Page 6 of Tender Heart
“Cal, you need a hand to get all this sorted?”
I look at the boxes of supplies, the items on my fortnightly list that I drop off first thing when I dock every Friday morning. “No, bud, it looks good. Thanks though, hey.”
A soft smile pushes up on his face. His brown eyes are tight. “You know, if you ever get sick of living the real-life survivor episode, the mainland will always have you back.”
Tossing the cargo net over the supply boxes, I secure it down. “Nope. Like my peace, you know that.”
“How long is this lodger staying?” Em asks, bending over the side of the old fishing trawler to tie off the cargo strap on port.
“Not sure, hopefully long enough to pay for the lighthouse upgrades. The old Fresnel needs swapping out. At this rate, the fishing hut is going to outlive the damn house.”
Em chuckles. The memories I have revolving around the fishing hut on the southern end of the island are too many to count. Some of my best days were spent there. The only place I can still feel my father.
“Boss lady got you all sorted, I see.” Em’s face lights up with his reference to my tenacious little sister. Rubbing the back of his neck, he opens his mouth to say something. Heels click down the gangway toward us, and he snaps it shut. “Been a long time since you had to share anything with a woman. Sure you’re up to it, old man?”
“What’re you havering about? A, you’re literally the same age as me, asshole. B, she’s probably some crotchety old hag who smells like camphor and cats. C?—”
Em moves, his gaze looking right past me to whoever is walking toward us. He pulls his cap from his head with a nod. “Or not.”
I spin around.
A young twentysomething looks around, confused. Her bottom lip worries through her teeth, black-rimmed glasses onher face. Her long dark hair rests around her slim shoulders and a dark grey cap sits on her head. In a cream sweater and tight dark jeans ending in black heeled boots, she swivels on the spot, as if searching for something.
“Hi!” Em steps forward like a bellhop, hands clasping his fucking hat. “I’m Emmett. You must be here for the accommodations.”
“Oh, hi, yes. I was sent down here from the café. A lady called Iris said my ride is here?” Her eyebrows lower over dark brown eyes. “Is it you I’m looking for?”
Emmett steps sideways. “Nope. That would be Callum.”
Now her gaze swings to me. “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. Hi, I’m Eve. Sorry about the short notice. My editor only organized this all yesterday.”
Notan old, camphor-smelling crazy cat woman.
Brown eyes stay locked on me, as if waiting for something.
Emmett takes her bag, muttering something under his breath before waving her toward the boat.
“I’m confused, is the cottage up the coastline?” Eve says softly.
So fucking meek.
Great, just as I thought. Someone needing looking after.
Stepping aboard, the old fishing boat moves with my weight. I do a round of pre-start checks, like I didn’t already run her in from the island this morning. Em can deal with the crazy lady.
“Is he going to be long?” she says.
“Huh?” Em grunts, settling her things beside the cargo netting. “You’re going with.”
She stares at Em. “Up the coast?”
“The cottage is on Fire Island. Callum will take you over.”
Eve looks like she’s about to turn and run back down the gangway. “Oh.” Instead, she looks around like a deer in headlights. I busy myself with checking fuel and oil levels.
“You mean... over that?” She points toward the sea, now a little choppier than it was on the trip in this morning. Great, she probably gets seasick. Hell, Iris couldn’t vet potential lodgers?
“Typical,” I breathe under my breath.
