Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Rose

S omething wakes me, though I’m not sure what. I lie there in the dark, my heart beating a little faster as I struggle to identify what pulled me from sleep. A soft thump from outside draws me from my bed. My bare feet are silent on the wooden floor as I pad to the window. The pre-dawn world is painted in shades of silver and black, and the marina is peaceful except… oh.

Oh my god.

The sight before me freezes me in place – Levi on his deck, completely naked. Though shadows cloak most of his body, what little moonlight filters through the clouds catches his pale skin, making it almost luminous. He stretches, all lean muscle and broad shoulders, and I forget how to breathe. Before I can process what I’m seeing, he moves toward the water’s edge, giving me a view of what can only be described as a perfect backside. The artist in me wants to sketch those lines, that play of shadow and light across his body. The woman in me just wants to look.

When he glances toward my houseboat, I drop to the floor, heart hammering against my ribs. God, I’m acting like a teenager caught peeping – which, okay, maybe I am. Just without the teenager part. After counting to twenty, I risk a careful peek through the bottom of the window. The deck is empty now, with no sign of my midnight swimmer.

I crawl back to bed, failing to suppress my giggles as I burrow under the covers. Who knew my mysterious tour guide was a skinny dipper? Sleep comes easily, but now my dreams have new material to work with – the muscular lines of his body, the confident way he moved, the perfection of that backside. So much for thinking of him as just the quiet guy next door.

How am I ever going to look him in the eyes again without blushing scarlet?

The next thing I know, golden sunlight streams through the window over my bed, coaxing me awake. A perfect blue sky beckons me to the deck, where I sip my morning coffee and try not to glance too obviously at Levi’s silent boat. The harbor sparkles beneath the rising sun as if nothing unusual happened in the pre-dawn hours.

After a quick shower, I hop into my rental car, eager to explore more of Lublin Harbor. As I make my way into town, the quaint streets are already bustling with activity. My first stop is the bakery; its warm, sweet aroma draws me in like a siren’s call.

As I step inside, the cheerful tinkle of a brass bell announces my arrival. Fresh–baked bread and buttery pastries perfume the air, while rows of golden croissants and jewel-toned fruit tarts gleam behind glass cases. In the background, espresso machines hum their low, comforting song.

“Good morning, Rose!” Koko’s cheerful voice cuts through the pleasant hubbub of the bakery. She’s behind the counter, her curly hair contained in a colorful bandana. “You’re up bright and early! We didn’t keep you up too late at the clam bake?”

I smile at Koko’s teasing, making my way to the counter. “Good morning, Koko. It was impossible to stay in bed on such a beautiful day. Could I get a caramel latte and… oh, that blueberry muffin looks delicious.”

As Koko prepares my order, we chat about the bonfire from the night before. She asks about my plans for the day as she hands me my coffee and muffin.

“I thought I’d do some shopping,” I reply, inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee. “Lily recommended a couple of stores I should check out. After that… I’m not sure. Maybe explore a bit more.”

Koko nods approvingly. “Sounds like a perfect day. Enjoy yourself, Rose. This town is full of hidden gems just waiting to be discovered by an artist’s eye.”

I stifle a small laugh – I never mentioned being an artist to her. But then, this is my first taste of small-town life, where I’m learning that news seems to travel on the wind itself. There’s something both unnerving and charming about it, so different from the anonymous bustle of city life I’m used to.

With a wave goodbye, I head out, my spirits high and my taste buds delighted by the muffin – it is bursting with fresh blueberries and crowned with a deliciously crunchy sugar top. It’s a perfect start to what promises to be a good day.

My first stop is Linen & Lore, the shop Lily had recommended. As soon as I step inside, I understand why she spoke so highly of it. The store is a treasure trove of traditional Slavic textiles, each piece more beautiful than the last. Intricate embroideries, delicate lace, and richly patterned fabrics line the shelves and hang from displays.

I meander through the store, my fingers trailing over soft linens and rough-woven tapestries. A piece of handmade lace stops me in my tracks, its delicate pattern reminding me of frost on a windowpane. Heather would love this – I can already picture my friend’s face lighting up at such an intricate treasure.

As I continue browsing, a dress near the back of the store catches my eye. It’s a simple design, but the deep, rich blue fabric reminds me of the ocean, with tiny silver threads woven through it that shimmer like fish darting beneath the waves. In the dressing room, the material falls perfectly against my skin, and the fit is so natural that it feels predestined. One glance in the mirror seals my fate – this dress is coming home with me. I must have it.

I leave Linen & Lore clutching my wrapped treasures, my bank account lighter but my heart full. The dress was admittedly a splurge, but I silence my practical side by calling it an investment in memories. Every time I wear it, it will remind me of this trip.

My next stop is the Malachite Maid. As soon as I step inside, I’m enveloped by the heady scent of incense and the soft tinkling of wind chimes. The shop is dimly lit, with crystals and gemstones catching what little light there is, creating a mystical atmosphere.

