Chapter 2
Karma was a bitch.
That was undeniable.
However, in Lark Meadows’ humble opinion, an even more malevolent force delighted in twisting the threads of fate.
A bitter curse formed in her mind for that spiteful being as she stared at the empty space where her boat had been.
As far as she was concerned, Murphy and his so-called law could go take a long walk off of a short pier.
Murphy’s Law stated, “Anything that could go wrong will go wrong.” Unfortunately for Lark, it was a law that controlled her life more often than not. Some might say she was cursed. Some might call it a bit of bad luck. Others could blame karma.
But Lark knew better. She wasn’t a bad person. There was no reason for karma to be after her. Things happened too often for it to be karma’s retribution.
Curses only lived in fairytales. And as much as she liked a good story, she knew with absolute certainty that she didn’t live in a story.
Bad luck was a possibility, but Lark was superstitious and tended to avoid instances that could cause luck to go either way.
That only left Murphy and his decree.
She’d looked it up once. In 1949, a team at Andrews Air Force Base were tasked with developing a project to assess the human response to rapid deceleration.
Captain Edward Murphy was assigned the responsibility of designing the safety harness for the human test subject.
The final design had sixteen sensors that measured G forces acting on the subject.
There were two ways those sensors could be configured, one right and the other wrong.
During the test, all sixteen sensors had been configured the wrong way.
Thankfully, the test subject had miraculously survived.
The twatwaffle, Murphy, had passed the blame to the technician who had installed the harness saying in a derogatory tone, “If there are two ways to do something and one of those ways will result in disaster, he’ll do it that way.
” Those words had become the original iteration of the law.
The test subject had been responsible for condensing it into its current, familiar form.
Unfortunately, knowing the history behind the law hadn’t done anything to help Lark avoid its effects in her life.
Hence her current predicament. The universe had a personal vendetta against her.
Not in a dramatic, lightning-striking-from-the-sky kind of way.
That would have at least been interesting.
No, the universe preferred subtle sabotage. A coffee cup that somehow tipped itself onto her favorite sketch. A paint tube exploding at exactly the wrong moment. A printer that jammed only when she had a deadline.
Murphy’s Law wasn’t just a saying in Lark’s life. It was practically a roommate.
Which was why she shouldn’t have been surprised when she stepped out of the brush to the small bit of empty shoreline on the island in the middle of Bell Creek and realized she had a problem.
Her boat was gone.
She stared at the empty space where the small aluminum fishing boat should have been tied. She blinked once. Then twice.
“No.” The word came out quietly. Almost politely. Like if she denied reality long enough, reality might get embarrassed and fix itself. It didn’t.
The rope she’d tied around the brush lining the shore was still there. The knot was gone.
Her boat? Floating somewhere downstream. Or maybe halfway to the Chesapeake Bay by now.
She closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the fading afternoon sky. “Of course.” Because why wouldn't this happen?
She was stranded on an island. In the middle of a river.
Because Bell Creek was a terrible name for what was essentially a wide, winding river cutting through the middle of town. It had been called a creek by the original settlers, and apparently nobody had bothered correcting them for the last two hundred years.
She looked across the water toward the shore. It wasn’t that far. Except it was. The distance seemed to grow the longer she stared at it. And the water looked deeper. Colder. Less inviting.
She was a decent artist. A passable baker. A mediocre gardener. But a terrible swimmer.
She could dog paddle if her life depended on it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely convinced it would.
Her phone would have been helpful. Except her phone was dead. Because, naturally. Murphy.
She pulled it from her pocket and pressed the button one more time. Nothing. “You’re kidding me.” The black screen remained stubbornly black.
She considered throwing it into the river out of spite. Then remembered she might need it if it magically decided to work later.
With a sigh, she shoved it back into her pocket.
Okay, think. She was smart. She was resourceful. She was... Standing alone on an island with a half-finished penny sculpture.
She looked behind her at the reason she was there. The Liberty Bell, sort of. A miniature version, anyway.
Months of work had gone into the installation. Thousands of pennies carefully arranged into the shape of the iconic bell. It wasn’t perfect. The curves had been ridiculously difficult, and she’d burned her fingers more times than she could count trying to solder sections together.
But it was beautiful. At least she thought it was.
The plan was to install it permanently on the island as a welcome symbol for visitors entering Bell Creek. A reminder of history. Community. Hope.
Right now, though, the only message the island seemed to be sending was: Congratulations. You have been abandoned.
The sun dipped lower. Orange and gold reflected across the water. She’d think it was beautiful, if she wasn’t trapped and worried.
She walked the shoreline, searching for any possible solution. Could she use that fallen branch as a raft? Was an old canoe hidden somewhere? Would a magical ferry appear because she had clearly earned one?
