning back against the counter. “He’s my brother.”

Oops.

My cheeks burn. “Oh. Awkward. Sorry. I mean, you don’t… look related…” I trail off, trying desperately not to make it worse.

Murph winks at me. “It’s because we aren’t. Me and my best friends grew up together here. Everyone calls us brothers.”

“Wow,” I beam up at him. “You’re really lucky.”

“I know.” Then, the corners of Murph’s eyes crinkle in this little secret smile that feels like it’s just for me. “Believe it or not, there’s no exes in my closet. There’s been nobody for a while, actually. We should be scandal-free.”

That makes one of us.

Jamie is back, sliding two cups over the counter to us. I reach for my wallet, but Murph clears his throat and waves my hand away, handing over a bill.

I beam up at Murph as we set off walking along the road. “You sure remember how to treat a boy right.” I tell him with a toss of my head and a swish in my hips.

Murph actually laughs—a rush of breath, just for a second—and glances down at me. “So, what about you? Exes? Skeletons in the closet? Jealous lovers I should look out for?”

There it is. I was up way too late, lying on my back deck watching the stars, overthinking literally everything about the date. This is the question I was the most nervous about. But now that I’m on the spot, the right answer is easy.

“I’m single as hell .” It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud since the breakup. And holy shit, does it feel great.

“Lucky for me,” Murph winks at me.

It makes me blush to hear him say that… but it’s time for the next most important question. “And you’re out, right?”

Murph splutters on a mouthful of coffee. “I—uh—yeah,” he coughs, covering his mouth. “Sort of. I mean, people know, maybe. Or they’ve guessed. But it’s never really come up.”

“Mm.” I frown. “I grew up inland. They say it’s getting more progressive now, but… I can’t do open secrets.” I wave up and down at myself. “ This isn’t a secret.”

Let’s face it, I’m not a beefcake like Murph. They see me coming from a mile off. And I like it that way.

Murph’s eyes widen. “Oh. Shit, no. That’s not what I meant. Sunrise is a haven for the freaks, outsiders, and misfits. It’s just that I… well…”

“Yeah?” I raise my eyebrows, gently putting my hand on his bicep before I can think about it. Shit, I hope it’s not the wrong move.

Murph clears his throat, glancing sideways at me. “I’ve never been in a long-term relationship.”

I just laugh with relief, sliding my hand to his shoulder before dropping it again. “That’s fine with me,” I promise. “Honestly. I was trying to figure out if I even have anything butch in my closet. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in one.”

Murph snorts, and I grin with pleasure. He doesn’t seem to laugh easily, but I can tell he’s amused by a lot of the things I say—and it feels good.

“It’s great here,” he promises, his eyes suddenly lighting up with this sincere intensity. But I hear something else in his voice.

“And…?” I prompt.

“And… the price is the gossip mill. What we saw back there?” he gestures with his cup, vaguely over his shoulder. “The social committee’s monthly meeting. I’d bet twenty bucks they’re looking you up online right now.”

I burst out laughing. “Hey, I’m an artist. I could always use the algorithm boost. But it’s sweet that you didn’t want me to be overwhelmed.”

Murph’s already blushing, which makes me grin even more. “Mmmph,” he grunts, making himself busy sipping coffee.

I’m determined not to let that awkwardness from the first few minutes return. “Sooo…” I nudge him. “What’s the story? Born and raised here, stayed around, became the barge skipper?”

“Damn it. You guessed. Your turn now.”

I laugh, but Murph raises his eyebrows to indicate he’s serious. “Oh. Really?”

“Uh huh.”

I scratch the back of my neck, trying to think what I can even tell him. “Well, um… I grew up inland, but you know that now. A few years ago, I moved to Vancouver to make my big break as an artist. And then… uh…” I trail off, looking away with a frown.

Shit. And then George enters the picture.

I don’t want to bring him up—not yet. It’s so light and fun with Murph. It was never like that with George, not even at the beginning. And I don’t want it to sound like I just want a rebound.

I chew my lip in thought, glancing up at Murph. And now that I see the way he’s looking at me… everything grinds to a halt.

His blue eyes pierce straight to my heart—steady, calm, and certain as the tide. Like he doesn’t want to intrude upon my sadness, but he’ll never abandon me in it, either.

Holy shit. I want to cling to him like a rock in the middle of a stormy sea.

I take a deep breath and look away, my heart fluttering against my ribs.

Eventually the words come. “Things got bad for a while,” I admit softly, clearing my throat. “Not, like, dire . A lot of people go through worse…” my voice trails off as Murph puts a hand on my shoulder.

The solid weight is warm and surprisingly gentle. Heat rushes through me like a bolt of lightning, melting the stress from my shoulders just like that.

We don’t even need words. I look into the depths of his eyes, and I know what he’s trying to tell me.

It’s okay. Take your time.

And you know what? The real crazy part is that I believe him. I nod slowly, offer him a shaky little smile, and he even smiles back at me.

“I lost my… my inspiration. I stopped creating as much.” I clear my throat. “Until—one day last week—I opened my eyes.”

And now I’m here, and it feels more and more like the universe knew what it was doing.

Murph’s eyebrows slowly creep up. “So you immediately went out and bought the first rust bucket you saw?” he teases me gently, like he wants to make me smile.

“I drunk-bid on a houseboat, thank you very much.”

Murph comes to a dead halt in the middle of the road, his jaw hanging open. I just keep on walking, spinning around to walk backwards while grinning at him.

“And that brings me here. Now, who’s leading the tour today? You or me?”

Murph finally shakes his head, lengthening his stride to catch up as he stares at me in perplexed fascination.

When he catches up, he puts his arm around my shoulders, slowing me down to his pace. And it feels nice to be tucked against him—really, really nice.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before, Eden.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” I tease, tossing my head.

“I’d like to.”

I beam right up at him. “Then you’d better be able to keep up with me, Mr. Pirate.”

Everything feels perfect.

From the strong, protective arm around my shoulders to the warm coffee in my hand, the butterflies in my stomach… and even the exasperated frown on Murph’s lips.

I’ve never dared to want perfect . I’ve always settled for almost enough. But every wrong turn has led me to my chance at a fresh start.

Maybe it’ll even be the life I’ve always wanted… as long as Murph feels the same way.