ELIZA
Amanda’s declaration rings in my ears, punching through my despair.
I glance at my trembling hands.
Maybe I’m reacting this way because instinct is telling me to get up and fix this before it’s too late.
The revelation zaps me like a lightning bolt.
“I need to go,” I breathe.
The chair scrapes against cement as I jump to my feet and beeline it for the dock, Amanda on my heels.
“Okay. Let’s take a sec,” she coaxes, trying to keep up with me.
But I don’t have a second. I never should have let him leave the dock without me.
Marching past the last slip, I scan the water. There’s no sign of him on the horizon.
“I need to find him,” I blurt, backtracking toward the only remaining skiff—which isn’t in its slip, because it was hauled yesterday for maintenance.
The touring boat, then.
“Gray has the keys,” Amanda says, reading my mind. “But I have a friend down the road with a dinghy. He might let us use it.” She pulls her phone from her pocket. “Let me call—"
“There’s no time.” It comes out in a burst of panic, my eyes wild as I search the yard for another option.
Swim. I’ll just swim to him—
Orange flashes in my periphery—a stained kayak, upside down behind the warehouse by the shore. My feet carry me toward it.
“Eliza, there’s some headwind,” Amanda warns, rushing after me. “It’s going to take at least thirty minutes, even if you paddle like crazy.”
“Then I’ll paddle even harder.” The kayak is old, edges buried in the dirt like it hasn’t been moved in months, a stained orange life vest half-lodged under its front. “Whose kayak is this?” I ask, soil lodging beneath my nails as I try to unearth it.
Amanda kneels beside me, and we flip it, a cloud of dust poofing into our faces. I wave it away, revealing a paddle stuffed inside the main compartment, glowing like it’s heaven-sent.
Except it isn’t.
“It’s Mark’s.”
“Well,” I grab one end, giving it a mighty yank toward the water, “Mark’s just going to have to deal.”
She positions herself at the other end, shoving as I pull. “I won’t tell him if you don’t,” she grits out. Two more heaves, and I jump out of the way as the kayak slides down the bank, splashing into shallow water.
I hop in after it, water soaking my shorts, and pull the paddle free before clumsily climbing in.
“Life jacket! In case you’re stopped,” Amanda shouts, and something soft glances off my head. I snag the vest mid-air and stuff it by my legs. “If you’re not back in an hour, I’m getting my friend’s dinghy and searching for you.”
I spare a precious second to face Amanda, who’s peering down at me with concern. I think this means we’re officially friends, and I have a feeling she’s a damn good one.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly.
She jerks her chin.
All my urgency surges back like a storm tide as I shove away from the shore.
My paddles are strong, but the kayak is a damn slug in the water.
I pick up some momentum, only for a stiff breeze to buffet me the moment I get past the docks.
Bending over in an attempt to streamline, I strain against the water, little waves splashing up over the sides and soaking my clothes.
Paddle. Harder.
My arms burn. Salt stings my eyes. It’s like the entire pond is trying to push me back to shore.
I pant through bared teeth, back cramping as I force the heavy kayak against wind and waves that all seem to be aimed at me.
I’m a sopping mess of pain and panicked purpose when the sorting float appears in my periphery.
The back of a skiff peeks out the side. Fear threatens to choke out my urgency, but I barge through it, pushing, pushing, pushing—
I careen around the side of the float, drop the paddle, and frantically grab the back of the skiff, gliding to a stop. Gasping for air, I cautiously glance up.
Kenny stares at me wide-eyed from a second boat, a wrench in his greasy hand. “That looks a lot like Mark’s kayak,” he says, sucking in a breath, “and he’s not gonna be cool with you using it.”
From where he’s crouched over the engine beside Kenny, Grayson unfurls. He turns toward me in slow motion.
The burn in my lungs, the soaked fabric sticking to my body, Kenny—they all cease to exist.
Just like at the dock, his expression startles me. But not because it’s impassive or withdrawn like I expect.
No—it’s…wild. Eyes fevered, forehead creased, mouth parted, cheeks red like he’s rubbed them raw with anxious hands.
“What are you—” he shakes his head a little. “You’re here?”
His voice is as taut as his body, but I can’t read the mess of emotions emanating from him. There are no signs of the steadiness I know. This man is all but cracking at the seams.
Because of me. Because of how badly I’d hurt him.
“I…I came to talk,” I pant out.
His hand scrubs down his cheek, smearing grease, agitating his skin further.
“Jesus, Eliza. Your phone—you’ve been fucking unreachable.
