Page 83 of Take Me Away

I smother a laugh.

‘We’re not fighting,’ I manage. ‘We … made up.’

Kit flushes crimson. ‘Tell your uncle he can come in – but if he says one word, I will not be responsible for what happens.’

Maisie beams and skips out.

The second she’s gone, I burst out laughing, nearly doubled over. ‘I’m sorry,’ I gasp. ‘Your face⁠—’

He stares at me like he’s trying to stay annoyed, but then his lips twitch. The tension shatters, and suddenly we’re both laughing – him perched on the bed, me braced against the dresser, breathless and completely undone.

‘Welcome to small-town life,’ he says, recovering first. ‘Where privacy is a myth.’

‘I should have remembered,’ I say, wiping tears from my eyes.

He stands, crosses to me, and frames my face in his hands. ‘Are you okay with this? Maisie knowing? Jude knowing? The whole bloody village probably knowing by lunchtime?’

The question sobers me. ‘Are you?’

His gaze holds mine, serious now. ‘I’m working on it. But this?’ He gestures between us. ‘I’m not walking away from this because the Sea Salt Bay gossip mill has a field day.’

Then he kisses me – right there in Maggie’s old bedroom, with his daughter and brother waiting outside and Australia drying on the ceiling. It’s a kiss that feels like permission and promise and home.

When he pulls back, I’m lightheaded, clinging to him to stay upright.

‘I should finish getting dressed,’ I whisper, trying to catch my breath.

Kit’s grin is wicked. ‘Probably wise. Before Jude comes in with commentary.’

‘And then?’

His smile deepens, something boyish flickering through the man he’s become. ‘Would you like to spend the day with Mais and me?’

I could drown in the hope of that sentence.

Instead, I reach for my shoes – for normalcy, for next steps. ‘I’m all in.’

And for the first time since I set foot back in Sea Salt Bay, I believe in us. In second chances. In the kind of endings that circle back to beginnings – weathered by time, but stronger for it.

Chapter Nineteen

KIT

The harbour has always been my sanctuary. Sunday is prep day, when we set up for the week ahead, Jude and me ensuring the smooth running of the family business, while Dad stands there and acts like a harbour master. It’s my favourite day of the week: a bit of work, time with Maisie, and a huge roast. Family Day.

Today, though, the familiar sounds of creaking boats and calling gulls feel different. Everything feels different. The salt air tastes sweeter. The early sunlight seems brighter. Even the ache in my shoulders from hauling rope feels like something to savour rather than endure.

I know exactly why. And judging by Jude’s shit-eating grin as he hands me a Thermos of coffee, he knows why too.

‘Sleep well, brother?’ he asks, his face punchable and smug, wrapped up in his weatherproof jacket against the autumnal chill. ‘You look remarkably … refreshed. Lighter, like you’ve released a load.’

‘Shut up,’ I mutter, accepting the coffee because I need it, not because I’m willing to acknowledge his meddling.

‘What?’ His eyes widen with mock surprise. ‘Can’t a man enquire about his brother’s well-being after a night spent … now what was it you went rushing off for again, remind me?’

I glance over at Dad, who’s checking lines at the stern of the Mary Jane, thankfully out of earshot. ‘You’re an arsehole, do you know that?’ Automatically, I check on Maisie, who is trying to get a barnacle off the edge of the harbour ladder. ‘Mais, don’t lean so far!’

She looks up and gives me a cheery wave, and then leans straight back over again.