Chapter 5: I'll Keep You Company

Emma's POV

Over the following weeks, Cole shows up three or four times a week. Sometimes he's fixing the electrical system, sometimes replacing windows, sometimes patching the roof. Every time, his charges are barely enough to cover materials.

"You're losing money doing this," I tell him one afternoon while he's rewiring an outlet.

He shrugs. "Not really. Materials at cost, minimal labor fee."

"But your time—"

"I like it here." He cuts me off, straightening up to look at me. "I like this estate. It has a story. I want to see it treated right."

The way he says it, his eyes are serious. I don't know what to say back.

"Besides," he continues, nodding toward the wall where I've been painting, "you're restoring it too. That's beautiful."

I turn to look. The painting is only half finished, abstract blue strokes meant to mirror the ocean beyond the glass. "Thanks."

He goes back to work. I go back to painting. We talk occasionally, but most of the time it's quiet. The kind of quiet that doesn't need filling or explaining. Just him fixing the house, me painting. It feels comfortable.

One Friday, Cole stays late working on a stubborn piece of plumbing. By the time he's done, it's already past eight.

"Sorry," he says, wiping his hands. "Took longer than I thought."

"It's fine."

He starts packing up his tools. I glance outside at the darkening sky, then back at him. "Stay for dinner. It's too late to drive back now."

He pauses. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I was about to make something anyway."

"Alright. Thanks."

I head into the kitchen and open the fridge. It's almost empty. Just eggs, bread, and some leftovers that might be past their prime. I stand there staring at the meager contents.

Cole walks over and peers in. "You've got nothing in here."

"I don't cook much."

"I can see that." He's grinning. "Want me to do it?"

"You cook?"

"A little."

He rolls up his sleeves and starts pulling things out. Eggs, bread, some vegetables I forgot I had. "Got any pasta?"

"That cabinet."

He finds the pasta and a jar of tomato sauce. Then he gets to work, moving around the kitchen like he's done this a thousand times. Boiling water, sautéing vegetables, mixing the sauce. Twenty minutes later, he sets two plates of pasta on the table.

"Try it."

I take a bite. "This is good."

"Really?"

"Really." I nod. "Where'd you learn?"

"My mom taught me. She said a man who can't cook won't find a wife."

I laugh. "Your mom's smart."

He laughs too. We finish eating in comfortable silence.

The next morning, Cole calls. "You free?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Want to take you somewhere."

"Where?"

"Out on the water. You live by the ocean, you should know how to handle a boat. In case of emergencies."

"I don't know how to drive a boat."

"That's why I'm teaching you."

An hour later, I meet him at the dock. His boat is small but sturdy, blue and white with a worn exterior that suggests years of use. "This yours?"

"Yeah. I fish sometimes."

He jumps aboard and reaches down. "Careful."

I grab his hand and climb in. The boat rocks under my weight and I stumble. Cole catches my elbow. "You good?"

"Yeah."

He starts the engine and the boat pulls away from the dock. The water is calm today, the wind light. "Sit here," he says, pointing to the helm. "I'll show you."

"Now?"

"Now."

I take the seat. He stands behind me, his hands covering mine on the wheel. "Feel that?"

"What?"

"The boat moving with the waves."

I do feel it, the gentle rise and fall beneath us. "Go with it," he says. "Don't fight the water."

We head further out, the coastline shrinking behind us. "Look," Cole says, pointing ahead. "Dolphins."

I follow his gaze. Three dolphins break the surface, arcing through the air before disappearing back into the water. "They're beautiful."

"Yeah."

We keep going. Then the sky changes. Dark clouds roll in fast from the west, swallowing up the blue.

"Shit," Cole mutters. "Storm's coming."

"What?"

"Pacific weather changes quick." He takes over the wheel. "Hold on."

The wind picks up suddenly. The waves grow larger, rougher. The boat starts pitching hard. I grab the railing, my knuckles white. My whole body is shaking.

"It's okay," Cole shouts over the wind. "We're heading back."

He steers us through the swells, his arms tense, sweat on his forehead despite the cold spray. But his face stays calm, focused. Slowly, we make progress back toward shore. When the dock finally comes into view, my legs feel like rubber.

"You alright?" Cole helps me onto solid ground.

"I thought we were going to capsize."

"We weren't. I wouldn't let that happen."

By the time we reach the dock, I'm soaked through, though I'm not sure if it's from the rain or the seawater. "Get in," Cole says, unlocking his truck. "I'll take you home."

"What about your boat—"

"The boat's fine. I'll deal with it later. You first."

I'm shivering the entire drive back. When we get to the estate, Cole follows me inside without asking. "Go take a hot shower," he says. "I'll get the fireplace going."

I stand under the hot water for a long time, trying to stop shaking. When I come out, the fireplace is already crackling with warmth. Cole is in the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Making tea. And hot chocolate. Pick one."

"Chocolate."

I take the mug and sit by the fire. Cole sits next to me with his tea. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have taken you out there."

"It's not your fault. Nobody can predict weather."

"I should've checked the forecast."

"Cole." I turn to look at him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For getting us back safe."

"I didn't save you. I just drove the boat back."

"If I'd been alone, I couldn't have done it."

He holds my gaze for a long moment. "You're welcome, then."

"Are you leaving?" I ask.

"You okay now?"

"Yeah."

"Then I should go. Get some rest." He stands and walks to the door, stopping at the threshold. "If you need anything, call me."

"Okay."

That night, I dream about drowning. The boat capsizing, water everywhere, pulling me down and down. I wake at three in the morning, heart pounding, gasping for air. I sit up, hugging my knees, staring at my phone on the nightstand.

Without thinking, I pick it up and text Cole. "Are you awake?"

The phone rings almost immediately. "What's wrong?" His voice is alert. "Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?"

"No, I just had a nightmare."

"About what?"

"The ocean."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Silence for a moment. Then: "Want me to keep you company?"

"Would you?"

"Of course."

We talk for hours. He tells me about the town, its history. How it used to be a logging camp, how the timber industry collapsed and most people left. "My grandfather was a logger," he says. "My dad grew up here."

"What about you?"

"Me too. I thought about leaving once. When I was in high school, my parents got divorced. My mom wanted to move to Seattle, asked if I wanted to come."

"You didn't?"

"No. I chose to stay with my dad."

"Why?"

"Because this place is my home."

Outside, the sky begins to lighten. Dawn breaking over the ocean. "Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"You feeling better?"

I watch the first rays of sunlight stream through the window, painting everything gold. "Much better. Thank you."