Page 8 of Unmoored

Fuck. I’m turning into a high schooler all over again.

EDEN:

So… any chance you’ll pick me up for our date? You know where I live ;)

I snort, but I’m already tapping out a reply.

MURPH:

Let me guess… you’re out of gas.

EDEN:

I don’t think so. Is there supposed to be a warning light?

Just kidding

Or maybe not

TBH I’m worried about parking this boat

But it’s okay, I’m watching tutorials

“Yeah, that makes me worry alotmore,” I mutter.

MURPH:

The public wharf’s busy at low tide. There’s barely room to swing a speedboat.

I’ll pick you up in 30 minutes.

That’s my politest way of telling Eden that there’s a 100% chance he’ll run aground, and then his rust tub probablywillspring a leak.

Nope. I can’t help sending one more message.

MURPH:

And you park a car. You moor a boat.

EDEN:

Apparently I don’t do either ;)

I quit driving after the second instructor fired me

It’s a good story

I twitch slightly, staring at my phone as I unlock my front door.

MURPH:

But you passed your boating license test?

The seconds are ticking by. Ten seconds, then twenty. I’m inside and upstairs, and he isn’t even typing back yet, so I grab my phone from the counter.

MURPH:

Are you searching “BC boating license test” right now???

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