Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
KIT
‘You’re fidgeting,’ Jude says from the doorway, arms crossed like he’s judging a bake-off. ‘It’s the bloody pub. You’ve been there, what, a hundred thousand times?’
‘It’s different.’ I yank off a blue button-down that suddenly looks like I’m headed to a parent-teacher meeting and not a pint with Isla Quinn. ‘This one’s too … much.’
I grab the dark green Henley instead. Worn-in. Comfortable. Looks like I didn’t spend the last twenty minutes losing my damn mind. Like I haven’t spent days counting down to our date while time has crawled by.
Jude’s grinning like an idiot. ‘Because it’s a date. A real one. With Isla fucking Quinn.’
I chuck the discarded shirt at his smug face.
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Preferably far away from me?’
‘And miss this pre-date meltdown? Not a chance.’ He lounges against the frame like he’s settling in for a show. ‘So you do know her last boyfriend was Reid Usher.’
I glare at him in the mirror and grunt.
‘Like, the Reid Usher. Car-rolling, stunt-performing, built-like-a-tank Reid Usher.’
‘And he’s a twat and didn’t step up when she needed him.’
Jude eyes me, that infuriating calm gaze of his sweeping across my face. ‘And you will, right?’
‘I’m going to try.’
He nods slowly, peeling himself from the doorway and stepping into the room, clapping me on the back. ‘I’m going to go get Maisie from Dad’s and bring her back here.’
I nod. This is so stupid, the nerves, the unsettled sensation that’s washing through me like I’m on a storm-tossed ship.
‘Jesus.’ I scrub a hand over my face. ‘Will everyone be judging me?’
‘Yep. This is Sea Salt Bay, mate. People still talk about the time your boat engine stalled and you had to paddle back with a mop. And she’s Isla Quinn and you’re punching. I’m your brother, I’ll keep it real.’
‘I told you that was a tactical glide. And yes, she’s Isla Quinn, but she’s also the Isla we used to chase with wet seaweed.’
‘Fuck. Yeah. I’ve forgotten about that.’ His grin widens. ‘But don’t try and distract me from your “tactical glide”, which is still the most excitement this village has had since Dot Pendleton’s ferret crashed Easter Service.’
I shoot him a look, but my heart’s hammering too hard for it to land. I’m seventeen again, about to ask out the girl who makes my brain short-circuit every time she looks at me.
‘She’s not gonna run because you wore the wrong shirt,’ Jude says, suddenly less smug. ‘You saved a man’s life last week. I think you can survive a pub date.’
‘She’s Isla.’ I rub the back of my neck, which is somehow sweating despite the freezing air. ‘It’s not just a drink. It’s … her.’
‘Yeah.’ Jude nods. ‘It is. She’s still here. Still showing up. So stop being a knob.’
I snort. ‘Solid pep talk. You should write for Hallmark.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m emotionally available and full of wisdom.’
‘You’re an arse.’
‘And yet, here you are. Nervous as shit over a woman who already knows what you look like naked.’
I glare at him, but it’s half-hearted. My stomach’s flipping like I swallowed a goddamn anchor.
Then the knock comes.
He lights up like Christmas. ‘Showtime.’
I groan. ‘Do not answer it.’
‘Wasn’t planning to,’ he says, already backing away. ‘Want her to see you in all your flustered glory. You gonna change again, or just sweat through this one?’
‘Go away.’
‘I’m gone. Good luck. Try not to pass out. And for Christ’s sake – use protection!’
‘Jude!’
But he’s gone, and the knock comes again.
I blow out a breath, check the shirt once more like that’ll help, then head for the stairs.
Just a date.
Just Isla.
Just the woman I can’t stop thinking about, who might still leave, who might be the one thing I want more than I should.
Christ.
I open the door.
And there she is. Isla fucking Quinn.
Not glammed up. No makeup team, no borrowed designer gown. Just jeans and a sweater the colour of deep sea, like it’s trying to drag me under. Hair down and a bit windswept. She looks like the past and the future collided and somehow made something better.
And I forget how to breathe.
‘Hi,’ she says when I keep staring like a muppet.
‘You look…’ I clear my throat, swallow the knot. ‘You look good.’
Real smooth, Harding.
Her smile tugs a little wider. ‘Thanks. You too. Green suits you.’
I glance down; I’ve forgotten what shirt I threw on. The Henley. Right. Fuck me.
Still blocking the damn door like I’ve got no idea how hinges work.
‘Are we still…?’ she prompts, pointing to the lane behind her that will take us to The Ship Inn.
‘Yeah. Yeah – sorry. You wanna come in first or…?’
‘Kit Harding, are you embarrassed to be going out with me?’ The glint in her eyes makes my stomach squeeze.
‘Never.’ I grab my jacket, trying not to trip over my own feet.
We walk towards the harbour. The silence is thick. Not the nice kind, either – the weird, awkward kind that’s way too aware of what we’ve already done together.
