He stopped when he saw her. He was carrying a flashlight and a coil of dock line, damp at the collar, smelling like salt water. For a moment neither of them spoke. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
He looked at her for a long beat. Then he sat down on the step below hers, set the flashlight between his feet, and said nothing.
The silence should have been awkward. It wasn’t. It was the same quality of silence she’d noticed about him the first day on the dock. Steady. Patient. Like he had nowhere else to be and no opinion about how long she needed to sit here.
She became aware of small things. The way his forearms rested on his knees, relaxed and still. The salt dried white along his collar. The fact that he’d chosen to sit one step below her instead of beside her, which meant she didn’t have to look at him directly. She could just be in the same space.
It was the most generous thing anyone had done for her in two years.
“Thought you had a night check,” she said.
“I do. Stairwell’s the shortcut to Dock Three.” He turned the flashlight in a slow circle on the step. “Didn’t expect to find you on the way back up.”
“So, this is an accident.”
“I don’t mind accidents.”
She almost smiled. The tightness in her chest loosened by a fraction, not much, but enough to feel.
“You were right about the power.” She inhaled. “The lock defaulted to open when the breaker tripped.”
“This was planned, Margot.” His voice was quiet and even. “Somebody who knows this resort took those ornaments. The question isn’t what you should have done. It’s who.”
She stared at him. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“Since the lights went out.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a moment. The stairwell hummed with distant air conditioning.
“Because I’ve seen bad things happen at this resort before. And I didn’t do enough then.” His hand went still on the flashlight, the slow circle stopping mid-turn. “I’d rather not repeat that.”
She didn’t push. She remembered what Jolene had told her. Lost his wife. An accident during the boat parade. “Elaine told me to stay out of it. Focus on the guests. Let the police handle the investigation.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
She picked up her clipboard from the step beside her. Looked at it. Looked at him. “No.”
The corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile. But close.
“Good.” He stood, tucked the flashlight into his back pocket, and offered her his hand.
She looked at it. Calloused palm. Steady fingers. No hesitation. The hand of someone who pulled ropes and fixed engines and didn’t overthink the gesture of reaching out.
She took it.
His grip was warm and rough and steady, and he pulled her up easily. He let go the moment she was on her feet. No lingering. No performance. Just help, offered and received.
But the warmth stayed in her palm after he’d let go. She was aware of it the way you’re aware of sunlight on your skin after you step inside.
“Meet me at the dock shed tomorrow morning,” he said. “Six thirty. I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“You need to see for yourself.”
