Page 83 of A Shore Fling
Is that a “right” as in she agrees, or is she being sarcastic? I fucking hate trying to interpret the meanings in texts.
Me: I’m leaving work now. I’ll swing by and check on the house.
Willow: Good idea.
I pull out of the harbor and head toward Nina’s. After the way I left things between us last night, I wish we could talk in person. I want to make sure she understands I’m not upset about her not keeping me informed about the details of her job. It’s more about how the news making me feel insecure. She has such a meaningful career and has had so much success. No wonder she always planned to go back after the summer.
As I drive up the hill on Nina’s street, I’m hit with a memory of her leaving the harbor on her first day in town. I was an asshole to let her walk to the rental carrying all her bags. And last night I was an asshole to send her away. But I’ll find some way to make it up to her. With our remaining time so limited, I’m angry at myself for wasting the previous night. I should be making the most of every second I get with this woman.
I drive down the hill and turn into her driveway. As expected, there are no lights on inside, but it’s still not completely dark out. I get out of my truck, punch in the code Nina shared with me, and step over the threshold.
I almost call her name from habit as I start to walk around. I wander through every room, and everything seems as it should be, but the cottage feels lifeless without her. Kind of like I do.
Two days. It’s been over forty-eight hours without a word from Nina. I’ve called and texted her multiple times, but I still haven't received a reply. At first I was worried something might have happened to her.Did she get into an accident on her way out of town?But that worry faded into something heavier, something sharper, like disappointment.Why is she ignoring me?
I cut the engine as I drift past a pair of moored sailboats off the southern inlet. The morning fog’s burned off now, leaving the water silver and still, like it’s trying to reflect a sky that’s pretending everything’s fine. It should be a perfect day. The sun is out, the water is calm, there are no wind warnings. But the silence in my boat feels louder than the engine ever could.
Grabbing the binoculars from the dash, I do a routine scan of the coastline to keep my mind busy. I know these waters like the back of my hand. Every buoy and bend, every inlet and rocky outcropping are etched into me like muscle memory. There’s a lobster boat hauling traps near the point, the winch squealing even from this distance. Farther out, some weekenders are in a rented cabin cruiser that looks one solid gust away from tipping.
“Unreal,” I mutter under my breath, starting the engine again. I idle toward them and wave to get their attention. The guy at the helm gives me a sheepish look, then promptly overcorrects the wheel, sending the boat lurching.
“You folks doing all right?” I call out.
“Yeah. Just figuring her out,” he yells back. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses and holding the throttle like he’s afraid of it.
“Do you mind keeping her slow near the markers?” I point to the no-wake buoy bobbing not ten feet from them. “There are kayakers near the shore.”
“Of course. Sorry about that.”
I nod and circle away, heading back toward the harbor. Normally, I’d laugh it off as rookie mistakes and nothing serious. Just tourists being tourists. But today, every little thing seems to rub me wrong and add to the gnawing feeling that everything’s off. The engine hum isn’t soothing, the salt air doesn’t clear my head, and the horizon just feels too damn wide. And it’s all because of her.
Nina blew in like a tropical storm, unpredictable and full of energy. I didn’t even realize she was rearranging everything in me until she was already gone. I’d gotten used to her presence, like it was inevitable, like we were building something lasting together. It didn’t feel like a summer fling to me. It felt real. So real, I forgot about what happens when September arrives.
Now she’s gone, and all I have are unanswered calls and texts, a lonely bed, and an ache in my chest.
I swing the boat around and head toward the north cove, that stretch of shoreline where I first saw Nina. How could I ever forget that ridiculous moment? The city girl on the sand, her arms wildly flailing like a stranded castaway in a cheesy romcom. She had no business being out there alone, but damn if it didn’t make me curious about her. I didn’t know then how easily she’d pull me in, or how hard it would be to let her go.
The wind picks up as I cruise along, like it’s trying to tell me something or warn me.It’s a little too late for that.Maybe it’s just mocking me for thinking she’d stay.
Usually, being out on the water during my patrols quiets my mind down, and I can think straight. Something about the rhythm of the waves, the hum of the engine, the steady push and pull of the tide. It settles me, and always has. Out here, I can shut off the noise and lose myself in the beauty of nature.But today?Even the sea is restless. Even out here, I can’t escape her.
She’s everywhere I look. In the sparkle of sunlight off the water’s surface. In the clouds stretching thin across the horizon. In the empty seat beside me, where she should be, laughing at my inability to properly fold a picnic blanket or firing back at me with some smartass retort.
I curse under my breath and tighten my grip on the wheel. What I wouldn’t give to see her beside me right now. Her hair wild in the wind, blue eyes shaded by her oversized sunglasses, and a smile on her kissable lips.
That day when we met, she was lost, and I rescued her. But now I’m starting to think I was the one who was lost, andsherescuedme. Because here I am, cruising past the sand where she stood like a panicked beacon at the end of my ordinary day, and nothing feels the same. I try to shake her loose, but it’s like she’s etched into every part of my life.
Easing the throttle back to neutral, I let the boat drift as I look toward the spot I first saw Nina.
I can picture her perfectly, long bare legs, a hat shading her face, and an air of sophistication that's impossible to miss.
I glance at my phone again, something I’ve been doing every ten minutes, like a damn teenager. The same blank screen mocks me. “Fuck!” I shout, thrusting both hands through my hair. My pulse thuds in my ears, and it’s not from being overheated. It’s from the pain of not knowing. The ache of not knowing and being left hanging. Wondering if everything we shared was some kind of illusion she’s already moved past.
Compulsively checking my phone isn’t helping. Besides, if she hasn’t called by now, I doubt she will. I want to be angry, but more than anything, I’m just confused. This isn’t how Nina does things. She’s too thoughtful, too careful, too orderly to ghost someone without warning—or so I thought. But maybe I was wrong about that, too.
Did I misread everything? Every look, every laugh, every late-night confession? Maybe I let myself believe we were something more than just a summer distraction. Maybe I let her in too deep, too fast. Maybe the intensity scared her, and she used the other night as a reason to bail. I don’t know which possibility hurts more.
My grip on the wheel tightens as I stare out at the spot where she once stood. I want to demand answers, but there’s no way to get any.
