Page 11 of Electric Kiss

Nate watched his mum flick the towel at his dad’s legs and then run off. His parents were as in love as he had ever seen them.

He wanted that.

“Tell me what you’re doing with the bike?” his dad asked.

“It’s nearly done. There aren’t any long stretches of open road to test it out, but I’ll have a ride around the island.”

“Don’t forget the runway. The flights stop early. You could always ask them if you can use the strip for a test run.”

Nate brightened. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Not just a hat rack,” his dad said, pointing to his temple.

Nate laughed at his dad’s old joke. He missed his parents and their easygoing nature. They were forgiving in that they moved on from whatever troubled them. When Old Man Turner died, and they decided to move off the island, there was no malice or resentment like some of the islanders, just practicality.

Nate was one of them that harboured resentment at Cynthia Turner and her lack of attention to what was happening on her island.

“I need to get ready to take the load to the boat. I earn more money driving the forklift than fixing boats these days.

“Gotta diversify where you can, Son,” his dad said wisely.

Those words he’d already heard from the accountant on the phone came back to him. Her voice had played around in his head for days, and he wanted to hear it again. Nate needed to let his dad go. Otherwise, he was likely to talk himself into selling the business. Yet, deep down, Nate knew he had to stay for another year. He didn’t know why, but somewhere, his mind was telling him to hang on a little longer.

“True. You taught me that. I’ll need to get to my boxes. I’ll call you soon,” Nate said, lifting his good hand to say goodbye.

“Take care, Son,” his dad said, and the screen went blank.

The sound of a boat engine rumbled in the distance, and blades of harsh white light sliced through the open garage door, no doubt from a tug boat in the harbour.

He slumped onto the concrete, the chill of the floor seeping into his body. Nate stared at the metal beams that kept the garage upright in the roughest storms, reminding him of the silent strength that held his world together.

He thought of the long wheelbarrow waiting to be loaded with boxes of scraps, the forklift to be driven out into the night as he took the salvaged metal pieces to the cargo boat. In the back of his mind, a faint voice told him he could take a break and go for a quick shower and off to the pub for a pint. But then the voice faded away, replaced, knowing that he couldn’t forgo the money. Evenings like these always seemed to have too little to do and too much time to do it.

Rising to his feet, he dusted off his clothes and reachedfor the hose nearby. He took a few moments to clean his face and hands before clearing away his tools. He’d get a pint later, he thought to himself, but for now, he had to get to work.

Chapter Five

Daisy

Daisy had an evening free and was looking for company. Luke, Jason and Archer, with their significant others, were busy. Otherwise known as a collective early night, she noted as she walked along the path past their cottages. The evenings drew in so she could detect the lights on and in which rooms, as all the cottages were identical.

The rumbly laugh played on repeat in her head for the last week since she took the call from the boat mechanic, who she now knew was Nathaniel Hill. Light internet stalking gave her that much.

Daisy was disappointed that it was him. She didn’t have fond memories from school of Nate and his mates. But then, no one was kind to her through school.

It was Friday evening, and she wanted fish and chips. She’d wanted fish and chips since he’d mentioned it on thecall. It had nothing to do with the off-chance of looking for the mechanic’s boat workshop.

Daisy had not used the golf buggy parked at the end of the pathway with her coloured bench seat often since she’d moved back to the island permanently. She toyed with the idea of driving into the town because the fish and chips would be warmer by the time she got back, but it was a lovely warm evening.

After a back and forth in her head, she decided not to take the buggy and walk down to the quayside. Instead, she took the private Turner path and ended up at the small port where the tug boats moored up. Then she walked through the town and out the other side to where the Turner warehouse was. She knew there was a fish and chip shop at the end of that quay. What she also knew from some online searching was where the only boat mechanic had its workshop.

She might have checked out Hill’s Workshop a time or two, hoping to see what her caller looked like now he was an adult and not a spotty teenager. Unfortunately, the only pictures on the website were of boats in dry docks.

The sun had started to set, bathing the waterfront in a soft golden glow that seemed to reflect off the surface of the still water. The shadows stretched along the wide quay, lengthening the already impressive warehouses and workshops that lined the shore.

As she walked, she could hear the gentle lapping of water against the wooden posts and the clang of a distant bell ringing out from a freight boat. She passed a few people, but no one paid her any mind as she made her way to the Turner warehouse.

On the pretence of checking that the warehouse was locked up, knowing that Archer would have ensured it wassecure, she strolled along the wide quayside towards the workshop. The place was between her and the Turner warehouse. With every step, the air felt heavier, and she felt a strange sensation in her stomach, a mixture of anticipation and fear.

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