Chapter 4 The weight of a wave

The late morning sun hung high over Saltwater Cove, casting a shimmer across the ocean that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. Lila stood in the driveway, her sneakers scuffing the gravel as she stared at the old rowboat propped against the garage. It was a relic from her childhood, a weathered wooden thing her father had bought before the divorce, its paint chipped to reveal stories of forgotten summers. Claire had texted an hour ago, her message clipped and urgent: Boat's an eyesore. Fix it or toss it before the open house tomorrow.

Lila sighed, the task feeling heavier than it should. She wasn't ready to let go of the boat-or the memories it carried-but Claire's real estate empire didn't care about sentiment.

"You look like you're about to wrestle that thing into submission," Evan's voice came from behind, warm and teasing, pulling her from her thoughts.

She turned to find him leaning against the garage door, a toolbox in one hand, a paint can in the other. His gray T-shirt clung to his shoulders, and his dark hair was tucked under a faded baseball cap, giving him a boyish charm that made her heart stutter. Since their moment on the deck yesterday, when his hand had brushed hers and left her reeling, Lila had been dodging him-keeping to her room, avoiding his gaze. But here he was, solid and real, and her resolve felt as flimsy as sea foam.

"Claire's orders," Lila said, forcing a casual tone. "She wants the boat pretty for her clients. I'm supposed to sand it down and paint it."

Evan raised an eyebrow, setting the toolbox down with a clank. "Sounds like a two-person job. Mind if I help? I'm avoiding Mrs. Ellison's spiral staircase drama for as long as possible."

Lila hesitated, her pulse quickening. Being alone with Evan was like standing at the edge of a cliff-thrilling, dangerous, and too tempting to step back. But the boat needed fixing, and she couldn't do it alone. "Sure," she said, her voice softer than she meant. "But don't blame me if you end up covered in paint."

He grinned, his hazel eyes crinkling. "Deal. I look good in blue."

They set to work, the driveway becoming their workshop under the relentless sun. Lila sanded the boat's hull, the rasp of sandpaper a steady rhythm, while Evan pried off splintered boards, his movements precise yet effortless. The air smelled of sawdust and salt, the ocean's hum a constant companion. Lila stole glances at him, watching the way his hands worked-strong, careful, like he was coaxing the boat back to life. She remembered those hands handing her a coffee, draping a blanket over her shoulders, and her cheeks warmed despite the breeze.

"You're pretty good at this," she said, nodding at the board he'd just replaced. "Thought architects just drew fancy houses."

He chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I worked construction in college. Built a few boats, too. This one's got character-reminds me of you."

Her sandpaper stilled, and she looked up, caught by the sincerity in his voice. "Me? I'm not that old and creaky."

"No," he said, his smile softening. "You're sturdy. Beautiful, even with the rough edges. The kind of thing that lasts."

Her breath caught, and she ducked her head, focusing on the sandpaper to hide the flush creeping up her neck. His words were a current, pulling her under, and she didn't know how to swim back to shore. "You're full of it," she muttered, but her heart was racing, a wild thing she couldn't tame.

They worked in silence for a while, the boat slowly shedding its weathered skin. Lila's arms ached, but the task felt grounding, like she was reclaiming something lost. Evan handed her a water bottle, their fingers brushing for a fleeting second, and the spark was there again-electric, undeniable. She took a sip, avoiding his gaze, but she could feel him watching her, his presence a warmth she couldn't ignore.

"Tell me about this boat," Evan said, breaking the silence as he mixed paint, a soft blue that matched the cove at dawn. "Looks like it's got stories."

Lila paused, her hand resting on the hull. "It was my dad's. We used to row out past the breakers when I was little. He'd tell me about the fish, the currents, like he was teaching me the ocean's secrets." Her voice softened, the memory bittersweet. "After he left, I couldn't bring myself to use it. Mom wanted to sell it, but I begged her to keep it."

Evan nodded, his eyes steady on hers. "Sounds like it means more than just wood and nails. You did good, holding onto it."

She smiled, small and wistful. "Yeah, but now Claire's turning it into a prop for her open house. Feels wrong, you know?"

"I get it," he said, his tone quiet, almost confiding. "Sometimes, the things we love get tangled up in other people's plans."

There was a weight to his words, a shadow that made her wonder what he wasn't saying. She wanted to ask-about him, about Claire, about the loneliness she'd glimpsed in him yesterday-but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she dipped a brush into the paint and started on the boat, the blue gliding on smooth and bright.

They painted side by side, their brushes moving in tandem, the boat transforming under their hands. Evan hummed softly, an old folk tune Lila didn't recognize, and she found herself smiling, the sound weaving into the ocean's rhythm. A drop of paint flicked onto her cheek, and she laughed, swiping at it with her sleeve.

"You missed a spot," Evan said, his voice teasing. He reached out, his thumb brushing her cheek, wiping away the paint. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and Lila froze, her heart pounding like the surf. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world was just them-the boat, the paint, the unspoken pull between them.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his hand back, his voice rough. "Didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, her cheeks burning. She turned back to the boat, her brush trembling slightly, but the air felt charged, like the moment before a storm.

They finished painting as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the driveway. The boat gleamed, its blue hull a mirror of the sea, and Lila stepped back, her hands on her hips. "Not bad," she said, her voice lighter than she felt. "Claire might actually approve."

Evan grinned, setting his brush down. "High praise. You're not half bad yourself, Harper."

She laughed, but it faded as she caught his gaze again-soft, searching, like he was seeing her for the first time. Her heart ached with the sweetness of it, the danger of it, and she wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap. But the crunch of tires on gravel shattered the moment, and Claire's sleek SUV pulled into the driveway.

"Lila! Evan!" Claire's voice was bright, clipped, as she stepped out, her heels clicking on the pavement. She wore a tailored blazer, her blonde hair pulled back, every inch the real estate queen. "The boat looks great. Good work."

"Thanks," Lila said, her voice flat. She glanced at Evan, who was wiping paint from his hands, his expression neutral but his eyes guarded.

Claire's gaze flicked between them, sharp and assessing. "You two seem to be getting along," she said, her tone light but edged with something Lila couldn't place. "Evan, I need you to look at some plans tonight. The Ellison project's a mess."

"Sure," Evan said, his voice even, but Lila caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened.

Claire turned to Lila, her smile professional. "And you, sweetheart, don't forget to call Mia about your birthday. I've got a dinner planned, but you two can do your thing after."

Lila nodded, her throat tight. "Got it."

As Claire headed inside, her phone already buzzing, Lila felt the weight of her mother's presence like a cold wave. She glanced at Evan, who was gathering the paint cans, his movements deliberate, like he was trying to keep himself in check.

"Thanks for helping," Lila said, her voice soft, almost lost in the evening breeze.

"Anytime," he said, meeting her eyes for a brief, searing moment. "You make it easy, Lila."

Her heart lurched, and she turned away, grabbing the sandpaper to hide the flush in her cheeks. As she followed Claire inside, the boat gleaming behind her, she felt the tide of her feelings rising-wild, unstoppable, and terrifyingly sweet. Evan was becoming her anchor, her storm, and she didn't know how to navigate the waters ahead.