Last Ferry, First Kiss

Lena bent over, hands on her knees. Water dripped from her hair onto the boards.

Her breath came out in short white puffs, though the night was not cold enough for

that. Or maybe she was simply furious.

“I was told the ferry ran until eight-thirty.”

“On Fridays.”

“It is Friday.”

He glanced toward the dark water. “Not anymore.”

She straightened. “What does that mean?”

“It means the ferry’s done for tonight.”

“I need to get across.”

“So does everybody who misses it.”

The rain came sideways. It found the gap between her collar and neck and slid

down her back.

Lena looked past him at the boathouse. “Can you open the ticket booth?”

“No.”

“Can you call someone?”

Last Ferry, First Kiss

“No.”

“Do you have any other useful answers?”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. “I’m working on one.”

She hated that her eyes kept drifting to his big, grease-darkened hands. Big hands. Grease worked into the creases

of his knuckles. A pale scar crossed the back of his right thumb. He had the calm,

maddening look of a man who had never once sent a client a file marked

FINAL_

_

final

reallyfinal.pdf.

“I’m Lena Hart,” she said. “I’m here about my aunt’s property.”

That got his attention.

The wind shoved rain beneath the boathouse awning. He looked her over, from her

soaked city coat to her scuffed boots.

“Your aunt’s property?”

“The cottage. The ferry-ticket booth. Whatever else she left me that has a roof or a

tax bill.”

His gaze moved toward the little booth at the end of the dock. Its paint had peeled

in long gray curls. One window was boarded. A hand-lettered sign hung crooked beneath the eaves.

CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

“Eleanor Hart?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Eli Brooks.”

He said it without offering a hand. Maybe because both of his were wet. Maybe

because he had no interest in welcoming her.

Lena tucked her scraped palm beneath her opposite elbow. “You knew her?”

“Everybody knew Eleanor.”

Last Ferry, First Kiss

6“That sounds ominous.”

“She sold bad coffee and remembered everyone’s birthday.”

“So, beloved and dangerous.”

“Mostly beloved.”

The ferry’s wake slapped against the pilings. Lena watched the boat vanish behind

the breakwater. Her chest tightened. She had spent six hours driving from Boston

with a folder of legal papers on the passenger seat and a phone full of unanswered

emails. She had imagined arriving, unlocking the cottage, sleeping in a real bed, and

dealing with the inheritance in daylight.

Instead, she stood in wet boots while a stranger informed her that the only way

across the harbor had just disappeared.

“Where’s the next ferry?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

“Six.”

She stared at him.

He shrugged. “Morning usually starts around then.”

“Is there a bridge?”

“Not unless you brought one.”

“An inn?”

“Up the hill. The Harbor House.”

“Great. I’ll walk.”

Eli looked at her boots.

Last Ferry, First Kiss

They were cream-colored leather. They had been a poor choice in Boston and an

insulting one in Maine.

“In that?” he asked.

“I’ve walked farther.”

“On pavement.”

“I can manage a hill.”

“The road floods near the old cannery.”

“Then I’ll go around.”

“There isn’t a reliable around.”

Lena heard the warning beneath the words. She also heard the judgment.

“Do you always make directions sound like a personal challenge?”

“Only when people are about to make bad decisions.”

She stepped closer. He smelled like rain, metal, and cedar shavings. “I’m not peo‐

ple. I’m the woman who owns the booth you just locked.”

His eyes settled on hers.

For one second, the rain seemed quieter.

Then a crack of thunder rolled over the harbor.

Eli turned and tried the boathouse door. The lock clicked. “You can wait inside un‐

til the storm eases.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a roof.”

“Your hospitality is overwhelming.”

“Give it time.”

Last Ferry, First Kiss

8He unlocked the door again.

The boathouse was warmer than the dock, though not by much. A single bulb

buzzed overhead. Tools hung in careful rows on a pegboard. A half-disassembled out‐

board motor sat on a workbench, its metal housing gleaming beneath a towel. The

place smelled of oil, sawdust, and coffee that had been left too long on a hot plate.

Eli pulled a chair from beneath the counter.

Lena sat. Water pooled beneath her boots.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Take those off,” he said.

She looked down at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your boots. They’re soaked through.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’ll wreck the leather.”

“They’re not your problem.”

“Neither is your pneumonia.”

“I’m not going to get pneumonia from wet boots.”

“Fine. You’ll get miserable.”

“That ship has sailed.”