We walk a bit further. Our hands brush once, then again. The third time, I just grab hers. She lets me. No hesitation. It’s a simple thing, that warmth between us – but Christ, it wrecks me.
The Ship’s in sight now, lights spilling out warm across the pavement. But my feet slow up. ‘We could skip it,’ I offer. ‘Go to Truro.’
She stops, turns towards me. ‘No. We’re doing this.’
Then she kisses me. No fireworks or movie music – just her mouth, soft and certain. Real.
She pulls back, breath warm on my cheek. ‘Now, unless you want the village to talk about this over their coffee first thing tomorrow, we’d better get inside.’
‘Jesus,’ I mutter. Breathless and done for. ‘All right, in we go.’
Inside, it’s packed – Friday-night levels of loud. But the second we step through the door, the place goes deathly quiet.
Every head turns. Even the bloody dartboard seems to stop spinning. It’s not Isla walking in they are staring at. Not me either. Every gaze is on our joined hands.
‘Well, that’s subtle,’ Isla giggles, ducking her head against my shoulder for a beat. I swear the whole place fucking sighs in one collective breath.
‘Told you.’ I steer her towards the bar. Ayo, wearing another eye-wateringly bright knitted jumper, clocks us and grins like the cat that got the cream.
‘If it isn’t Sea Salt Bay’s hottest couple,’ he crows. ‘What’ll it be, lovebirds?’
I glare. ‘Pint. Same as always.’
‘White wine,’ Isla says, smiling like she’s not the main event.
‘On the house,’ Ayo says, already pouring. ‘Future engagement gift.’
‘Ayo—’ I start, but he’s off, cackling.
‘Engagement’ Isla arches a brow.
‘Don’t feed the animals,’ I mutter. ‘Don’t you remember what he was like when we were younger?’
‘Oh, I remember.’ She grins, shaking her head, and I’m staring at her stupidly because she’s just so damn beautiful. ‘Used to give us lemonade after telling us off for getting sand on the floor, then tell everyone we were courting.’
The memory wallops me – her at fifteen, salt in her hair, grinning around a shared straw. That laugh. That summer sun. Shit.
Before I can get too lost in it, Nina waves us over to the corner table. ‘Kit!’ she calls. ‘Over here!’
Ayo slides our drinks over. ‘Go on, then,’ he says, nodding towards Nina and Peter. ‘Don’t keep the fan club waiting.’
We wind our way through the crowd to the corner booth. Nina’s already half standing, arms open, dragging Isla into a hug like she’s been waiting years. Then she turns to me.
‘Is this a date?’ She’s almost squealing and clapping her hands. I shoot Isla an apologetic look.
Peter rises beside her, offering a hand. He’s a big bloke. Sun-weathered. He towers over her, but he’s a gentle giant as he takes Isla’s hand and gives it a shake.
‘Evening, coxswain,’ he says with a grin. ‘Heard Dot’s planning a village round robin to keep everyone up to date with your romantic developments.’
I groan.
‘Peter,’ Nina says, though there’s not an ounce of bite in it.
‘What?’ Peter grins, full of charm and zero shame. ‘Just saying what I heard.’
Isla slips into the seat beside me, thigh brushing mine under the table, and just like that my brain short-circuits.
‘So you’re on the lifeboat crew with Kit?’ she asks Peter, clearly trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer.
‘Yep,’ Peter nods, leaning back, reaching for his pint. ‘Started out volunteering when I moved here from Plymouth. Deputy mechanic now, when I’m not working.’
‘He was the one who pulled those tourists off the rocks last Easter,’ Nina adds, proud as anything. ‘The ones who thought signs were suggestions.’
‘Weren’t just me,’ Peter says, ears reddening. ‘Whole crew showed up. Kit swam the line out.’
Isla’s eyes flick to me, and I do my best to act like it’s no big thing. It wasn’t. Not really. Just the job.
‘How did you guys meet?’ Isla asks, picking up on the way Nina keeps looking at Peter like he might evaporate if she blinks.
‘Well, it’s Sea Salt Bay, everyone knows everyone,’ Peter says, chuckling.
‘But after I’d been going into the café daily for months and she hadn’t worked out I was interested in her and not her baked goods, fate stepped in.
You remember, Kit? That storm call-out when the lighthouse collapsed?
Next morning I walked in half-dead and took out a whole shelf of jam trying to order coffee. ’
‘I remember Nina threatening to ban you,’ I say, smirking. ‘Called you a “maritime menace to jam-related order”.’
Peter laughs. Nina just shakes her head, reaching for his hand. ‘Turns out he’s better with preserves in other contexts.’
‘Nina,’ Peter says, mock-scandalised, picking up her hand and dropping a kiss to her palm. ‘There are children present.’
It should be funny. It is. But it also hits somewhere low in my chest. Not jealousy – just a reminder. What it’s like to have that. To be that person for someone.
‘So,’ Isla says, sipping her wine, ‘Nina said you’re working with the research team?’
Peter gestures at me. ‘We can’t all charm the fish from the sea like this one. I’m helping with the research into conservation of the waters.’