“Jesus, Harlow. You don’t have to rush off,” he says, his voice thick and sleepy. The sky outside is deep lavender post-sunset. “Oliver won’t be home until late.”

I open my mouth, saying, “I should...” and pointing vaguely north, toward home.

He nods, watching me put everything back on before he pats a heavy hand on the bed. “Harlow, you shouldn’t run off.” Pushing to sit at the edge of the mattress, he says, “Stay. Let me... fuck, I don’t know. Set up a bath for you, or... just stay here. It was intense. Wasn’t it intense?”

It was. It was so intense that I’m suddenly second-guessing everything that brought me here.

As I gather my things to leave, I’m not sure if being with Finn is an escape, or a new dangerous obsession.

Chapter Four

Chapter FOUR

Finn

THE LIGHT CHANGES and I step off the curb, crossing the street in the middle of a small crowd. With my phone pressed to my ear, I listen as my brother Colton rattles off a list of things that will have to be repaired, most of which need to be done before the boats can leave the dock again.

“And you’re sure the wiring’s shot?” I ask. My stomach churns and I feel the need to clarify. “Do you know if it’s the wiring itself, or have you checked the fuse panel?”

I hear him sigh and can imagine him taking off his hat, using the brim to scratch the top of his head. It’s Tuesday and he’s worked straight through the weekend on this. I’m sure he’s beat. “Checked the panel myself while Levi was in the wheelhouse with a meter. We replaced any bad fuses and every goddamn one of them blew as soon as we flipped the breakers.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what’s the plan?” I ask, stepping into the shade of a bright red canvas awning. The sun is high this time of day, the sidewalks clean and nearly empty of shadows.

“I need to replace a bunch of wires, figure out how to pigtail them in on the damaged lines. It’s gonna take some time.”

“Jesus. I need to be home, not in fucking California of all places.”

I lean against the wall of a brick building, trying to figure out exactly how all this happened. It feels like it’s been one thing after another this year; add that to a long line of years with not enough fish and not enough money and well, I’m in fucking California.

But Colt isn’t having it. “Stop,” he says. “We’ve got it handled here. We need you there, figuring out the next step. We’ve made it through worse. We’ll make it through this, too.”

I take a moment before I ask the question I’m dreading. “So how long?”