This time, he smiled. It changed his face. Not dramatically. Just enough to make

her wish he would do it again.

He crouched beside a metal cabinet and pulled out a faded wool blanket. When he

stood, he held it toward her.

Lena hesitated.

Last Ferry, First Kiss

9The blanket had been mended at one corner with red thread. It looked soft. It

looked used. It looked like something a person gave only when he had decided to be

kind despite himself.

She took it.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m trying not to encourage you.”

“Smart.”

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. His fingers brushed hers.

The contact was brief. Warm. Entirely accidental.

Her body noticed anyway.

Eli turned back to the workbench. “There’s a phone by the sink.”

Lena pulled out her cell. No signal. Her phone blinked uselessly in her hand.

“Of course.”

“Landline works.”

She picked up the receiver and called the Harbor House. It rang six times before a

recorded voice informed her that the office closed at seven.

She tried again. Nothing.

A gust struck the boathouse wall. The windows rattled.

Eli glanced over. “Chief Halvorsen has a spare room above the station

sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“When weather strands people.”

“Does weather strand people often?”

Last Ferry, First Kiss

10“In Port Merrow?”

“Right.”

He reached for a ring of keys. “I’ll call him.”

“Wait.” Lena stood too quickly. The room tipped for half a second. “I can figure it

out.”

“You’ve been here eleven minutes.”

“And I have already been told the ferry is gone, the road floods, the inn is closed,

and my boots are a civic emergency.”

“They are a personal emergency.”

“I can take care of myself.”

His expression shifted. The humor left it.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“No. You just keep offering to.”

The storm struck again, louder this time. Rain hammered the roof. Lena looked

through the window toward the road climbing away from the dock. In the dark, she

could just make out water shining across the pavement.

She pictured herself slipping on the hill. Her phone dying. The cottage waiting on

the other side of the harbor with its broken porch and missing key and every decision

she had postponed by staying in Boston.

Her throat tightened.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” she said.

Eli stayed still.

The admission felt worse than the rain. Lena hated needing directions. She hated

needing anything. In Boston, she could solve a problem with a search, a call, a late-

Last Ferry, First Kiss

11night delivery, or three different backup plans. Here, the road flooded because the tide

said so, and the ferry stopped because a clock said eight.

“I thought I could get across,” she added. “I thought I’d arrive before everything

shut down.”

Eli’s gaze softened, but he did not make a show of it.

“Most people do.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” he said. “You’re the woman who ran down a dock in cream boots.”

She laughed once. It came out shaky.

He picked up the phone and dialed. “Chief? It’s Eli. I’ve got Eleanor Hart’s niece

here.”

Lena looked at him.

He listened, then covered the receiver. “He says stay put. He’ll send someone

when the water drops.”

“Who?”

“Me, probably.”

“Because you’re the only person in town?”

“Because I’m already here.”

The answer should not have warmed her. It did.

He hung up and reached for a second key ring. “I’ll keep the ferry area open until

morning.”

“You can do that?”

“I can keep the lights on. I can make sure you get across at six.”

Lena looked toward the booth. “I need to get in there.”

Last Ferry, First Kiss

12“Tomorrow.”

“My aunt left me the booth.”

“Then it’ll still be yours in six hours.”

“There may be paperwork inside.”

“There may be mold inside.”

“I need the key.”

Eli checked the ring in his hand. “Your aunt’s booth key isn’t here.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“It should be on the hook by the office door. It isn’t.”

“Maybe she gave it to someone.”

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

“June Patel might know. Mara Quinn might know. Chief Halvorsen might know.”

“And you?”

He looked at the locked booth through the rain-streaked glass.

“I know Eleanor kept a spare in a blue tin,” he said. “But the tin is gone too.”

The harbor lights flickered.

Lena pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She had made it across the town

line, to the dock, to the man who could get her safely through the storm.

She had not made it into the one place she had inherited.

Eli picked up his rain jacket.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll get you somewhere dry.”

Lena followed him to the door, then paused.

Last Ferry, First Kiss

13“Eli?”

He looked back.

“If the ferry’s still running tomorrow, I need to be on it.”

His eyes held hers. “I know.”

“And if it isn’t?”

His hand closed around the doorknob.

“Then we’ll find out why.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. The booth stayed locked. Somewhere in Port Merrow,

someone had Eleanor’s key.

End of chapter one. 11 more chapters and about 23,519 words in the full book.