Page 69 of Unmoored

I can see the salesman look sliding onto George’s face. “It was a reflex, Eden. Just for a second. Before I realized it was serious. I mean, things like this happen to you all the time. You know how accident-prone you are.”

Eden flinches. And my heart breaks—and simultaneously shatters into a thousand icy daggers of fury.

I glower at George, stepping closer to him until he gulps loudly and shuffles backward. “You know, I wondered why Eden thinks so little of himself. I knew it had to be you.”

“Who askedyou, boat guy? Edenislike this,” George insists loudly, making my hackles stand up. “He’s reckless. He throws himself into things. He always needs to be rescued.” Then he glances sideways at Eden, a calculating little sideways flick of his eyes. “And I realize how much I love it,” he follows up. “Even if it makes him high-maintenance?—”

I’ve had enough of his voice. “With all due respect, as my highest-maintenance client this decade… shut the fuck up.”

I don’t remember the last time I talked to a client like this. Or anyone, for that matter. Everyone around is just staring at me in shock—except Meghan, who barks a laugh from behind her clipboard.

George sneers at me. “Maybe you haven’t known Eden long enough.”

Hell, no. We’re not doing this.

“I know him well enough,” I tell him coldly. “And apparently you don’t. Eden does throw himself in. It’s one of my favourite things about him. He’s also smart, and tough as hell, and a fast learner, and eager. Those things don’t cancel each other out. Now, you tell me why Eden throws himself into life headlong.”

George stops and stares. “I—because—he’s reckless,” he finally stutters, shaking his head.

I’m almost afraid to look at Eden, in case the sight of him makes me lose all my words. I can feel him watching me, though. All I can do is pray this comes out right. “Because his heart is still good and kind and trusting. Even thoughyou,” I jab a finger toward George, “treated him likeshit.”

George opens and shuts his mouth a few times in outrage.

George’s face is pale, opening and shutting his mouth like a stranded fish as people nearby gasp and murmur.

There are audible gasps from nearby, but I have one more thing to say.

“I’ve only ever been great to him?—”

HONK!

The sound of an air horn drowns out whatever he’s about to say next.

It also makes me twitch with surprise, and Eden squeaks and jumps, grabbing my arm with both hands and almost crushing me. But George throws his hands in the air, stumbles backward, and falls flat on his ass right underneath the rose-covered arch.

It’s his turn to be on the receiving end of reflexive laughter—from Eden and me, my brothers, the boaters nearby… even his own rented violinists.

“My suit!” George shrieks. He furiously scrambles to his feet, turning in circles as he tries to get the dust off his ass. I swear I rinsed the barge deck this morning like usual. But I think he managed to find the one spot I didn’t catch. “Myveryexpensive suit! You there! Do something!” George barks at Meghan.

She helplessly shrugs, staring wide-eyed over her clipboard. And I can’t blame her. This unfolding disaster isn’t just a train wreck in slow motion—it’s a five-alarm fire stuck inside a tornado.

“Who did that?” George whirls around as the rest of us turn to look, too.

It’s Marianne. She’s sitting in her kayak about twenty feet away, paddle balanced perfectly over her lap as she bobs up and down in the wake from passing bathtubs and chase boats. She’s still holding the air horn aloft, finger on the trigger, wearing a look that saysI’d do it again.

“Excuseme!” George huffs in that way that makes it clear he wants to be listened to. “Whatdo you think you’re doing?”

Marianne grins at him, completely unfazed. “Cheering on my favourite boater, darling. What a show!”

I don’t think she’s talking about the bathtubs—but I’m pretty sure that went over George’s head. He casts an impatient glance over his shoulder toward the racecourse and then scoffs, gesturing like he expects everyone watching to be on his side.

But it’s growing painfully obvious that nobody is.

George’s cheeks are going bright red. He huffs and puffs, clenches his fists, and stares back at Eden.

Eden’s eyes are still blazing with righteous anger. “So… you think I’m reckless, incompetent,anda bad businessman.”

“I—who said anything about business?” George stutters.

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