1
Rhett
The thing about working at a marina—a place that essentially serves as a magnet for people with more money than common sense—is that eventually, someone is going to ask a question so monumentally stupid it forces you to re-evaluate the entire human species. Today’s prize goes to a middle-aged guy in cargo shorts that were doing entirely too much work for his thighs.
He stands on the dock, pointing a manicured finger at a neon-orange kayak. Then he points at the water. Then he looks at me, his brow furrowed in deep, intellectual pursuit.
“Does it come with instructions?”
I stare at him. The kayak stares at me. The water slaps against the pilings, seemingly waiting for the punchline. Somewhere in the distance, I swear a seagull lets out a mocking, squawking laugh. I force a smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes.
“Just remember: floaty side up.”
The man nods, completely serious. He looks at me like I’ve just handed him the secrets to the universe. “Right. Floaty side up. Got it.”
He walks away with total confidence, and I stand there for a solid ten seconds, just processing the sheer magnitude of the interaction. Behind me, a familiar, dry voice cuts through the silence.
“You know, at some point, you should really demand hazard pay for having to deal with the general public.”
I turn, and my heart does a ridiculous, traitorous little somersault. Laken is standing there, leaning against the doorframe, and she’s laughing. Actually laughing. It’s not the biting, sarcastic chuckle she usually reserves for my worst jokes—it’s a genuine, soft sound at my expense. It somehow manages to be even more irritating than her usual disdain.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, crossing my arms.
Laken sets a stack of rental forms onto the marina counter, her demeanor shifting back to her usual professional crispness. “It’s ten-thirty, Rhett. Morning was hours ago.”
“Good late morning, then.”
Her eyes roll back so far in her head I’m genuinely concerned they might get stuck there. This is a daily ritual—our own personal brand of morning coffee. I’ve actually started timing the duration of her annoyance. My current record is four distinct eye rolls in under thirty seconds, and I have full confidence that she’s going to beat that mark by noon.
Laken smooths her dark ponytail over one shoulder, turns her back to me, and starts aggressively organizing the paperwork. She’s ignoring me. She’s doing it with such intent, such cold, calculated precision, that it’s almost impressive. She is, without a doubt, the best person at ignoring me I have ever met. Unfortunately for her, I am a man who thrives on attention—any attention. Hostile attention is my favorite genre, and Laken is a master of the craft.
“Hey, Laken.”
Nothing. Just the sound of papers shuffling.
“Hey.”
She doesn't even twitch.
I grin, leaning my back against the counter. “Oh, she’s mad-mad today.”
That gets a reaction. She lets out a slow, dramatic exhale and blinks at me with exaggerated patience. “I am not mad, Rhett.”
“You’re definitely mad. You’re doing the thing where you don’t blink.”
“I am literally doing paperwork. I am trying to keep this business from collapsing.”
“Angrily,” I point out.
She looks up, pinning me with a look that could melt steel. “You have a unique talent for making every single interaction sound absolutely exhausting.”
“That’s just my natural charm.”
“You think you’re charming,” she says, her tone dripping with disbelief.
“That’s because I *am* charming.”
“Ask around.”
I press a hand to my heart, feigning injury. “That hurts. That really cuts deep. Mostly because I know you’re lying, and you’re just trying to preserve your own cool-girl image.”
She’s smiling. It’s a tiny, microscopic twitch at the corner of her mouth, but it’s there, and it’s mine. For one bizarre, suspended second, the world seems to tilt on its axis. My brain, usually running at a hundred miles an hour, just… stops. I’m just looking at her, and the silence in the marina feels suddenly, wildly heavy.
Laken notices. She stiffens, her gaze narrowing. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I blink, shaking the feeling off. “What?”
“That. That look.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You were staring.”
“I was not. You’re imagining things.”
“Sure, Rhett. Whatever you say.”
The moment dissolves as quickly as it arrived, leaving me feeling strangely breathless. Good. Great. Perfect. Because that was weird, and I do *not* do weird. I do fun, I do easy, and I do simple. That’s my brand. Everyone in town knows it.
Unfortunately, Noah Calloway chooses that exact moment to waltz into the marina, his hand firmly interlocked with Cora’s. It’s disgusting. Honestly, the level of domestic bliss radiating off them should be regulated by local ordinance.
“Morning, losers,” Cora says, immediately flipping me the bird.
I beam at her, unbothered. “And a spectacular morning to you, sunshine.”
Noah sighs, looking like a man who has accepted his fate. “Morning.”
Laken looks between them, her gaze darting to me and then back to their joined hands. “Why are they glowing? Are they literally emitting light right now?”
Noah groans. Cora laughs. I point at them, playing to the crowd. “THANK YOU! Someone else sees it!”
“They look happy,” Laken says, a hint of softness in her tone.
“They look infected,” I correct. “It’s a contagion.”
Cora laughs, snatching a life jacket from the rack and throwing it at my head. I catch it without even looking, keeping my eyes on her. Noah wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side—again, in public, in the middle of the workday, with zero shame.
I hate everything.
Beau and Saylor arrive ten minutes later, and the situation somehow gets worse. Beau keeps looking at Saylor like she’s the one who single-handedly invented oxygen, and honestly, the sentiment is nauseating. Laken watches the four of them, her expression unreadable, before she glances back at me.
“You know you’re the only single one left now, right?”
The words land with an unexpected, heavy thud in the pit of my stomach. She isn't wrong. Beau and Saylor are solidified. Noah and Cora are inseparable. Even Tanner has been acting strange, his phone constantly lighting up, his focus shifting away from the group. Everyone is pairing off, leaving me behind in the single-person dust.
Then I look back at Laken. I see her crossed arms, the challenge sitting in her eyes, and the way she’s been driving me absolutely, mind-numbingly insane all summer. Before I can stop myself, a slow, dangerous grin spreads across my face.
“Oh,” I say, the realization clicking into place.
Laken immediately holds up a hand, her eyes widening. “No.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“I know that look. Get it off your face.”
“What look? I’m just standing here.”
“Absolutely not.”
I let out a low, real laugh—the kind that starts somewhere deep in my chest. Because suddenly, the summer doesn't look so lonely anymore. It looks like a challenge. And judging by the way Laken’s jaw tightens, she’s starting to realize exactly what I’m planning.
