Chapter Text
By the time Raelle came down the lighthouse stairs, the whole first floor already smelled like coffee, toasted bread, and the faint clean bite of the sea coming in through the old windows. Morning light spilled in pale and gold across the kitchen, catching on the scuffed floorboards and the curved bench tucked around the wall. Outside, Fall had sharpened everything. The bay beyond the glass looked bright and cold, all glittering water and brisk wind, and somewhere below the bluff she could already hear the distant suggestion of Meridian Bay waking up louder than necessary for a festival day.
Raelle, meanwhile, looked exactly like the patron saint of coastal fall. She had boots half-laced, jeans worn soft at the knees, and a blue-and-red hooded flannel thrown over a T-shirt, her hair still slightly sleep-tousled in the way that always made Scylla want to derail her own morning and kiss her into the nearest solid surface. She reached the bottom step and stopped dead.
Scylla was standing by the kitchen table in a cream sweater and dark jeans, one hip angled against the chair, fully focused on adjusting a tiny white-and-navy sailor hat on Max's head. Max, already zipped into his yellow raincoat, sat with complete solemnity as if he understood this was an official fitting for a position of maritime importance.
Raelle narrowed her eyes. "Scyl."
"What?" Scylla asked, not looking up. Her fingers were busy fussing with the little elastic under Max's chin, then smoothing the brim with infuriating care.
"You didn't." Raelle came off the last step slower now, suspicion deepening with every inch.
Scylla booped Max's nose. "Didn't what, Raelle?"
Raelle stopped beside the table and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're entering him in the Canine Captain Competition." She dropped her hand just long enough to point accusingly at both of them. "I told you he cannot beat Admiral Nelson."
That finally made Scylla look up. She straightened, took in Raelle from boots to flannel with a quick appreciative glance that lingered just long enough to make Raelle's mouth twitch, then pointed back at Max as though the answer should have been self-evident. "But look at him," she said. "He's so cute, and he can try."
Raelle let out a laugh that came out halfway between helpless and scandalised. "Admiral Nelson has won for the last six years."
"Well then." Scylla folded her arms and leaned lightly back against the table, calm as anything. "It's time for a new winner."
"A new winner," Raelle repeated.
"Yes."
"You're staging a coup."
Scylla tipped her head. "I'm encouraging healthy competition."
Raelle looked at Max, then back at Scylla. "Max is good at sitting and retrieving things only when he feels like it. If he doesn't want the thing, he's not retrieving the thing. If he sees seaweed, or a crab, or a leaf blowing in the wrong direction, that becomes the thing."
As if summoned specifically to support her argument, Max bent his head and began licking the leg of the nearest chair with deep concentration.
Raelle threw both hands out. "That's your champion athlete?"
Scylla glanced down, saw what he was doing, and—because she was by now utterly compromised where this dog was concerned—simply crouched back down beside him instead of conceding the point. "He'll be fine," she told Max, smoothing both hands around his ridiculous furry face. "Won't you, baby?"
Max gave a pleased little boof and leaned into her palms with the trusting fervour of a creature who had never known a single hard day in his life.
Scylla looked up at Raelle, delighted. "See? He wants to try."
Raelle watched her there on the kitchen floor—hair falling forward a little, sweater sleeves pushed to her forearms, face soft with affection as Max gazed at her with complete religious devotion—and felt the familiar warmth quietly rearrange her ribs. It still happened sometimes, sudden and clean as a bell, that sensation of being caught off guard by her own life. By the dog in a raincoat. By the woman in her kitchen. By the fact that this was hers now—this home, this morning, this absurd little happiness.
"You realise," Raelle said, her voice going fond around the edges despite herself, "that dog loved me once."
Scylla didn't even look up. "That sounds difficult for you."
Raelle huffed out a laugh and crouched beside them, her knee knocking lightly against Scylla's. Up close, the sailor hat was somehow even worse—worse in the sense that it was devastatingly cute and therefore impossible to fight on principle. Max turned his head toward her, solemn and pleased with himself, the brim sitting slightly crooked above his big brown eyes.
"Oh my God," Raelle murmured, giving in completely as she scratched under his chin. "You do look good in the hat."
Max boofed again, the sound smug enough that Raelle was almost certain he knew exactly what had just happened.
"Yeah, don't get cocky," she told him, though she was smiling now. "You haven't even faced Admiral Nelson yet."
Scylla rose when Raelle offered her a hand, and Raelle tugged her up. Scylla came willingly, fingers sliding into hers at once, warm and familiar. Max stood too, sailor hat wobbling, raincoat rustling as he gave himself a purposeful little shake.
"Right," Raelle said, still holding Scylla's hands between both of hers for one extra second simply because she could. "Let's go experience the Meridian Bay Fall Maritime Extravaganza."
Scylla smiled, and there it was—that look she got now when the town did something ridiculous, no longer exasperated but charmed all the way through by it. "How long has this one been around for?"
Raelle snorted and let go of one of her hands only so she could reach for her mug and take the last swallow of coffee. "Don't know."
Scylla followed her toward the door, eyebrows lifting. "Who invented it?"
"Don't know that either," Raelle said, grabbing her jacket from the hook and holding the door open. Cool air rushed in at once, crisp and bright and smelling of salt, leaves, and far-off woodsmoke. "It's one of those Meridian Bay things. It just sort of happened, and nobody knows how or why, and now we celebrate it every year like it descended from heaven carved into stone tablets."
Scylla paused on the threshold, then laughed softly, the sound disappearing into the wind as she stepped out beside her. "I love this stupid town."
Raelle looked at her. At the dark hair tugged loose by the breeze. At the softness in her mouth. At the easy way she said love now, about the town, about the life they had somehow built inside it, as if she'd stopped being afraid of the word sneaking up on her. Max trotted out ahead of them down the path, yellow raincoat bright against the worn grass, sailor hat still miraculously in place.
"Yeah," Raelle said, grinning as Scylla came close and slid an arm around her waist. She bent her head and kissed the side of Scylla's temple, breathing in her perfume under the salt air. "Me too."
They started down toward town together, shoulders knocking now and then as the path dipped toward the harbour. Ahead of them, Meridian Bay spread out in full festival-day nonsense. Orange and navy bunting whipped between lamp posts and railings. Boats in the marina bobbed under strings of flags. Someone had already put pumpkins along the harbour wall in direct violation of any reasonable definition of maritime decor. Music drifted up from somewhere near the green, cheerful and slightly off-key, and every few seconds the wind carried up a burst of amplified shouting that had to be Tally on a microphone she absolutely should not have been entrusted with.
