Page 109 of Pull Me Under

We stay until the light starts to fade, taking turns in the water, sharing the thermos of tea I grabbed from her kitchen. She gets better as the day goes on – steadier, more confident, all that natural athleticism translating into skills that look almost instinctual.

‘Not bad, Trelawney,’ I tell her, as she paddles back out after a decent ride. ‘Few more sessions and you might actually be competent.’

‘High praise from the surf bum.’

‘I don’t hand out compliments lightly.’

‘I noticed.’ She grins, pushing wet hair off her face. ‘One more wave?’

‘One more wave.’

We catch it together – a long, rolling right that peels perfectly across the cove. She’s ahead of me, finding her line, and I hang back just to watch. Just to see her face when she makes the section, that flash of pure delight.

We ride all the way to shore.

The walk back to the cottage is quiet, but it’s a good quiet. The kind that doesn’t need filling. Our boards under our arms, wetsuits dripping, sand in places sand shouldn’t be.

‘Same time next week?’ she asks, as we reach her door.

‘If the swell holds.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘We’ll find something else.’ I lean in, kiss the salt from her lips. ‘I’ll find any excuse to spend the day with you.’

The smile she gives me is blinding. ‘Careful, Harding. That almost sounded romantic.’

‘Must be the hypothermia talking.’

‘Must be.’

She pulls me inside, and the door closes behind us, and the rest of the world stays exactly where it belongs.

Outside.

Chapter Twenty-Two

BRYNN

Here’s the thing about secrets: they’re intoxicating.

Like the first drink of the night – warm and sliding through your veins, loosening everything that’s been wound too tight. You know there’s a cost coming. You know the morning will arrive eventually, harsh and unforgiving. But right now, in this moment, everything feels possible.

That’s what the past week has been. One long, reckless drink.

Jude Harding in my bed at midnight, smelling like salt and engine oil because he came straight from the boat. Jude Harding bringing me fish and chips at 10 pm because you forget to eat when you’re working, Trelawney. Jude Harding learning the shape of my days – that I take my coffee black with one sugar, that I hum while I work and don’t realise I’m doing it, that I sleep on my left side with one arm tucked under the pillow.

He pays attention. That’s the thing that undoes me.

Not the sex – though Christ, the sex is good. It’s the attention. The way he notices things I don’t even notice about myself and files them away like they matter.

No one’s ever done that before.

My phone buzzes on the workbench. I wipe my hands on a rag and check the screen.

A message from Jude. What do you call a fish with no eyes?

I snort. Wait for it.