“My luggage is upstairs.”
“Not anymore.”
Reid looked at me.
I tried to appear innocent.
He knew me better.
“Noah.”
“Walk with me.”
“Where?”
“Dock.”
Suspicion tightened every line of his body.
We went downstairs through the workshop.
The yard had been cleaned, tools put away, floor swept. The new crew vehicle stood behind the locked service gate. Work platforms rested in their bays. The office lights were off except for Marian’s desk lamp.
At the harbor doors, Caleb and Owen waited.
Talia sat in a chair nearby with one hand on her stomach and an expression of complete exhaustion.
Mercy floated at the dock.
Small white lights traced her rails. A weatherproof cover sheltered the cabin. Two bags rested beneath the forward bench beside a cooler and a folded blanket.
Reid stopped.
“What did you do?”
“Planned a honeymoon.”
His head turned sharply.
“On Mercy?”
“Partly.”
“Where are we going?”
“Alder Cove.”
The name changed his expression.
The cottage where we had once stayed before the accident.
The place that returned to me first in fragments—smoke, a green quilt, Reid’s black coat on a hook, his voice in a dark room telling me I was loved.
The cottage had reopened after renovation in spring.
I booked it six months ago.
Reid looked from Mercy to the harbor mouth.
