Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Leif
The engine idles beneath me, vibrating through the seat as heat blasts from the vents. Dawn breaks over the harbor in streaks of pink and gold, reflecting off the water in wavering lines.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, attention fixed on the entrance to the dock’s parking lot, a box of pastries from The Daily Bread sitting on the passenger seat. The sugary scent of cinnamon and butter fills the car, a peace offering I’m not sure will be accepted.
My phone sits dark on the console, screen bearing the fingerprints of countless drafted and deleted messages. Each attempt at explanation had fallen flat over the weekend.
In the end, I deleted them all. Some conversations need to take place in person, to be accountable for the hurt I caused.
A familiar blue truck turns onto the harbor road, headlights cutting through the morning mist. My stomach twists, acid and nerves mixing into a potent cocktail that leaves me queasy.
I inhale the pastry-scented air once more before reaching for the door handle, swinging the door open. Gravel crunches beneath my loafers as I step out, clutching the pastry box. The morning air stings my cheeks, carrying brine and diesel from the boats at the dock.
Emily’s truck pulls into a spot near the harbor office, and the engine cuts off. The passenger door opens first, and Jared unfolds his tall, lanky frame from the seat. His sea-glass eyes find me right away, narrowing with undisguised irritation.
Even from this distance, his pheromones carry on the breeze, and they scream protective, territorial, and warning.
The message comes through loud and clear. I messed up and hurt Emily. My feet take root in the gravel. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here.
But then Emily steps out from the driver’s side, her silver hair catching the pink dawn light. She pauses, hand on the door, as she spots me across the parking lot.
No turning back now.
I force my legs to move, each step requiring effort as I cross the distance between us.
“Leif,” Emily greets across the remaining space, her expression revealing nothing about her reaction to my sudden reappearance.
“Morning.” The word comes out raspier than intended as I stop a respectful distance away. “I, uh…”
The pastry box suddenly feels inadequate as I extend it. “I brought breakfast. For your crew. A peace offering.”
Jared snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, and his irritated pheromones intensify, mixing with the salt air.
Emily touches his arm, a silent communication passing between them. “Jared, can you tell Kyle I’ll just be a minute?”
She reaches for the pastry box, her fingers grazing mine as she accepts it.
Then she holds them out to Jared. “And take these down to the crew?”
For a moment, Jared remains still, his arms folded, until Emily’s huff forces him to relent.
“Fine.” He takes the box from her. “The taxi leaves in five minutes.”
“I’m aware,” Emily says dryly.
Jared turns toward the dock, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path.
We stand alone in the morning light as water laps at pilings, the low rumble of the taxi’s engine and the cry of seagulls filling the air.
Emily neither retreats nor advances while she waits for me to gather my courage.
“I came to apologize,” I say at last, the words tumbling out. “For canceling our lesson, and for going silent for so long. It wasn’t fair to you, especially after all the time you invested in teaching me.”
Emily tucks her hands into the pockets of her work jacket. “Okay.”
“I should have called or sent a proper text,” I continue, words rushing now as I try to come up with excuses. “I just…things got complicated. With school. With Quinn.”
My stomach coils at all the half-truths, but I can’t bring myself to speak Carson’s name aloud in this peaceful harbor.
A gull lands on a nearby piling, its white feathers brilliant against the dark wood.
Emily watches it for a moment before returning her attention to me. “Are you still interested in finishing your projects?”
The practical question takes me aback. “I…yes. If that’s still an option.”
She tilts her head back, considering. “I’m on site all week with the new foundations, but I can catch a later water taxi on Wednesday. Would that work?”
The generosity of the offer hits me with unexpected force. No interrogation about my absence. No demand for fuller explanations. It’s a door left open when she would have been justified in locking it.
“That would be great.” I swallow the nervous flutters. “Thank you. I didn’t expect…”
Emily shrugs. “People have reasons for what they do. Sometimes they share them, sometimes they don’t.”
Her kindness burns worse than anger would have.
“Eight thirty on Wednesday, then,” she confirms.
“I’ll be there.”
She looks toward the waiting water taxi. “I need to go. Have a good day.”
“You, too.”
Emily turns toward the dock where Jared waits near the water taxi.
