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“We need to keep him upright so he can breathe,” said the second woman, her blonde hair corralled in a neat braid. “If you could kneel down and help brace him with your body…”
Nick dropped first without hesitation. If he had concerns about his box-fresh hiking boots, the frigid water, or the ocean’s number one predator by his side, he didn’t show it. He promptly lent a shoulder, gently leaning into the whale. “It’s okay,” he half-whispered to the orca, “we’ve got you, buddy.”
Ohh, Nick… Longing flooded Evie’s chest as she sloshed over to the whale’s right side. She lowered herself slowly into the water, copying Nick’s stance. Leveraging all her weight, she glanced up as the blonde woman in front of her moved and the logo on her jacket became visible—UK Marine Rescue, an organization Evie had heard about through Sam. Made up of marine experts and volunteers, the UKMR had teams situated around the British Isles, ready to help stranded whales and dolphins whenever the need arose.
“It’s okay to touch him,” said the woman. “Lay your palm flat on its skin. It’s calming.”
Is this a dream? Gingerly, Evie placed her hand on his rubbery back and caught Nick doing the same, his eyes wide and mouth open in wonder. “Can you believe we’re doing this?” he murmured, clearly thrilled.
“Got the stretcher.” A man in an indigo jacket carrying a large piece of vinyl joined the effort. “Clare, can you help?”
Together with the woman in the high-res jacket, he unfolded the long rectangle and positioned the stretcher near the upright whale. The rising tide, however, kept shifting sand and orca, making the process difficult and increasingly frustrating.
Try after try, minute after minute, they didn’t give up, ignoring the escalating tides and their waterlogged clothes. What was once ankle-deep was now hitting their waists as they kneeled, but not a peep of complaint was uttered. Evie did learn more about the whale, though. Apparently, he was about five years old and healthy and from a pod known to frequent the area.
As the water rose and met their chests, their efforts were finally rewarded, maneuvering the stretcher beneath the whale. The creature laid on top and bobbed his tail, which the UKMR team said was a good sign. With care, they moved as a group, turning the stretcher and the orca so it was facing the open sea.
Holding her stretcher handle, Evie peered over at Nick, who seemed to be suppressing a shiver as the sea swallowed his clothes. Still no grumbling, though, just full-on commitment from Mr. Fancy Pants Executive Producer.
“Hold positions,” urged the blonde woman, and Evie braced as another wave threw itself into their huddle, but the orca flapped its pectoral fins and swished its tail, launching himself off the stretcher and back into the bay.
He’s swimming! Evie couldn’t believe her eyes. She wanted to shout a “Thank you!” to the heavens but held back as happy tears gathered. Obviously, she wasn’t alone in her joyful relief because Clare and the man beside her began cheering and jumping up and down.
“We did it!” they bellowed, and Evie joined in, clapping and laughing and falling into their mini hug of three. As she let go, a strong wave rolled in and shoved her into another jubilant hug.
One with Nick.
Breathless, unease sliced through her as he clutched her close, their drenched bodies pressing, every curve, every hollow meeting from shoulder to thigh. She gasped upon feeling the familiar reassuring warmth of his body wrapped around hers.
Nick laughed playfully. “Oh my god! Evie, we saved an orca!”
Pushed and pulled by the surging tides as he held her tight, Evie’s reluctant longing breached its banks, filling her heart with memory after memory of moments like this one when it was just the two of them against the world and everything felt possible.
Even love.
She hugged him back. “I still can’t believe it!”
Nick laughed again. “Is there a better feeling?!”
Fighting back tears, she buried her face in his neck. “Not even close.”
SEVENTEEN
EVIE
Then, Saturday, August 8, fourteen years ago
Insistent sun peeked through a smudge of gray clouds, its warm smile defying Bignold Park’s sodden grass and squishy mud, unwelcome souvenirs of an early morning soaking. The storm, like most that blew into Orkney, was a disruptive guest, drenching forgotten laundry on clotheslines and sending sheep scurrying for cover. But once the winds picked up, the downpours were elbowed into the North Sea, leaving County Show organizers and attendees breathing a collective sigh of relief.
Except for Evie.
Where is he? As her daisy-patterned wellies squelched in the mud, she meandered past the kiddies’ teacup ride for the second time. She pretended not to notice Fiona and Sunita’s shared glances or “Lovefool” blasting through the funfair’s speakers, and feigned interest in the untouched bacon roll going cold in her hand. Loaded with zesty brown sauce on a soft, home-baked bun, even her favorite sandwich couldn’t rouse a grin. Maybe I should text him again. Her focus leapt to her phone in her other hand, her We’re here! sent ninety minutes earlier still waiting, alone and unanswered. She shook her head mournfully as the Milk Bottles she’d brought for Nick waited unclaimed in her pocket. Thursday night can’t be a one-off.
Soft and teasing—delightfully teasing—Nick’s lips were everything and more. Hardly surprising, he didn’t kiss like the guys from Orkney (sorry, not sorry, Stuart). Bold and hungry, then tender and slow…Evie wondered if Nick had mastered the art of kissing on the set of Dalston Grove. Regardless, it was safe to say: her long-unfulfilled fantasies leapt to sizzling life with every sweep of his tongue…
“Eves? Evie?”
She looked up as Sunita pulled down the cuffs of her oversized fisherman’s sweater. “We’ve seen the craft tent, watched the Shetland ponies for, like, forever, and eaten our way through the food vans…”