Scylla squinted down at it all. "Is that a crab costume?"
Raelle followed her gaze and spotted, halfway down the hill, a small child in oversized red foam claws running in a circle while two adults tried and failed to intervene. "Probably."
"Why is there more than one?"
Raelle laughed. "Children's crab-walking competition."
Scylla turned to stare at her. "That's real?"
"Very."
"Is it judged on speed? Technique? crab commitment?"
Raelle shoved her gently with her shoulder. "You are not allowed to become professionally invested in more than one festival competition before noon."
Scylla's mouth curled. "That feels like an arbitrary and anti-competitive rule."
Below them, Max gave a happy bark, eager for the noise and people and whatever scandal awaited him at the waterfront. Scylla immediately looked down at him with warm seriousness.
"Remember," she told him, "you are an athlete."
Raelle nearly walked into a fence post from laughing. She caught herself on Scylla's arm, bending for a second with her forehead almost against Scylla's shoulder as the two of them kept moving toward the cheerful madness waiting at the harbour.
Scylla glanced sideways, smug and beautiful and already entirely too invested. "You can laugh now," she said. "But when he wins, I expect a full apology."
Raelle straightened, still grinning, and tightened her arm around Scylla's waist as they walked. "Baby, if Max beats Admiral Nelson, I'll buy him his own boat."
At that, Scylla's eyes lit with dangerous delight. "Interesting."
"Oh, no," Raelle said at once. "No, you don't get to use that tone. That tone means you've made this weird in your head."
"I haven't made it weird."
"You've absolutely made it weird."
Scylla leaned in and kissed her quick, right there in the middle of the path with the wind in their hair and the whole daft little town waiting. "Too late," she said against Raelle's mouth. "We're in it now."
The walk down from the lighthouse took them along the bluff before the path curled toward town, and the farther they went, the louder Meridian Bay became. The morning itself was almost offensively beautiful, the kind of bright autumn day that made the water look polished and the sky impossibly clean. Wind came off the bay cool enough to pink Raelle's cheeks and tug at the loose ends of Scylla's hair, carrying with it salt, woodsmoke, fried food, and something sweet and cinnamon-heavy drifting up from the waterfront.
Max trotted several feet ahead of them with the confidence of a dog who believed the entire festival had been organised in his honour. His yellow raincoat flashed between fallen leaves scattered along the path, the little sailor hat somehow still sitting proudly on his head despite the breeze. Every so often he glanced back to make sure they were following, then continued with renewed purpose.
Scylla watched him for a moment before tightening the arm she still had around Raelle's waist. "He has excellent posture."
Raelle looked sideways at her. "He's walking."
"Confidently."
"He just tried to eat a leaf."
"He reconsidered."
"He swallowed half of it."
Scylla gave her a patient look, one that suggested Raelle was wilfully refusing to recognise greatness when it was directly in front of her. "Athletes need carbohydrates."
Raelle laughed and tucked her hand into the pocket of Scylla's coat, mostly because it was there and warm. "That's not how leaves work."
They were nearly at the end of the path when a burst of amplified noise rolled toward them from the harbour.
"CRAB COMPETITION REGISTRATION IS OVER THAT WAY!"
Raelle closed her eyes.
Scylla immediately grinned.
"Oh no," Raelle murmured.
Below them, the harbour had been transformed into something that looked as though nautical tradition and autumn decorations had collided at speed. Orange, cream, and navy bunting stretched between lampposts. Pumpkins sat on wooden crates beside coils of rope. Chalkboards advertised cider, chowder, baked apples, boat tours, and something called a Captain's Breakfast that appeared to consist mainly of fried potatoes. Fishing boats bobbed behind the stalls with strings of little flags tied from their masts, while children ran between adults in coats and scarves, some already wearing increasingly questionable ocean-themed costumes.
Near the harbour green, Tally stood on a wooden crate holding a microphone.
She had one hand around a takeaway coffee and the other clutching the microphone like she had been born for public address systems. Her knitted hat was pulled low over her ears, and she was currently pointing dramatically across the harbour toward a painted registration sign while two children in red crab costumes and a smaller boy dressed unmistakably as a lobster stared up at her.
"Crab registration is over there," Tally announced, gesturing toward a folding table near the water. Her gaze dropped to the lobster. "Technically, it is a crab competition, but I respect the outfit and your life choices, young sir."
The lobster gave her a solemn thumbs-up.
Scylla pressed her lips together beside Raelle.
Raelle felt her shoulders shaking. "Don't encourage her," she whispered.
"I didn't do anything."
"You're visibly delighted."
"I can't control my face."
"You absolutely can. I watched you negotiate with three contractors without moving an eyebrow," Raelle said.
Before Scylla could answer, Tally spotted another target. A tourist stood beside the safety demonstration area holding a bright orange life jacket she had clearly picked up from a rack without understanding that in Meridian Bay touching anything during a festival could constitute accidental participation.
"Ma'am!" Tally shouted.
The woman froze.
"Ma'am, just so you know, those life jackets are for the sea rescue demonstration later. If you put one on, you are legally required to participate as a lost sailor in need of rescue."
The tourist stared at her.
Tally nodded gravely into the microphone. "Maritime law."
The woman put the life jacket down with impressive speed and walked away at a brisk pace.
Raelle buried her face briefly against Scylla's shoulder.
Scylla was openly laughing now, her hand tightening at Raelle's waist as they crossed onto the harbour walkway. "You people are terrible."
"You live here too."
"That doesn't make it less true."
At the makeshift announcement station, Abigail appeared from behind a stack of clipboards looking like she had already been awake for too many hours dealing with things no reasonable town councillor should have to deal with. She reached up, took the microphone directly out of Tally's hand, and held it away from her.
"Who gave you access to this?" She asked.
Tally looked genuinely puzzled by the question. "No one was guarding it."
Abigail stared at her for a long second, then nodded once. "That's on me."
Raelle laughed as she and Scylla finally reached them, Max arriving first and immediately presenting himself to the group as though expecting formal recognition.
Tally's attention dropped. Her whole face changed. "Oh my God."
Max looked up at her.
Tally crouched so quickly she almost spilled her coffee. "Look at you!"
Scylla's smile turned instantly proud.
Raelle saw it and sighed through her nose.
Tally carefully adjusted the tiny sailor hat where the breeze had knocked it slightly sideways, then looked up at Scylla. "Did you tell her you're entering him?"