She takes a few steps before she pauses and turns back to me. “Leif?”
“Yes?”
“Be on time.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “The clock’s ticking on those projects.”
Then she continues down the path, her stride long and confident, silver hair catching the strengthening morning light. She reaches Jared, and they both board the waiting taxi, and within minutes, the vessel pulls away from the dock, leaving a white wake across the harbor water.
The sun clears the horizon, burning away the pink dawn into clear morning light. I turn back to my car, planning to wait until the taxi returns with Quinn in an hour.
As I settle in the driver’s seat again, the pressure around my chest tightens and eases at the same time.
The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into Emily’s driveway five minutes early, according to my dashboard clock.
My knuckles ache from gripping the steering wheel too hard during the drive. I shut off the engine and sit in silence, watching the cottage through the windshield. Morning sunlight filters through the surrounding pines, casting dappled shadows across the red roof and yellow door.
The car door closes with a solid thunk behind me, and I roll my shoulders back, trying to release the tension that’s made its home between my shoulder blades since my conversation with Carson. The fresh air fills my lungs, pine and cedar mingling with wood smoke from someone’s chimney.
Before I reach the porch, the yellow door swings open. Emily stands in the doorway, dressed in worn jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her silver hair catches the morning light, and she holds a steaming mug in one hand.
“Right on time,” she says, stepping aside to let me in. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
The cottage welcomes me with its scent of fresh bread, and underlying that is Emily’s pheromones of crushed clover and warm flannel mingled with Jared’s salt air and driftwood. The two combined fill the space with the comforting scent of a beachside retreat in fall, comforting despite my nerves.
Emily hands me a mug from the counter, our fingers brushing, and the contact sends a spike of heat up my arm. I lock down my pheromones as best I can, not wanting to shout my interest in this cozy space for two.
I take a sip of the dark brew to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Did you eat?” she asks, lifting a cloth from a basket of muffins.
My stomach churns at the thought of food. “I’m good, but thank you.”
Emily’s nostrils flare, smelling the anxiety I can’t quite hide, though there’s no way for her to know what triggered it.
She doesn’t comment as she drops the cloth and moves toward the back door. “I have everything set up in the workshop, so we should be done in no time.”
I follow her across the yard, the dew-damp grass soaking the edges of my loafers. Morning light gleams off the windows of her workshop, and birds call from nearby trees, forming a pocket of calm outside the stressors in my life.
Inside, the warm scent of sawdust and linseed oil surrounds us. My projects wait on the main workbench, the bookshelf and shoe rack we built together, sanded smooth, stained, and ready for their final treatment. Beside them, brushes and cans of clear polyurethane wait.
“We’ll start with the shelf,” she says, pulling on a work apron and passing me one to protect my slacks and dress shirt. “The flat surfaces make it easier to apply an even coat.”
She demonstrates the technique, her movements fluid with confidence as she dips the brush and applies the finish in long, smooth strokes. “Always go with the grain and keep a wet edge to avoid lap marks.”
I mimic her movements on the opposite side of the shelf, focusing on the physical task. The repetitive motion soothes my frayed nerves, and the wood grain reveals itself under the glossy finish, each whorl and line highlighted by the liquid.
“You’ve got a good technique,” Emily comments, watching my brush strokes. “Steady hand.”
The simple praise warms me more than it should. “Must be from all those years learning to write on a whiteboard.”
She hums in agreement, and we work in companionable silence for several minutes, the only sounds our breathing and the whisper of brushes over wood.
“School’s been difficult,” I admit at last, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “I let it get to me too much. When I’m stressed, I tend to shut down and only focus on work.”
Emily continues working, giving me space to elaborate or not.
When I don’t, she says, “That happens sometimes.”
When she doesn’t jump in with ways to fix it or demand I figure out a better way to function, the knot between my shoulder blades eases. “I wanted to apologize again. You deserved better than what I gave you.”
She sets down her brush. “I appreciate the apology.”
No absolution offered. No reassurance. Just acknowledgment of my words, and the honesty of it both stings and soothes at the same time.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me back,” I admit, returning to my brushwork.
“I said we could do a rain check.” She shrugs. “Didn’t put a time limit on when you could cash it in.”