I wander the shop, trailing my fingers over smooth crystals and carved deities while browsing books on tarot and astrology. The incense display stops me – I can already imagine the fragrant smoke curling across the houseboat’s deck during my evening sketching sessions. I select a few promising scents and a simple ceramic burner to bring the vision to life.

As I pay for my purchases, a small, iridescent stone on a leather cord near the register catches my eye. The shopkeeper notices my interest.

“That’s labradorite,” she says with a smile. “It’s said to be a stone of transformation and magic. It helps you see the light in dark times and find your way through changes.”

I hesitate for a moment, then add it to my purchase. Whether or not I believe in the metaphysical properties of stones, I can’t deny its beauty. And who knows? Maybe a little extra magic wouldn’t hurt.

After I finish shopping, I decide to drive to the lighthouse. The weather seems perfect for it.

The lighthouse comes into view as I round a bend in the road. It stands tall and proud against the backdrop of sea and sky, its white tower gleaming in the sunlight. I park the car and walk towards it, my camera in hand.

As I get closer, I notice a sign that makes my heart sink. “Closed to Visitors.” I hadn’t even considered that possibility. For a moment, I stand there, disappointed. But then I remind myself that even if I can’t go inside, I can still appreciate its beauty from the outside.

The lighthouse commands attention as I circle it, my camera clicking steadily. Every angle offers something new – the weathered door at its base, the gleaming glass dome crowning its height, the stark white tower rising against an impossibly blue sky. But something feels missing in each shot.

I pause to watch the waves crash against the rocky shore below, seabirds wheeling overhead with wild cries. My fingers itch for my sketchbook as I drink in the details – the rough-hewn stone, the endless dance of water, and the way morning light gilds everything it touches. Still, I can’t capture its essence, not from here.

My mind drifts back to yesterday’s kayak trip, remembering how the lighthouse looked from the water – proud and protective, a guardian of the harbor. That’s the perspective I want, I realize.

After a good hour of exploring the area around the lighthouse, I reluctantly head back. It’s past lunchtime, and my stomach is letting me know it’s empty.

On the drive back to the marina, my mind whirls with imagery – the proud lighthouse, restless sea, and endless sky all demand to be captured. I am eager to translate this wild beauty into something permanent.

The marina’s small parking lot is packed when I arrive, with no space to be found. It makes sense –everyone with a boat must be out enjoying the water on a gorgeous day like this. I find a spot on the street and walk down to the docks, enjoying how the sun sparkles on the mostly empty slips. At the houseboat, I can’t help scanning for Levi, but there’s no sign of him. Trying to ignore the little pang of disappointment, I eat a quick lunch before settling onto the deck with my sketchpad and camera.

But as I flip through the images on my camera, I realize that none of them quite capture what I’m envisioning. They’re beautiful, yes, but they’re missing something. The angle isn’t quite right, the lighting isn’t perfect, and the composition feels off.

Frustrated, I set the camera aside and look out over the marina. That’s when I spot the kayak, still securely attached to the railing of the houseboat.

I look up at the sky. It’s still that perfect blue, and the water is calm. The lighthouse isn’t far outside the marina – I could easily paddle out there, get the photos I need, and be back well before dinnertime. I grab my phone and check the weather app.

The forecast looks promising. Clear skies and gentle winds are predicted for the rest of the day, with no sudden changes expected. The app shows a row of cheerful sun icons stretching into the evening. It’s as if the weather itself is encouraging my little adventure.

The more I think about it, the more the idea appeals to me. I’m comfortable in a kayak, I’m a good swimmer, and the conditions couldn’t be better. Before I can talk myself out of it, I make a decision.

I quickly scribble a note – “Gone for a quick paddle to get some photos of the lighthouse. Back soon! – Rose” – and tape it to the door of the houseboat. Just in case Levi comes looking for me, I don’t want him to worry.

With a mix of excitement and nervousness, I put on a life vest, untie the kayak and lower myself into it. The feel of the paddle in my hands is already familiar, and I set off with confident strokes, heading out of the marina.

I feel a sense of freedom as the water stretches before me, glittering in the afternoon sun. The rhythmic motion of paddling is soothing, and I find myself relaxing into it.

Before long, the lighthouse comes into view. From this angle, it’s even more impressive. The way it rises from the rocky shore, standing tall against the sky – it’s breathtaking. I pause in my paddling to pull out my camera from my waterproof bag, carefully balancing to keep the kayak steady as I snap a few shots.

I’m so engrossed in getting the perfect angle that I don’t immediately notice the sudden change in the atmosphere. I snap out of my photography-induced trance when a rogue wave washes over the kayak, soaking my pants and nearly causing me to drop my camera. I look up, startled, and feel my heart sink as I take in the dramatically altered scene around me.

The brilliant blue sky from mere moments ago has disappeared as dark clouds crowd their way across the sky, swallowing the sun. The once-sparkling water has transformed into something sinister and slate-gray. The air grows heavy, pressing against my skin with an electric charge that makes the hair on my arms stand up. I hurriedly stuff my camera back into the waterproof bag, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop it. The distant rumble of thunder feels like a warning in my bones.

