Page 13 of Property of Anchor

And the way he’d looked at me, like he couldn’t decide if I was trouble or a puzzle.Like maybe he wanted to figure me out just enough to know where to bury the pieces.

He’d been gruff.A little rude.But he’d taken the time to walk me through the whole place, to listen to my ideas, and offer cabins for our crew.He didn’t have to do any of that.Which meant he either respected my skills...or he was curious.

Or both.

I sighed and zipped up the main compartment of my bag, then set it by the door.My place already felt empty.Like I was halfway out the door and my brain had left a few hours ago.

I changed into a tank and sleep shorts, brushing my teeth slowly, trying not to overthink tomorrow.But my heart thumped faster than usual.Anticipation.A little anxiety.And okay, maybe a sprinkle of excitement.

By the time I crawled into bed, the street outside was quiet.The soft hum of my fan was the only thing cutting through the silence.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, imagining the creaking haunted house, the eerie fog along the trail, the dusty chandeliers and cracked plaster.The crooked signs.The old wooden dock.The fortune teller booth that looked like it belonged in a gothic fairy tale.

But mostly...I thought of Anchor.

The way his voice rumbled like distant thunder.The way he towered over me on the porch with dark eyes studying me like I was something dangerous.

“Perfect, doll.”

His words echoed in my chest like a drum.

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and smiled as I drifted off to sleep, already wondering what it would feel like to hear him say something else.Something meant just for me.

Tomorrow, I’d wake up and head straight back to the island.

And I couldn’t wait.

Chapter Seven

Anchor

The sun wasn’t even all the way up yet, but I was already out in front of the cabins with Skull, Piney, and Lost.A fresh breeze rolled in from the lake and carried that faint metallic scent of water and the bite of damp earth.

The two cabins stood side by side, maybe twenty feet apart.Each was about the size of a small studio apartment and was built from old cedar logs that had gone soft gray with time.A pair of rocking chairs sat on each porch, one with a slouching cushion that looked like it hadn’t been sat in since the Fourth of July three years ago.

“Place looks like something out of a ‘70s horror flick,” Piney muttered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” Skull added.“Maybe we should’ve added cleaning up the cabins to the prep list before we hired the damn painters.”

“Too late for that now,” I said and looked over the porches.Weather-beaten wood, dirt smudges on the screen doors, and a family of cobwebs staking their claim in the corners.

Inside, each cabin was nothing special.One big room with scuffed hardwood floors, a worn-down couch in the middle, and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across from it.The kitchen was a short L-shape along one wall with chipped cabinets and a microwave that groaned louder than a banshee.A queen bed sat off-center near the back with a tattered quilt draped over it.Tucked into the back corner was a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.

Functional.Not pretty.But they’d have a roof over their heads and a short walk to work.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.The job at the haunted house was going to take time—aweek, maybe two.That depended on how much help the painter brought and if they actually knew what they were doing.

I wasn’t even sure how many of them would be showing up, but I was hoping Pearl would be one of them.She’d made it sound like she’d be hands-on with the work, had ideas and a vision.But maybe she was just the brains of the operation and would let her crew do the dirty work.

A low chime broke through the quiet morning air—the sensor at the bridge.

“Someone’s coming,” Lost said, straightening up.He always got twitchy around outsiders.

We all turned and started making our way down the gravel path that led toward the haunted house and the parking lot.Boots crunched beneath us, birds chirped somewhere in the pines, and the morning fog still clung to the low places around the island.

The lot was already humming by the time we got there.Five vehicles had pulled in and were slowly parking.A battered pickup, a dented cargo van, an old white sedan, and a silver SUV.The fifth was Pearl’s work truck.Same one from yesterday.

She climbed out of the cab like a vision in worn jeans and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows.A black duffle bag was slung over one shoulder, so stuffed that the seams looked like they were seconds from giving up.Her hair was twisted up in a loose knot, and even from a distance, I could see the steel in her expression.

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