I called you eight times.” With every sentence, the pitch of his voice raises.
“I ran out of gas, and we’ve been rushing to fix this fucking engine so I can track you down and say what I need to say. ”
I made this worse. Somehow, without even trying, I made this worse.
“I-I’m—sorry,” I stutter.
His face twists in pained confusion. “Why the fuck are you apologizing?”
Where do I even begin?
But Grayson wasn’t expecting a response, because he says, “You need to go.”
My lungs compress. Please, let me—
“I can’t leave,” Kenny says, face furrowed. “Your boat’s out of gas. You need mine to tow it.”
Oxygen slides back into my chest. Grayson wasn’t talking to me.
“The kayak, Ken,” he bites out, stepping onto the skiff I’m gripping for dear life. Without a word, he takes my paddle, then grabs under my arms and hauls me out of the vessel.
It’s pathetic, how quickly I find comfort in his grip. I’m that desperate for a dribble of reassurance. But the moment I’m steady on the boat, his hands drop away to hold the kayak steady for Kenny.
“The wind will be at your back,” he tells him. “You’ll hardly need to paddle.”
Kenny settles inside, extending a hand for the paddle. “No offense, Boss, but I’d paddle into a tornado to get away from this.”
Then he’s gone, leaving us in a dense quiet. Grayson doesn’t return to the other skiff, but he stays on the opposite side of this one.
It feels like there’s an ocean stretched between us.
Words. Find words. Say them before it’s too late.
“I’m apologizing, because—”
“Stop.” It’s half-command, half-plea.
My mouth closes. I watch, terrified, as his entire body shakes on an exhale.
“When you didn’t answer, I thought you were ignoring me.
I thought I ran you off, and I was fucking stranded out here, unable to do a damn thing about it until I got this engine fixed.
I—” He rakes his hand angrily through his hair, taking a small, stiff step forward.
“I thought when I finally got back to the dock, you’d be gone.
That you were packing up your stuff from my house to leave. ”
“Isn’t that what you want? For me to be gone?”
My words are quiet, the warm evening breeze wrapping around me, ready to whisk me away at his request. Waves lap against the skiff, a murmuring audience to the inevitable answer that’ll send that sledgehammer down and break me.
“Fuck, no,” he breathes.
Wha—
No?
He tents his fingers in front of his lips before saying, “I fucking hate that I made you think that.”
For the first time since he left the dock, hope sparks in the void of my chest. But—
“You told them I’d be an amazing hire,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says loudly, sweeping a hand out. “Because you are.” His hand drops as realization dawns. “Jesus, that’s what made you think I wanted you gone?”
I’m too busy trying to protect myself from mounting hope to speak.
My silence spurs him into action, his long legs eating up the deck between us before stopping just out of reach.
He smells like salt and sweat, his shirt stained with grime and grease, hair more unruly than it was this morning, but he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I was upset. I’ve been upset, from the moment I got that reference call.
Then you showed up, and hearing your voice—the one I look forward to hearing every fucking day—just jammed in the knife.
Reminded me how un-fucking-likely it is that you’d ever want to stay here, with me.
Kenny called before I could get a handle on it. ”
His chest moves on a burdened breath, voice slowly returning to normal.
“But I want to see you happy, Eliza. That’s all I fucking want.
It might suck, but people are allowed to change their minds.
I think you’ll be happy here, but if…if you changed your mind, and going back to Boston is what’ll make you happy, then that’s all I want for you. Doesn’t matter if it eats me up.”
And it is eating him up—the thought of me leaving.
It’s clear as day, now.
“You’re a fucking star. You’ll shine wherever you go. And if you don’t think Garnet Shores is big enough for all that shine, then who am I to fault you?”
All the hope I’ve been trying to tamp down erupts, filling me up, rocking me with relief and ecstasy and something else that injects straight into my heart.
It only grows more intense when he says, “I’ve already thought about how to make things work. Taking early shifts to meet you for dinner. Working the schedule to get more Saturdays off.” He hesitantly reaches for my hands, like he’s afraid I might jerk away and dive into the water.
When he makes contact, my hands tremble beneath his calloused fingers.
“If you don’t want that because of today, because I’ve upset you, it’ll fucking kill me, but I get it. I was an ass. Hell, I’ve been an ass half the time I’ve known you. But if you don’t want that because you don’t think it’ll work, I’m dead-set on convincing you it will.”
“Grayson.” His name is like a revelation coming off my tongue. Hope and worry battle behind his blazing eyes. “I’m not going.”
He blinks.