"She figured it out from the hat," Scylla said, entirely unapologetic. She reached down to scratch Max behind one ear. "And she doesn't believe Max can beat Admiral Nelson."
Tally gasped.
Before Raelle could defend herself, Tally immediately cupped both hands over Max's ears as though protecting a small child from cruel adult conversation. "Raelle. How could you?"
Raelle threw both hands up, her grin already betraying any attempt at seriousness. "Max is a chaotic starfish. Admiral Nelson has won six years in a row."
"He's seventeen," Tally said, still covering Max's ears. "Surely at some point age has to become a factor in his decline."
"Thank you." Scylla pointed at her. "Exactly."
Abigail tucked the microphone under one arm and glanced down at Max, who was happily sitting between them in his raincoat with absolutely no awareness that his athletic future was being debated. "I'm with Raelle. Max is ninety-eight percent chaos and two percent cute. He can't beat Admiral Nelson."
Tally tightened her hands over his ears. "Stop it, both of you. He can hear you."
"He's a dog," Abigail said.
"That doesn't mean he doesn't have dreams."
Raelle folded her arms. "His dream this morning was eating a toast crust off the floor."
"A dream achieved," Tally said, giving her a pointed look. "Unlike some people, Max follows through."
Scylla made an approving little sound.
Raelle turned on her. "Don't join in."
"I didn't say anything," Scylla defended.
"You made a supportive noise."
"I'm allowed to support him."
Tally finally removed her hands from Max's ears and took his furry face gently between them. "Max, buddy, you're going to be great. You look great. You feel great. Do not get distracted by crabs or seaweed."
At that exact moment, the two crab children and their lobster companion shuffled past them toward registration.
Max's head slowly turned.
His entire body followed.
Tally caught his cheeks and carefully turned his face back toward her. "No. See? This is why they doubt you. Focus."
Max blinked at her.
She narrowed her eyes. "You have one job."
He licked her wrist.
Tally sighed and stood, pointing toward a little folding desk farther down the harbour where a hand-painted sign read CANINE CAPTAIN REGISTRATION beneath an aggressively cheerful anchor.
"And registration is that way."
"Oh, good." Scylla was moving before Raelle had even realised. "Come on, Max."
Max immediately got to his feet.
"Of course," Raelle muttered.
Scylla was already heading away, Max trotting dutifully at her side with his sailor hat bobbing as they moved through the crowd.
"Stay focused," Scylla told him. "We're here to compete."
Max looked up at her.
Scylla nodded seriously, as though he had answered.
Raelle stood watching them go with her hands planted on her hips, completely helpless.
Abigail followed her gaze. "Hmm."
Raelle glanced at her. "What?"
Abigail lifted one shoulder. "I mean, he does listen to her."
Raelle's mouth dropped open.
Tally slid up beside her with entirely too much satisfaction. "That dog used to love you."
"Exactly." Raelle pointed emphatically at her. "I said the same thing this morning. It's fine. I get it. I love her too. He's got good taste." She watched Max pause when Scylla stopped to let a family cross in front of them, then sit neatly beside her without being asked. Raelle squinted. "Absolute traitor."
Tally broke into a grin and hooked both hands around Raelle's arm. "Come on."
Raelle let herself be dragged sideways. "Where are we going?"
"Cider."
Abigail turned toward them. "It's nine in the morning."
"Perfect," Raelle said.
Tally beamed. "See? This is why we're friends."
They started toward the row of food stalls where Sterling had somehow converted half his bar into an outdoor festival operation beneath a striped awning. A chalkboard beside him announced HOT CIDER, SPIKED CIDER, VERY SPIKED CIDER, and, in smaller writing beneath it, ABIGAIL MADE ME ADD TEA.
Abigail spotted it from twenty feet away. Her shoulders dropped. "I hate this town."
"You don't," Raelle said cheerfully, letting Tally tow her onward while she looked back once more toward Scylla.
She found her immediately.
Scylla was crouched over the registration table now, one hand resting against Max's back while she filled something out with the other. The wind caught her hair and pushed it across her cheek. Max sat pressed against her leg, gazing up at her with ridiculous devotion.
Scylla looked up.
Across the moving crowd, their eyes found each other.
Her whole face softened.
Raelle smiled before she could stop herself.
Then Scylla pointed down at Max, pointed toward the competition area, and mouthed something Raelle couldn't hear but understood perfectly anyway.
We're going to win.
Raelle laughed, shook her head, and let Tally drag her toward the cider.
Sterling's stall had somehow managed to look both temporary and suspiciously established, which felt about right for anything involving him. He had claimed a stretch of harbour beneath a striped canvas awning and built himself a bar out of old wooden crates, a folding counter, two chalkboards, and enough bottles to suggest he had misunderstood the phrase morning festival. Behind him, the water flashed silver-blue between the boats, gulls wheeled overhead, and a string of tiny orange flags snapped sharply in the wind.
Raelle let Tally steer her straight toward the counter while Abigail followed at a more dignified pace, still carrying the confiscated microphone like evidence in an ongoing investigation. Sterling looked up as they approached and broke into a grin. He had committed to the theme with a navy-blue captain's hat perched slightly crooked on his head, complete with a little gold anchor stitched above the brim. It looked ridiculous on him. It also looked like he had been waiting all morning for someone to notice.
"Morning, sailors," he said, spreading both hands across the counter. "What'll it be?"
Raelle stopped in front of the chalkboard and immediately zeroed in on it.
HOT CIDER
SPIKED CIDER
VERY SPIKED CIDER
ABIGAIL MADE ME ADD TEA.
She squinted. "What is very spiked cider?"
Sterling's grin widened. "If I tell you what's in it, I'll have to kill you."
Raelle nodded slowly, considering that with entirely too much seriousness for nine in the morning. "Mmm. Tempting." She leaned one elbow on the counter and glanced back toward where Scylla had disappeared with Max, then sighed with reluctant responsibility. "Maybe I'll have a normal one now. And one for Scylla too, please. I'll come back for the very spiked one later."
"Wise choice," Tally said, planting herself beside Raelle and peering over the counter as if she might be able to identify the secret ingredients through force of personality. "If we get too excited now, we'll never last until the end of the festival."
Abigail came to a stop on Raelle's other side. "By too excited, you mean drunk."
Tally looked at her. "You say potato."
"I say public safety."
Sterling reached under the counter for three paper cups, steam already curling from the metal urn behind him. "You're both getting normal cider until at least eleven."