Also no.
“This is fine,” she muttered, trying to bolster her fading bravery. It was not fine. She was going to have to spend the night here. Alone on an island. With bugs. And probably raccoons. Maybe snakes.
She looked around. “Please don’t be snakes.”
That was when she heard it. A motor. Her head snapped toward the sound. A small boat rounded the bend in the river, a man at the motor.
A boat. A way home. Hope surged through her so quickly she nearly laughed.
“Hey!” She waved both arms. “Hey! Over here!” The boat kept coming. She waved harder. “Please!”
The man finally noticed her, and the boat slowed. Then angled toward the island.
Thank goodness. She practically bounced on her toes. Until she got a better look at him. And then she stopped bouncing. Because the man standing in the boat looked like he had been carved out of some romance author’s imagination.
A very intimidating romance author’s imagination.
He was huge. Not just tall. Huge. Broad shoulders stretched beneath a dark shirt, muscular arms covered in intricate tattoos visible as he guided the boat closer. His hair was cut short, almost military style, and a neatly trimmed beard covered his jaw.
He looked like a lumberjack who had wandered out of a romance novel. The kind of lumberjack who chopped wood shirtless and made readers forget they had bills to pay.
Unfortunately, he also looked like the kind of man who would be extremely unhappy about rescuing a stranded woman.
His expression confirmed it. Definitely unhappy.
The boat stopped beside the shoreline. “What happened?”
His voice was deep. Not warm. Not welcoming. Just... deep. She swallowed. “Hi.”
One eyebrow lifted. That was apparently not the response he was expecting. “Hi?”
“Yes. Hi. Sorry. I know this is weird.”
“You’re stranded on an island.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She glanced away. “My boat disappeared.”
His expression didn’t change. “Your boat disappeared.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Boats don’t usually disappear.”
“Mine apparently does.”
His jaw tightened. “How was it tied?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting to the rope that had been left behind by her errant boat. He followed her gaze, and that was all the answer he needed. “You didn’t tie it correctly.”
“I tied it.”
“You didn’t tie it securely.”
She frowned. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“No.”
She waited. He didn't elaborate. “Okay.”
A long silence passed. Then he sighed. The kind of sigh that suggested he regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment. “Come on.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Unless you want to sleep out here.”
“No. Definitely not.”
She grabbed her bag and stepped carefully toward the edge of the river. The man reached out. “Give me your hand.” She placed her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers. Warm and strong. And then—
The universe laughed. Because the moment her foot touched the boat, things shifted. The boat moved. Her balance disappeared. “Wait—”
Too late. She fell forward. The man grabbed for her but missed. Both of them went straight into the water. The splash echoed across the river.
For several seconds, there was only silence. Lark surfaced first, coughing. Her hair covered her face. Her clothes weighed her down. She pushed wet strands away. “Oh my gosh.”
The man surfaced beside her. He looked furious. Not mildly annoyed. Not irritated. Furious. “Are you kidding me?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I didn’t exactly plan that.”
“You think?”
Staving off the tears that were threatening to fall, she bit her lip. “I’m having a really bad day.”
“So am I, apparently.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Because he had a point.
He swam toward the boat, grabbed the side, and helped her climb in first. Despite his irritation, he didn’t leave her struggling. Even with his obvious desire to be anywhere else, he made sure she was safe.
That made her feel slightly less terrible.
Only slightly.
The ride to shore was quiet. She sat dripping in the boat, occasionally sneaking glances at him. He stared straight ahead. Definitely grumpy. Definitely intimidating. Definitely unfairly attractive.
She hated that her brain noticed that last part.
When they reached the town’s dock, he tied off the boat and helped her out.
“I really appreciate this,” she said quickly.
He nodded once. “Next time, tie your boat properly.”
She winced. “Right.”
“Or don’t go to an island alone without a backup plan.”
“Also right.”
“And charge your phone.”
She looked down. “Okay, you can stop now.”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. But it disappeared. “Good luck with your bell.” Her eyes widened, surprised that he’d seen her unfinished project.
She looked back at the island in the distance. Then at him. “Thank you. Really.”
He nodded. She started walking away. After a few steps, she glanced back. He was already climbing into his boat. Of course he was. She didn’t even know his name. And honestly? She probably never would. Because people like him belonged in books. Not in her messy, Murphy-ruled life.
She watched until the boat disappeared around the bend.
Then she turned toward town, desperate for caffeine and conversation.
And no place was better at both than The Flour Power Bakery which her Aunt Marilyn had owned and operated for forty years.
Her pace increased as she contemplated the newest brew concocted by her aunt’s latest hire.
Completely unaware that the grumpy, bearded lumberjack of a man she’d just met was about to become the biggest complication her life had ever seen.