“Thanks. How was your week?”
“It was alright. Went fishing, fixed the foghorn after a bad gust of wind opened the doors and damaged it. Wrote some things down in my notebook, the usual.” He grins.
“Fishing, eh? Couldwego fishing? Is the weather okay for that?” I ask.
He bites his bottom lip and looks away for a moment. “That’s what you want to do today?” He looks back at me like he’s wishing I’d change my mind.
“I mean, only if you want to. I thought it could be fun. I’ve never done that before.”
He thinks for a moment before offering a bemused smile, his green eyes crinkling. “Sure, I’ll teach you.”
We journey downstairs together, and he opens the wooden trunk on the main level. The same one I found the rope in last weekend. He pulls out a dark green tackle box and two orange life jackets and then goes into the entry room, coming back with two fishing rods.
“Are we going to take your boat?” I ask, jumping with excitement as we walk out the back door into the sunny but windy day.
“We are.” He looks my outfit up and down. “Remind me to grab you some extra clothes and shoes next time you come.”
“What’s wrong withthisoutfit?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“A skirt and fuzzy boots aren’t the greatest combination for a boat.” He chuckles as he slips on a pair of black Tevas. How this man looks hot in Velcro sandals, I’ll never know.
“Don’t worry,wet blanket, it’ll be fine.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he responds with a teasing grin.
We walk together into town and head toward the fishing docks at the bay. Boats are parked along the dockswith huge nets, and the smell of fresh-caught fish is pungent in the air. As we’re about to step onto the dock, I feel a pair of eyes on me and turn around to spot a woman who looks to be about mid-forties. Her wild brown hair and steely blue eyes stare back into mine, and realization hits me.
“Iris!” I call out and wave. She gives me a look and slowly walks toward me. “Hi, Iris. Nice to see you on this side.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“This side of what, dear?” she asks in an uncertain tone, her eyes magnified in the circular frames. I look down at her hands and spot the same ring I saw her playing with the last time we chatted, lost among all the other gaudy jewellery she wears.
“Do you not remember me?” Then it hits me. If this is the past, she might not realize who I am yet. “We’ve met in passing,” I say. “My name is Lucy Brooks. This is Dylan. Dylan Hart.” He offers a wave and a smile at the introduction. “He works at Killick Point. You know, thatlighthousenear the edge of the cliff outside of town.” I raise an eyebrow toward her, hoping she takes the bait.
Her mouth goes from a straight line to an upturned smile. I see a bit of sadness in her blue eyes. “Ah, I know that lighthouse well. It’s good to meet you both.” And with that, she turns around and heads back the way she came.
“I thought you guys knew each other?” Dylan scratches at his temple as he watches her walk away.
“We do. But remember, Iris and I spoke in the future, not the past. So she doesn’t realize who I am yet.” I make amental note to find her again in 1993 and tell her about our future conversation.
We walk a little farther down the wooden dock until he stops in front of a small white fishing boat with a red stripe along the bottom. There’s a little cabin at the front and an outboard motor at the back. The steering wheel is inside the cabin. At the back, there aren’t any benches or seating other than two blue milk crates and an old white cooler.
“Like it? This is a Cape Islander.” He smiles as he climbs inside and motions for me to pass him all of our gear. “Put your life jacket on, and then I’ll help you in.”
“Okay, Mr. Safety, of course,” I tease as I throw the life jacket on and zip it up. He offers his hand, and when he grabs mine to pull me onto the boat, my whole arm erupts in goosebumps. Once I’m on the boat, he looks me up and down and brings his hands toward my life jacket, checking and tightening the strap so it’s a more snug fit over my chest.
“Perfect,” he muses before tucking our gear away close to the wall of the boat so it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Want to come in the cabin with me? I’ll let you steer.”
“Sure, that sounds fun.”
It’s a tight fit in the cabin, definitely not made for two people to stand comfortably. Especially when one of these people is as tall and built as Dylan. Thankfully, my petite frame doesn’t take up much room, but there’s no way tonotbe in each other’s personal space. Arms touching, shoulders bumping. I don’t mind. The cabin smells like his soap as it takes over the tiny space. I take a breath in and smile as I try to relax into him.
He puts the key in the ignition, turns it on, and the boat roars to life before settling into a low hum. I look behind us out the window on the door and watch the water bubble around the motor. Turning back to Dylan, I watch as heplaces his hand on a long handle with a knob at the end to the right of the steering wheel and pushes it forward, the boat jerking ahead with him. I steady myself, grabbing his sturdy arm as we glide through the calm water near the dock and then out to sea.
After we’ve managed to get away from the dock and the buoys close by, Dylan takes me on a little tour up the coast to where the lighthouse is. He points to it up at the top of the cliff. The cliff that is much higher than I realized. I tilt my head toward the sky and notice how the rocks jut out in certain places like the ends of a knife, and the waves crash against the bottom, white spray making its way close to the top. I think about how he’ll experience this again in October. How far he’ll plummet into the ice-cold, unforgiving ocean.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I rest my hand on his for a moment. “Let’s go find a good fishing spot.”
He nods and then turns the boat back to the right and then straight out, land moving around us as we cut through the whitecaps. “Want to steer for a bit?” he asks. “We can swap places.”