Raelle blinked. "You were definitely going to give me a very spiked cider."
"Yes, but then Abigail got here."
Abigail gave him a flat look.
Sterling immediately picked up the tea kettle instead. "See? Responsible citizen."
Tally leaned closer to Raelle. "He fears her."
"He should."
"I heard that," Abigail said.
Raelle was opening her mouth to answer when Tally's face abruptly changed. Her eyes went wide over Raelle's shoulder, and she slapped one hand over her mouth.
Raelle turned.
Byron was approaching from farther along the harbour like he had just stepped out of a maritime fever dream.
He wore a long navy coat with broad brass buttons, fitted through the waist and flaring dramatically around his knees whenever the wind caught it. Across one shoulder sat an absurd gold epaulette. A white officer's cap was tipped at a rakish angle over his hair, while around his neck he had tied something shimmering and sea-green that looked suspiciously like part of a mermaid costume. The real masterpiece, however, began at his hips, where strips of iridescent fabric had been layered into the back of the coat so they fanned behind him in the breeze like a glittering fish tail.
Somehow, inexplicably, he had also found a small spyglass.
Tally made a strangled noise behind her hand.
Raelle just stared.
Byron stopped several feet away from them, lifted his chin, and extended one arm with magnificent confidence. "Well?"
No one answered.
His eyes narrowed. "Don't all rush at once."
Then, with a flourish that sent the sea-green fabric flying, he did a slow spin on the harbour boards.
Tally finally dropped her hand. "What are you?"
Byron looked deeply offended. "Excuse you."
"No, I mean conceptually." Tally gestured from his captain's hat to the shimmering tail situation. "What—what am I looking at?"
Byron glanced down at himself as though the answer should have been obvious. "Naval elegance."
Raelle's mouth twitched. "You look like a World War One navy captain got engaged to a mermaid."
Byron went still.
Raelle waited.
Slowly, his face lit up. "Thank you."
"That wasn't entirely a compliment."
"I'm taking it as one."
Sterling abandoned the cider completely and leaned both forearms on the counter to get a better look. "Are those sequins?"
Byron swept the side of the coat aside with one hand, revealing yet more iridescent fabric beneath. "Scales."
Abigail closed her eyes briefly.
Tally had recovered enough to circle him now—one hand held thoughtfully beneath her chin as she inspected the costume from every angle. "Okay. I see it. I see the vision."
"Of course you do."
"You're like... if a naval officer drowned, became a mermaid, then came back because he had unfinished paperwork."
Byron stared at her.
Tally pointed at him with sudden certainty. "Haunted harbourmaster."
His eyes widened.
Raelle took her cider from Sterling and sipped it while watching this unfold. "That's actually better."
Byron turned toward her. "Better than what?"
"What were you going for?"
He straightened the front of his coat and lifted his chin again, sea-green fabric fluttering behind him. "Drowned widower."
There was a beat.
Sterling slowly set the kettle down. Abigail looked at him. Tally pressed both hands to her chest.
Raelle lowered her cup. "Widower?"
"Yes."
"Of whom?"
Byron's expression became distant and tragic. He gazed out across the harbour, one hand lifting to rest dramatically against his coat. "The sea took him."
Tally made a choking sound. Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose.
Raelle was already laughing. "The sea took your husband?"
Byron looked back at her, deeply wounded by her lack of sensitivity. "I don't like to talk about it."
"You literally just brought it up."
"Grief is complicated."
Sterling turned away from the bar, shoulders shaking.
Tally stepped closer to Byron and adjusted the sea-green scarf around his neck with surprising tenderness. "I want you to know that I support you during this difficult time."
"Thank you."
"When did he die?" She asked.
Byron's eyes went distant again. "Tuesday."
Raelle nearly inhaled her cider.
Abigail finally gave up and laughed, despite herself, one hand still wrapped around the microphone as Byron continued to stand there in full bereaved-merman dignity.
"You're entering the costume competition like that?" she asked.
Byron turned toward her with offended poise—he had clearly spent far too long assembling this outfit to tolerate doubt now. "Obviously."
"The category is maritime outfit."
"This is maritime."
"It has a narrative."
"It has depth," Byron defended.
"It has sequins."
"Scales," Byron corrected again.
A gust of wind caught the back of his coat and sent the iridescent fabric rippling dramatically behind him.
Tally pointed at him. "That. That right there. You're winning."
From somewhere farther down the harbour came a sudden burst of barking, followed immediately by a voice over another microphone announcing something about crab-walking heats beginning in ten minutes.
Abigail's head snapped around. "There's another microphone?"
Tally looked delighted.
Raelle took another sip of cider and decided, not for the first time, that the town should probably never be given access to public-address equipment.
Byron reached for a cup from Sterling's counter. "Very spiked cider."
"No," Abigail said immediately.
He looked at her.
"It's nine fifteen," She pointed out.
Byron sighed with the weary dignity of a man who had recently lost his imaginary husband to the sea. "Fine. Normal cider. But only because I have a competition to win."
Tally lifted her cup toward him in salute. "For your late husband."
Byron solemnly raised his own.
Raelle clinked hers against theirs. "To Tuesday."
Abigail stared at all three of them.
Sterling poured himself a cup too.
Scylla returned from the Canine Captain registration table looking quietly satisfied, which Raelle had learned was generally a dangerous sign. Max trotted at her heel like an athlete returning from weigh-in, sailor hat still slightly crooked and yellow raincoat rustling with every step. He didn't so much as glance toward the gull trying to murder a discarded pastry beside the harbour wall—which Raelle privately considered his strongest competitive performance so far.
Scylla found the others gathered around Sterling's makeshift bar and slipped immediately into the empty space beside Raelle, one hand brushing almost absently across the back of her waist before she looked up at the chalkboard.
Her eyes narrowed. "What's very spiked cider?"
"We're getting that later," Raelle said, already holding out the second paper cup she had been guarding for her. "Normal cider first. Apparently Sterling has suddenly discovered ethics."
"Abigail arrived," Sterling explained from behind the counter.
Scylla accepted the cup with both hands, letting the heat settle into her fingers. "That explains it."
She took a sip, visibly approving, then looked up.
And finally noticed Byron.
There was a pause.
Her gaze travelled from the white officer's cap, down the brass-buttoned navy coat, over the shimmering sea-green scarf and the iridescent scales fanning dramatically from his hips, then back up again. Byron remained perfectly still beneath the inspection, chin lifted, one hand resting against his coat like a man who had suffered terribly and expected society to recognise it.