As I grip the paddle and start to head back to the marina, the first fat drops of rain splatter against my skin. Within seconds, it’s as if the heavens have opened, unleashing a deluge that turns the world into a grey blur. Lightning flashes, momentarily illuminating the tempestuous scene around me. I squint through the curtain of rain, searching desperately for the shore, but it’s vanished – swallowed by the storm’s fury.

The sea has turned savage. The gentle waves have turned into white-capped swells, each swell threatening to capsize me. The choppy water batters my kayak, frothing white and crashing around me. My arms burn with exhaustion as I battle the current, but with every desperate paddle toward the marina I lose more ground to the storm’s relentless pull.

Suddenly, a massive wave rises before me, its crest white with foam and looming impossibly high. I brace myself, tucking my body low in the kayak. The wave crashes over me with stunning force, and the weight of the water threatens to crush me. Saltwater fills my mouth and nose, burning my throat as I’m momentarily submerged completely.

The kayak pitches violently beneath me as I surface, sputtering and gasping for air. I grip the sides desperately as it bucks and rolls in the choppy waves. My waterproof bag, secured only moments ago, tears free from its attachment. Horror grips me as I watch it disappear into the churning sea – my camera and my phone all gone instantly. I lunge for it helplessly, but the sea has already claimed its prize.

Another wave crashes into me, the impact rattling through my bones. The world lurches sideways as my paddle tears free, nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. Before I can recover, something solid – driftwood, maybe – cracks against the side of my head with explosive force.

White light explodes behind my eyes. When my vision clears, everything seems fuzzy and distant, as if I’m watching the storm through a foggy window. My thoughts are sluggish, and I can’t form a clear thought.

A massive wave hoists me up, and time seems to stretch as I balance on its peak, clutching the sides of my kayak desperately. I’m frozen at the top of the wave for a heartbeat, staring down at the dark waters below. My stomach lurches with the sickening realization of what’s coming, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Then, the wave breaks. I plummet as gravity claims me, crashing into the raging water below. Despite my white-knuckled grip on the kayak’s edges, the sheer force of impact tears me loose, ripping me away from my only lifeline. The cold is a shock, stealing what little breath I have left from my lungs as I plunge beneath the surface. The world becomes a confusion of bubbles and currents, tumbling me like a rag doll in a washing machine.

For a terrifying moment, I’m completely disoriented, unable to tell which way is up. The murky, turbulent water offers no clues. My lungs burn, screaming for air as panic sets in. Instinct takes over, and I kick wildly, fighting against the weight of my soggy clothes. Just as spots begin to dance at the edge of my vision, I break the surface with a desperate, ragged gasp.

Rain lashes at my face as I look wildly around, blinking water from my eyes. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm in my chest. Through the gloom and spray, I spot my overturned kayak a few feet away, bobbing like a toy in the massive swells. My vision swims and I blink hard to keep the kayak in focus.

I swim to it with desperate strokes, clinging to its slippery surface like a shipwrecked sailor. Wave after wave crashes over me, each one threatening to tear me away from my only source of safety. My whole body shakes violently in the cold, teeth chattering as my head throbs and nausea swirls in my gut. I’m so thankful that I put on a life vest.

The storm rages on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Lightning splits the sky, followed by deafening cracks of thunder that seem to shake the very ocean. I squeeze my eyes shut, certain that each moment will be my last. The pain in my head intensifies with each thunderclap, and I struggle to maintain my grip on the kayak.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the storm stops.

The transition from raging storm to calm is so abrupt that, at first, I think I must have passed out. But as I cautiously open my eyes, I’m met with an eerily calm sea and a bright, cloudless sky. The sun beats down, already beginning to warm my chilled skin. My head still pounds, and the world seems to tilt and spin around me.

Shock and caution keep me clinging to the overturned kayak for several minutes before I finally gather the courage to move. With trembling arms, I attempt to flip the kayak right-side up. My muscles scream in protest, weakness seeping into every fiber of my being. The damn kayak barely budges.

Gritting my teeth, I try again, putting every ounce of strength I can muster into the effort. The kayak shifts and starts to roll over, but then my grip slips. For a heart-stopping moment, I nearly lose hold of it entirely. Panic surges through me as I scramble to grasp the slick surface, my lifeline in this vast expanse of water.

Gasping and shaking, I cling to the kayak, my attempts at righting it abandoned. As my racing heart begins to slow, I force myself to take stock of my situation. What I see sends a fresh wave of fear through me, cutting through the fog in my mind.

I look around, searching desperately for any sign of the shore, a boat, or anything. But there’s nothing – just endless blue in every direction. The realization hits me like a physical blow – the storm must have carried me far from where I started. Worse, I have no way to orient myself with the sun now directly overhead.

I’m alone, adrift in the ocean, too weak to even right my kayak. I have no paddle, no supplies, no way to contact anyone for help, and no idea which way will lead me back to safety. And now, with my head injury, I’m not even sure I can trust my senses. The situation seems hopeless, and for the first time, I consider the very real possibility that I might not make it out of this alive.