Page 7 of Unmoored

“Hey. Get your ass off Tinder and down here before I toss this into the ocean.”

I don’t usually talk to my customers like this, but Drew has been like a brother to me since forever. I love the guy to death… but I’m still not carrying this box by myself.

Drew laughs as he jogs down to join me, grabbing the other side of the box so we can carefully shuffle up to dry land like a pair of awkward crabs.

“Thanks for helping me out, man. I was in a real pinch.”

“Uh huh. These really golf cart parts, or are you building another extension?”

“They’re parts, man. How do think mechanics get muscles like this?—”

“Drew!” I cut him off just before he can let go to show off his muscles. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” he grunts as we step up onto dry land and heave the box on top of the golf cart trailer.Technically, everything fits… but I’m not sure I’d call it road-legal. For a golf cart mechanic, it surprises me how often he forgets about physics.

“You gonna get everything home in one trip?”

“Oh yeah!” Drew waves me off. “I’ve got bungee cords.”

“That’ll fix everything,” I deadpan, raising my hands before Drew can explain his intricate bungee cord plan. “Hey, I just deliver the loads. What you do with them afterward is your business.”

“Bow chicka bow-wow,” Drew drawls. “Say, I’ll trade you a cold one for a hand… unloading.”

“Very funny,” I snort. “Sorry, no can-do.”

Most days, I’d be down to help him get everything into his workshop, but… today, I’ve got a date. Not that I’m going to tell him that. It’s hard to have any secrets on this island, and I want Eden to myself for a day or two.

“You drive a hard bargain.Twocold ones!” Drew calls after me as I stroll down to the boat.

I laugh. “I’m not playing hardball, man. I actually have plans.”

“All right, keep your secrets,” Drew laughs. “See you, Murph.”

I wave once more as I shove the bow into the water and hop aboard. I’m off for deeper water… and a date that’s way out of my depth.

* * *

Eden will be here in half an hour, and I smell like grease, sweat, and the ocean. But I’m on my way up the ramp toward my house, and the barge is safely moored behind me.

Finally, I can catch up on my notifications—including six new messages from Eden. One is just a blurry photo of two seagulls, captioned “loud, poopy friends”. In the last text, he’s asking where you buy “gas for boats” and whether that’s different from “gas for cars”.

Someone needs to look out for him… and that someone might as well be me.

“God help me,” I mumble, tapping out a quick response as I head up the ramp. But I’m smiling, too. There’s something dizzying about Eden, like a wind whipping over the surface of my waves, foaming up the water into a thick spray…

And now I’m just telling on myself.

I swallow hard, shaking my head. But however hard I try, I just can’t forget the mental image.

Chocolate-brown eyes, filled with fire and attitude. Stronger arms than I expected. Soft hands, with long, delicate fingers. The smooth expanse of his narrow chest. A treasure trail on his stomach, leading down to?—

Despite looking away at that point, my imagination is filling in all the blanks… and then some.

But it’s not just the physical attraction to Eden that’s a surprise. It’s the way I want to spend more time around him—even though he has the personality of three puppies packed into one slender five-foot-seven frame.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and a wave of nerves slams into me.

Is it him? Is he cancelling? Is he asking more questions about gas? Is he?—

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