Scylla pointed at him. "Drowned widower?"
Byron immediately pointed back. "Yes. See? Scylla gets it. I knew there was a reason we were best friends."
Raelle's head turned sharply toward Scylla. "How did you get there that quickly?"
Scylla shrugged. "It seemed obvious."
"It was not obvious," Abigail said.
"It was spiritually obvious," Tally corrected.
Scylla took another sip of cider and regarded Byron with appropriate seriousness. "How did your husband die?"
Byron's face fell at once, grief settling across it with such practiced elegance that Raelle had to bite the inside of her cheek. "I don't like to talk about it," he said solemnly.
A beat passed.
His gaze drifted toward the water. "His name was Sebastian."
Abigail closed her eyes. "Oh my God." She turned away before Byron could add a hometown, preferred breakfast cereal, or tragic childhood fear of bells. "I'm going to go start the crab-walking competition."
Tally's entire body brightened. "Ooh. Let's go."
She reached immediately for the microphone still tucked beneath Abigail's arm.
Abigail lifted it out of reach. "You don't get the microphone."
Tally stared at her.
Abigail stared back. "You cannot be trusted with amplified sound."
"I was extremely informative."
"You told a tourist she was legally obligated to participate in a sea rescue."
"She nearly put on the life jacket."
"That is not a crime."
"It could have been."
Raelle fell into step with Scylla behind them as the group began drifting away from Sterling's stall toward the green. Scylla kept her cider in one hand and caught Raelle's fingers with the other, threading them together without interrupting the conversation. Max followed faithfully beside her, pausing only once to sniff a coil of rope before Scylla called him.
"Come on, Captain."
Max immediately abandoned the rope.
Raelle watched him fall back into position and frowned.
Scylla glanced sideways. "What?"
"I'm studying the betrayal," Raelle said, narrowing her eyes at Max.
Scylla smiled into her cider. "He respects leadership."
"That's worse."
Ahead of them, the harbour green had become a miniature staging ground for crustacean warfare. Painted white lines divided the grass into lanes, although several were already being ignored by children testing their costumes. Red foam claws snapped experimentally in every direction. One child had an elaborate papier-mâché shell strapped to their back. Another wore a knitted hat with stalk eyes sticking straight up from the top. Near lane six, the lobster child from earlier was doing serious hamstring stretches against a folding chair while his mother held his claws.
Scylla slowed. "He's committed."
Raelle followed her gaze. "That kid came to win."
"He isn't technically a crab," Scylla said, still looking at him.
"Nobody tell him."
Byron swept past them, scales glimmering in the sunlight. "I believe in him."
"Sebastian would have too," Tally said.
Byron pressed one hand over his heart.
Abigail looked over her shoulder at both of them. "I regret starting this day."
Ten minutes later, Tally had the microphone.
Raelle wasn't entirely sure when the transfer of power had happened. One moment Abigail had been lining up children, checking lane numbers and attempting to explain that pinching competitors with foam claws was not permitted; the next, Tally was standing beside the start line with the microphone held proudly beneath her chin.
Abigail stood several feet away holding the clipboard instead.
Raelle moved up beside her. "You gave in."
Abigail stared straight ahead. "She argued that she would be better at commentary."
"That sounds fair."
"She also promised not to invent any maritime laws." Abigail added.
Raelle nodded. "That was your mistake."
Scylla settled close against Raelle's other side, shoulder brushing hers beneath their coats. Max sat between their boots, looking less at the starting line and more at the grass itself, possibly searching for something edible.
Tally lifted the microphone. "CRABS TO YOUR MARKS."
A dozen small children shuffled into position with varying levels of anatomical accuracy. Some crouched low with hands and feet planted firmly against the grass. Others had interpreted crab-walking as simply moving sideways while waving claws. The lobster stood completely upright.
Tally studied him. "You know what? Commit to your truth."
The lobster nodded.
Abigail made a note on her clipboard for reasons nobody asked about.
"Ready?" Tally called.
The children braced.
"Three!"
One crab fell over.
"Two!"
Another crab started early, realised their mistake, and shuffled backwards in panic.
"One!"
Tally threw one hand into the air. "AND WE'RE WALKING!"
The green erupted.
Children scattered sideways across the grass while parents immediately began shouting encouragement from behind the barriers. One crab shot forward with startling speed. Another made it perhaps two feet before collapsing onto their back and laughing so hard they stopped trying to get up.
Tally paced along the edge of the lanes like a professional sports commentator trapped inside a deeply unserious universe.
"Strong opening from crab twelve, excellent lateral movement, very controlled. Crab twenty-one appears to have forgotten which direction the finish line is, but confidence remains high."
Raelle laughed into her cider.
Beside her, Scylla had already become invested. "Twenty-one needs to turn around."
"He's seven," Raelle said.
"He's losing time."
Tally's voice suddenly rose. "THE LOBSTER IS GOING FORWARD."
Everyone's attention shifted. The lobster was sprinting normally down lane six, foam claws pumping at his sides.
"Technically that's cheating," Tally announced, "but we'll allow it because nobody had the courage to tell him he couldn't enter in the first place."
Abigail looked over. "We are absolutely not allowing it."
Tally put one hand over the microphone and leaned toward her. "He's six."
"That's your argument?" Abigail asked.
"It remains legally sound."
"It is not law."
Tally uncovered the microphone just as something went wrong in lane two. "Oh! Drama!"
Two children had collided sideways, one drifting badly over the painted line into the neighbouring lane. Their foam claws caught together. Both stopped.
There was a tense pause.
Then they began batting at each other.
"Crab thirty-four has encroached on thirty-three's lane," Tally narrated with mounting excitement, "and we now appear to have a claw-off."
"Kids," Abigail called, already moving toward them. "Keep walking."
The children ignored her and continued pecking indignantly at one another with oversized red pincers.
"Thirty-four showing aggression," Tally said. "Thirty-three holding ground. Incredible scenes here at the Fall Maritime Extravaganza."
Raelle had folded partly into Scylla's shoulder by then, cider threatening to spill as she laughed. Scylla caught the cup automatically before it tipped and held it steady for her. "You're going to wear that."
"I can't help it."
"You absolutely can."
"You're dating me. You know that's not true."
A familiar voice sounded behind them. "Hey, kids."
Raelle turned.
Edwin was picking his way across the grass with Willa beside him and Quinn following a step behind. Edwin had brought a folding chair with him, tucked beneath one arm like a piece of essential survival equipment.
Raelle blinked. "Did you bring your own chair?"
