Page 11 of Unmoored

I don’t want to swallow my pride enough to ask for help, but… we’re not going anywhere fast, if he leaves me to my own devices. I huff and glare at him.

Murph coughs into his hand. “It unbuckles.”

“Oh.” I squirm my way out and spot the buckles, tightly fastened. I quickly pop them open like I know what I’m doing. “Right. Yeah.”

But my second attempt at shoving my way into the foam cage isn’t going any better… and I think I just jammed myself too far in to get out on my own.

I can’t see Murph, but I can hear the laughter in his voice. “Different buckles. Here, let me.” The boat tilts ever so slightly as he steps closer to me, and I drop my hands to let him unfasten everything.

It’s kind of hot, being helpless in his hands.

He clicks something, and suddenly the whole thing gets much looser.

“Ohhh.” I pop my head out to the sight of Murph watching me like he’s trying to figure out my odds of premature death by drowning. “Got it.”

“Mmm.” Murph grunts and turns away as I click the last few buckles shut.

“This is why I don’t do harnesses,” I grumble. “Well, that, and I go too bed too early for those parties.”

“…Right. Sit down for the ride.”

“All hands and feet inside the vehicle,” I promise him, plopping my ass into the worn leather seat. “I can’t get intothatmuch trouble from here.”

“Mmm,” he grunts like he doesn’t believe me, and I laugh. Still, he pushes away from Dawn’s Embrace, and then we’re off across the harbour.

The nervous tension is building up again. It’s easy when we’re talking to each other—even when we’re laughing over me making an ass of myself.

But over the sound of the engine, we can’t really talk. And that’s when my brain takes over and makes me start wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

Do I tell him about George? What do I tell him? Would it be weird? What if he finds out one day and he feels like it was wrong not to tell him?

Then my heart leaps into my throat as the boat almost jumps forward underneath me. The engine roars to life as Murph opens up the throttle, drowning out my little cry of surprise.

But I’m grinning, too. For so long now, I haven’t felt like this—that rush of being alive, of daring to take a risk, to do something faster and harder just because I can.

I’m facing backward, so all I can see is Murph. He’s looking over my head… but he spares a second to catch my eye. Then he winks and jerks his chin up.

I can’t even hear my own laugh over the sound of the engine as I twist around for a look. I can’t even see the water over the nose of the boat, it’s so high in the air as we skip from wave to wave, turning in what feels like an endless circle.

All I can see is the clear blue horizon ahead. Any moment now, it feels like we might just take off into those open skies and ride the currents to god knows where.

The nose slowly dips back down to touch the water, and the engine grows quieter. “Can’t race very much around here,” Murph explains. “Especially at low tide. But we’re almost there.”

“Uh huh.” I grin breathlessly, settling back into the seat for our approach to the island.

I’m pretty sure we took the long way around. But that just means I get a little longer to really study Murph as he stands at the outboard engine. It’s nice to learn the curve of his lip and the line of his jaw, watch the sunlight streaming through his hair...

He looks completely at home on the water. It’s like seeing a creature in its natural habitat. Even if I barely know him yet, he somehow just makes sense here.

“Here’s the public wharf,” Murph tells me, pointing ahead.

This time when I turn around, I can see everything ahead of us—including the wharf laid out on bare, glistening wet sand. Dozens of boats are just stranded there, too.

“Whoa,” I breathe out. “Thatisa low tide.”

Down at the end, where the wharf is still floating… I’ve never seen so many boats crammed into one little area. It’s like the parking lot at the PNE fairgrounds on the hottest day of the summer. Some of these boats are even double- and triple-parked.

Not the best place for a learner.

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