Most of the town is asleep, and I’ve earned this moment of peace, because I was willing to get up at the ass-crack of dawn.
Granted, I’m only starting this early because I’m helping Anson out with Lala, our little sister, this afternoon. But still, I’ve earned it.
I sip my black coffee, which steams in the crisp air, as I adjust the wheel.
“You ready?”
Kenny’s slouched against the side of the skiff, looking like he’d give anything to miss this sunrise. I needed someone to man the boat while I dive to fixsome gear in the deeper side of the farm, and the kid pulled the short stick yesterday. He just turned twenty-one, and I know for a fact he’s been spending some late nights at Dyl’s Den, taking advantage of that freshly legal ID.
From the misery on his face, I’d bet last night was one of them.
But Kenny’s a hard-working kid, so he showed up on time, and now he’s lurching to his feet, grabbing a line to anchor us to our floating cages.
The same way I used to assist Dad, back when he was starting things up here and I was juggling college with work on the farm.
Should still be that way—me helping my father. But after cancer took Mom, he just fell apart. I can’t blame him for it. Losing our mother was brutal, but losing the love of your life…I don’t know how someone could handle that well. First went the state of the farm, then his health. The heart attack was inevitable.
Six years later, and it all still feels like the end of the fucking world when I think about it.
Skiff secured, I’m laying out my dive gear when my peripheral catches something splashing in the distance, toward the local marina. Straightening, I squint. Oysters and small fish are usually the only sea life we get in these shallow waters, but the pond does open to the ocean. A whale got caught up in here a few years ago.
“See that?”
The dark circles under Kenny’s eyes shift as he tries to make out the shape. It’s moving quickly. “Something’s feeding?” he guesses.
I pull a pair of old binoculars out of the compartment beneath the wheel. It takes a second to find the shape, but when I do, I’m surprised. “Someone’s swimming.”
Shallow as the pond is, we don’t get a ton of action in here. It’s mostly kayaks, our skiffs, and the occasional small craft from Joe’s docks making its way to the ocean. Swimmers prefer the open waters at the town beach. And the water’s still fucking freezing.
The figure pauses and goes vertical, their head popping out of the water, and I’m no longer confused. The person swimming in the pond is too new here to know this isn’t the best spot for it.
Eliza Attleburn looks a little alien with reflective goggles on her face, but it’s easy to recognize her. And I hate how easy it is, because that means I’ve spent too much time studying her face, despite my attempts to ignore her for the last week-and-a-half.
Hard not to when it looks likethat. All glowy skin, elegant angles, and eyes as big as a doe’s—especially when they’re glaring at me.
I receive about five of those glares per day, whenever we silently cross paths in the yard. Though from what I can tell, she’s mostly been keeping to the office. Hopefully it stays that way.
“You know the swimmer?”
I grunt and put the binoculars away. “That’s the Social Media Director.”
Of all people, I wouldn’t expect her to be swimming in open water three hours before she’s due at work. She’s toned down her look since the first day we met, but even with the jeans, she’s the furthest thing from ocean-hardy.
“The one you keep telling us to ignore?”
“Not telling you to ignore her. Just do your job and don’t get distracted by any antics.”
Kenny’s nose wrinkles. “Pretty sure you told us to ignore her, or we’d be cleaning cages for a week straight.”
“You misunderstood.”
Because telling my team to ignore her would be a dick move, even though I don’t want her here. Impressing the importance of working hard on these busy days and not getting sidetracked, however, is perfectly respectable.
“Sure, Boss,” Kenny says without an ounce of conviction. When I reach for my gear, he asks, “Think she’s alright out there? She’s pretty far from the shore, and the water’s cold.”
The same concern already crossed my mind, because no matter how much I want her off this farm, I don’t want anyone to drown. But she’s already kicked back into her freestyle stroke, now moving back toward the docks, and the way she cuts through the water radiates confidence and strength.
“Looks like a good swimmer. And she isn’t too far from Joe’s Marina.”