Edwin looked at her as though she had asked whether he had remembered shoes. "Of course."
"For the crab race?"
"For the festival."
He unfolded it right where he stood, dropped into the seat like he was claiming established territory, and rested both hands comfortably over his stomach.
On the green, crab thirty-four had finally broken free and resumed sideways movement with renewed fury.
Edwin leaned forward. "Oh, crab fight already?" He looked toward Tally's commentary position. "It's only the first heats."
Willa laughed and settled beside Raelle, accepting the cup Scylla offered when she wordlessly passed over her cider for inspection.
"My money's on thirty-four," Edwin continued, following the race closely. "He's got gusto."
"Thirty-three had better technique before the fight," Scylla said.
Edwin glanced up at her. Scylla looked back.
A beat passed.
Edwin nodded. "Fair."
Raelle stared between them. "Please don't start analysing the crab children."
Neither answered her.
Quinn had meanwhile stepped around Willa for a clearer view of the course. Her brows drew together as she spotted lane six. "Is that a lobster?"
"Yes," everyone answered at once.
Quinn waited. Nobody elaborated. She looked back toward the track. "Okay."
That apparently resolved the matter entirely.
Tally's voice boomed across the green again.
"CRAB TWELVE IS PULLING AHEAD. THIRTY-FOUR HAS RECOVERED AFTER THE EARLIER DISPUTE. THE LOBSTER CONTINUES TO IGNORE BOTH THE RULES AND BASIC CRUSTACEAN LOCOMOTION."
The lobster crossed the finish line first. Both fists went into the air. His mother screamed.
Half the crowd cheered.
Abigail stood at the finish line with her clipboard and a strained expression, about to be forced to make an ethical ruling on an issue no adult should ever have to consider.
Tally jogged over with the microphone. "Historic performance."
"He ran," Abigail said.
"He ran beautifully," Tally corrected.
"He's disqualified."
The lobster slowly lowered his claws.
Tally looked at him. Looked at Abigail. Looked back at him. "Abigail."
"No."
"He followed his heart."
"He did not follow the rules."
"Sometimes those things are incompatible."
Abigail pressed her lips together.
The lobster waited.
Edwin called from his folding chair, "Let the kid through!"
Several nearby adults murmured agreement.
Abigail turned toward him. "Do not start a crowd."
"I'm supporting youth athletics," Edwin said.
"You are undermining officials," Abigail pointed at him, in a mild rebuke.
"Same thing sometimes," Edwin shrugged.
Willa covered her mouth with one hand, visibly trying not to laugh.
Scylla leaned toward Raelle and murmured, "She's going to cave."
Raelle smiled. "Five seconds."
"Three," Scylla replied.
Abigail looked at the lobster. The lobster gave her a tiny hopeful wave with one foam claw. Abigail exhaled. "He advances provisionally."
The harbour green erupted.
Tally thrust one fist triumphantly into the air. "THE LOBSTER LIVES!"
Raelle bent forward laughing, nearly spilling her cider for the second time.
Scylla caught it again.
Max barked because everyone else was making noise and he clearly felt obliged to contribute. Edwin clapped from his chair. Quinn nodded once, apparently satisfied that justice had been restored.
Somewhere behind them, Byron's mournful voice carried across the crowd. "Sebastian would have loved this."
Abigail dropped her clipboard against her thigh. "I'm going into the sea."
The lobster survived three heats.
This became, quite quickly, the story of the morning.
Nobody had expected it, least of all Abigail, who had reluctantly allowed him into the competition under what she continued to insist were provisional circumstances. Yet somehow, through a mixture of enthusiasm, complete disregard for crab anatomy, and an alarming amount of natural speed for a six-year-old wearing a padded red tail, he kept advancing.
By the second heat, people had started cheering for him.
By the semifinal, somebody had made a sign.
Tally had become unbearable.
"AND THE LOBSTER ADVANCES!" she shouted into the microphone as the boy tore across the finish line on two perfectly ordinary forward-running legs while the remaining crabs scuttled furiously sideways behind him. "ANOTHER EXTRAORDINARY PERFORMANCE FROM MERIDIAN BAY'S FAVOURITE TECHNICALITY!"
The crowd erupted.
The lobster punched both claws into the air.
Abigail stood beside the finish line with her clipboard tucked under one arm, watching the entire town enthusiastically endorse a blatant violation of the competition's fundamental premise. "He is not even crab-walking," she said.
Tally turned toward her, microphone still raised. "He is walking in the spirit of a crab."
"He is sprinting," Abigail said.
"He contains crab energy."
"That is not a thing."
A man near the barrier yelled, "LET THE LOBSTER COOK!"
Several people cheered.
Abigail slowly looked toward the sky.
Raelle laughed into Scylla's shoulder, her hand curled around Scylla's forearm while Scylla held both of their now mostly empty cider cups because she had apparently accepted that Raelle could no longer be trusted with liquids during competitive crustacean athletics.
"I love this place," Scylla murmured.
"You said that already today."
"I keep finding new reasons."
At Raelle's boots, Max had finally stopped trying to investigate the grass and now sat watching the crowd with his sailor hat slightly askew. Every burst of applause made his ears perk and his tail thump against the ground, although whether he understood why everyone was shouting or simply believed they were all celebrating him remained unclear.
The final was announced fifteen minutes later.
The lobster took lane four.
His greatest threat appeared in lane two. The child had come dressed as a king crab. Not loosely inspired by one. Not a red jumper and some foam claws. A king crab.
The costume extended nearly three feet in either direction with long articulated legs attached to a painted shell strapped across the child's back. The enormous claws swung on lightweight rods secured to their wrists, and when the child lowered into position at the starting line, they suddenly looked horrifyingly efficient.
Scylla stared. "Oh, that's engineering."
Raelle glanced sideways. "You're impressed."
"Look at the weight distribution."
"I'm looking at a child dressed as seafood," Raelle said.
Edwin, still comfortably installed in his folding chair several feet away, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Another folding-chair man had appeared—nobody had yet learned his name, but Edwin had somehow befriended him within eight minutes.
"King crab's got reach," Edwin observed.
His new friend nodded. "Low centre of gravity."
"Could be trouble on the turn."
Raelle looked between them. "There is no turn."
Edwin waved one hand vaguely. "Still."
Tally paced along the starting line with her microphone, adopting the grave tone of somebody introducing an Olympic final rather than twelve children in homemade crustacean costumes. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the championship heat of the Meridian Bay Fall Maritime Extravaganza Children's Crab-Walking Competition."
The crowd cheered.
"History will be made."
Abigail glanced at her.
Tally ignored her.
"Our finalists have fought hard, moved sideways, violated several lane boundaries and, in one controversial case, refused to acknowledge the biological requirements of the sport."
The lobster waved to the audience.
Half the harbour screamed.
"Meridian Bay," Tally continued, voice dropping dramatically, "are you ready?"
The crowd roared.
Abigail sighed.
Tally lifted one hand. "Crabs, and lobster, to your marks."
Children scrambled into position. The king crab lowered onto hands and feet, enormous costume legs spreading ominously across the lane. The lobster bent his knees like a sprinter.
Abigail noticed. "Sideways," she reminded him.
He looked at her. Then at the finish line. Then back at her.
She pointed. "Sideways."
The lobster nodded.
Raelle whispered, "He's absolutely not going sideways."
Scylla smiled. "Not a chance."
Tally raised the microphone.
"Three!"
The harbour seemed to hold its breath.
"Two!"
Max barked.
"One!"
Tally threw her arm down. "AND THEY'RE OFF!"
Chaos exploded across the green.
The crabs surged sideways in a blur of red foam, cardboard shells and flailing claws. Crab nineteen immediately went too far left and nearly exited the course entirely. Crab seven fell, rolled once beneath their shell and somehow got back up without losing momentum.
The king crab flew with terrifying commitment.
The enormous costume legs bounced and swung around the child as they scuttled laterally down the course with startling speed.
Tally lost her mind.
"KING CRAB WITH A MONSTROUS START! CRAB SEVEN RECOVERS! CRAB NINETEEN HAS LEFT THE COMPETITION AREA AND MAY NOW BE HEADING FOR CHOWDER!"
The crowd was screaming.
The lobster hesitated. For perhaps half a second, he attempted to move sideways. Then instinct took over as he turned forward and ran.
The cheer that went up could probably have been heard from the lighthouse.
"THE LOBSTER HAS ABANDONED PRETENCE!"
Abigail covered her face.
Tally ran along beside the course.
"HE'S GOING FOR SPEED! HE'S GOING FOR GLORY! HE'S GOING FOR WHATEVER TECHNICALLY DISQUALIFIED POSITION EXISTS BEYOND FIRST PLACE!"
The lobster began gaining. The king crab was only a few feet ahead.
Raelle grabbed Scylla's arm. "He's going to do it."
"He can't win."
"Nobody cares anymore."
The king crab threw everything into the final stretch. The enormous left claw swung outward.
The lobster tried to pass. His foot caught beneath one of the extended cardboard limbs. For one terrible, glorious second, he became airborne.
Tally screamed into the microphone. "OH, DISASTER!"
The lobster hit the grass, rolled onto his side and disappeared beneath his own tail.
The crowd gasped.
The king crab scuttled triumphantly through the finish line.
"THE KING HAS TAKEN THE CROWN!"
The harbour erupted.
The winning child collapsed onto their back, shell legs sticking into the air like an overturned spider. Behind them, the lobster sat up. He looked toward the finish line. Looked at the king crab. Then lifted both foam claws and clapped.
The entire crowd melted.
"Oh, come on," Willa said softly, one hand pressing against her chest.
Tally lowered the microphone. "That kid is going places."
Abigail walked over to the lobster, crouched beside him and checked one scraped knee before helping him back to his feet. His mother waited beyond the barrier, laughing and clapping along with everyone else.
The king crab received a small wooden trophy shaped vaguely like a claw. The lobster received nothing. That lasted approximately eleven seconds.
"RIBBON!" Someone shouted it from the crowd.
Another voice joined. "Give him a ribbon!"
Then another. "LOBSTER RIBBON!"
Tally slowly lifted the microphone.
Abigail pointed at her. "Don't."
Tally lowered it.
The crowd took over without assistance.
"LOB-STER RIB-BON! LOB-STER RIB-BON!"
Raelle joined immediately. Scylla did too. Edwin stood up from his chair. Even Quinn began clapping in rhythm.
Abigail stared around at the entire town. "This is mob rule."
"Community engagement," Willa offered.
Abigail closed her eyes, then held out one hand. Tally produced a ribbon from somewhere behind her back. Abigail looked at it. Looked at Tally. "Why do you have that?"
"I planned ahead."
"You caused this."
"I facilitated democracy."
Abigail took the ribbon.
The crowd cheered before she had even moved. She crouched again in front of the lobster, who stood very still as she carefully pinned the little blue ribbon to the front of his costume. "I respect your commitment," she told him.
The boy nodded solemnly. Then immediately scampered off toward his mother, tail bouncing behind him while the audience applauded like he had just returned from war.
Abigail stood, she turned very slowly toward Tally.
Tally smiled.
Abigail pointed directly at her. "Next year, add a lobster competition to the list."
Tally's mouth fell open. Then she punched one fist into the air. "Yes!" She spun toward the retreating lobster. "THAT'S HOW YOU START A MOVEMENT, BUDDY!"
The boy turned, raised one claw and disappeared into the crowd.
Raelle wiped tears from beneath one eye. "This is the best festival we've ever had."
"You say that every festival," Willa said.
"Because they keep getting stupider," Raelle laughed.
Already, volunteers had begun dismantling the crab lanes and setting up the next event. Plastic tubs were dragged across the grass. A line was marked several yards away. Someone arrived with a wheelbarrow full of brightly coloured wellington boots.
Edwin sat back down. "Excellent. Boot throwing."
Raelle turned toward him. "You're not moving, are you?"
"Nope."
The man in the folding chair beside him had apparently reached the same decision. He adjusted his cap, opened a thermos and nodded toward the green. "Wind could be tricky."
Edwin looked toward the harbour. "Coming crossways."
"Boots'll hook left," The man said.
"Unless you give them some spin," Edwin added.
Raelle stared. "They've known each other twenty minutes," she whispered.
Willa smiled. "He does this."
Scylla had stopped paying attention to the boot analysis entirely. She scanned the harbour slowly, eyes narrowing as she searched between stalls, families, dogs, folding chairs and the ongoing migration of costumed children. "Right," she said. "Where's this Admiral Nelson?"
Raelle groaned quietly.
Scylla ignored her. "I want a good look at our competition."
Willa turned toward her. Then down toward Max. Then back. "You entered him?"
"Yes." Scylla beamed. Max's tail thumped.
Quinn laughed. "He can't beat Admiral Nelson."
Tally appeared out of nowhere. Her hands went directly over Max's ears. "You people need to have some faith."
Raelle pointed. "You cannot keep protecting him from objective reality."
"He doesn't need negativity before competition."
"He doesn't know what competition is," Raelle said exasperated.
"He has emotional intelligence," Tally said, as Max attempted to chew the end of her scarf.
Scylla nodded anyway. "Exactly. Look at him. He knows how to sit. He knows how to fetch things. He'll be fine."
"Sometimes," Raelle said.
Scylla looked at her.
Raelle raised both hands. "I'm just saying."
Willa crouched beside Max and scratched beneath his chin. "You're going to be great, buddy."
Max leaned immediately into her hand.
Raelle stared around at them all. "Oh my God. What is happening here?"
Willa straightened, entirely unbothered. "He's my grandson. I'll always believe in him." She looked toward Quinn. "Even if Quinn is probably right. He'll try his best, and that's all that matters."
Scylla slapped Raelle's upper arm. "See?"
"Ow!" Raelle looked at her. "Why did I get hit? I didn't say anything."
"Sorry." Scylla rubbed the spot immediately. "I got excited."
Tally suddenly went still. Her eyes widened. "Ooh... There he is,"
Everyone followed her gaze.
Farther along the harbour, moving steadily through the crowd, came an elderly man in a brown coat and flat cap. Beside him walked a very small, very old terrier. The dog wore a full navy uniform. Not a costume resembling one. A uniform. Tiny brass buttons ran down the front. A white captain's hat sat squarely between his ears. Several miniature medals had been pinned neatly across his chest, and he walked with the quiet composure of a dog who had survived six campaigns and no longer needed to prove anything to anyone.
Tally lowered her voice. "Admiral Nelson."
Scylla straightened. Shoulders back. Chin up. Corporate Scylla had entered the building.
Raelle saw it happen. "Oh no."
Scylla crouched beside Max, gently turned his face toward the harbour and pointed. "That's your competition, buddy. You've got to psych him out."
Max stared across the harbour. Admiral Nelson continued walking. Max gave one firm boof.
Byron appeared beside them, spyglass already lifted. "Good job, buddy. Strike fear into him."
Raelle looked at Byron. "Where did you come from?"
"I sensed tension."
"You were buying a pastry."
"I sensed tension while buying a pastry."
Across the harbour, Admiral Nelson's owner slowed. Gerald looked over. His gaze moved first to Max, then to Scylla, then back to Max. He stopped.
Scylla stood.
For several seconds, the two of them regarded each other across twenty yards of festival chaos.
Gerald gave one curt nod.
Scylla returned it.
Neither smiled.
Byron slowly lowered the spyglass. "I think you just entered into some sort of gentleman's agreement."
Raelle dragged one hand down her face. "I've completely lost control of this situation."
Scylla glanced toward her.
Raelle gestured helplessly at the whole of her, the narrowed eyes, the squared shoulders, the ridiculous seriousness over a dog competition. "You're very intimidating."
Scylla's mouth curved. She moved closer.
Raelle immediately regretted speaking.
"You like that?" Scylla asked quietly.
Raelle's brain stopped working. "I mean…"
Scylla stepped close enough that the front of her coat brushed Raelle's flannel.
Raelle swallowed. "A little."
"Oh God." Abigail had reappeared beside them with her clipboard. She looked between their faces. Then at Max. Then at Admiral Nelson in the distance. "You made a dog competition sexy somehow?"
"Definitely," Tally and Byron said together.
"This is getting out of hand." Abigail said, exasperated.
Tally lifted both arms. "Meridian Bay!" As though this explained everything. Apparently, it did. Everyone within earshot raised whatever they happened to be holding. Cider cups. Coffee. A thermos. One woman lifted half a doughnut.
"MERIDIAN BAY!"
Raelle laughed and raised her nearly empty cup with the others. Scylla leaned close while everyone was distracted. Her mouth brushed Raelle's ear. She whispered something.
Raelle froze.
Scylla pulled back. There was nothing remotely innocent in her smile. Then she simply turned away. "Come on, Byron. I want to scope out Admiral Nelson up close."
"Excellent." Byron immediately fell into step beside her. "Now, Gerald's had him since he was a puppy. Nelson's strongest event is retrieval, but his balance on the gangplank is frankly obscene."
Scylla nodded seriously. "Weaknesses?"
"I'm gathering intelligence."
"Good."
Max trotted after them without anyone actually inviting him, sailor hat bouncing with each step.
Raelle remained where she was.
Tally leaned against her side. "What did she just say to you?"
Raelle stared after Scylla. Scylla looked back once. Smirked. Kept walking. Raelle inhaled. "Nothing I can repeat with children and my mother present."
Willa's eyebrows lifted.
Raelle coughed hard into one fist, then shook both hands out in front of her as though she could physically reset her nervous system. "Jesus Christ."
Tally was already grinning.
Raelle watched Scylla disappear into the crowd beside Byron, Max dutifully following behind them like their tiny yellow-coated naval aide. "She's the best human being on Earth."
Tally nodded solemnly. "Strong statement."
Raelle suddenly grabbed both of Tally's shoulders. "Tally."
"Yes?"
"I'm going to marry that woman one day."
Tally gasped. Her eyes went enormous. "Like today?"
"No!" Raelle laughed, shaking her once. "Not today. I'm just putting it out there." She released Tally and gestured broadly toward the harbour, the town, the sky—possibly existence itself. "A statement to the world at large."
A pen scratched behind her. Raelle turned. Abigail was writing something on her clipboard. "What are you doing?" Raelle asked, pointing at the clipboard.
"Noting it down."
"Why?"
"Documentation."
"Of what?"
"Future developments."
Raelle stared at her.
Quinn spoke without looking away from the boot-tossing setup. "I can officiate."
Raelle whipped around. "Oh crap, I forgot you have the hearing of a bat."
Quinn smiled. "We hear everything."
Willa nodded beside her. "Everything."
Raelle looked at her mother. "You too?"
"You weren't quiet."
"I was having a private conversation."
"You were holding Tally by the shoulders and announcing your marriage plans to the harbour," Willa said gesturing around them.
"That does weaken my case," Raelle conceded.
Edwin glanced back from his folding chair. "What marriage plans?"
Raelle's eyes widened.
Willa smiled sweetly. "Nothing."
Edwin narrowed his eyes.
Raelle pointed toward the green. "Boot throwing's starting."
His head snapped around. "Oh, good."
She was saved.
For now.