2 2 | s h e l l  h a r b o u r

I WHEELED MY BIKE TOWARDS CLEMENTE HOUSE, my mind whirring. My phone burned at my pocket, painfully silent.

I hadn't spoken to Austin since Everett had pulled me off the Nauti Buoy yesterday. A part of me had thought about texting him, apologising first like I always did, but then I remembered his stare as the boat peeled away from the pier. I remembered him inviting Mia to our private island and our hang outs, and my mind quickly changed.

But he still hadn't texted me, and I knew he probably wouldn't until I reached out first.

I frowned, pausing when I reached the porch and Everett was nowhere to be found. I left my bike beside the railing and waited a moment, glancing at the time on my phone.

A minute passed, then another, and there was still no sign of Everett.

My shoulders sagged in exhaustion and I released a breath. First Austin and now this? I was going to be late. I tapped my foot impatiently, glancing anxiously between my phone and the door.

Another minute passed before I decided enough was enough.

Leaving my bike, I stomped up the porch steps and stepped into the cosy bed and breakfast's lobby. Instantly, the air condition hit me, causing goose bumps to rise on the back of my neck. Behind the counter, Mrs Clemente smiled gently, as if expecting me.

"Isla, dear," she said, sending me that heat warming smile of hers that always managed to calm me down. "I was wondering what time you'd be here."

"Mrs Clemente," I said in way of greeting. "Where's Everett? He's late."

"Oh." She frowned, tutting slightly. "He's not coming today. He won't leave his room."

I blinked. I hadn't expected that. Mrs Clemente avoided my eyes, her lips set into a deep frown at the corners. She lifted a hand to her forehead and let out a tired breath, shaking her head.

"Why not?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

She hesitated for a moment before saying, "I'm not sure if it's my place to tell."

I nodded slowly, processing her words. Right. What was I thinking? I wasn't exactly friends with Everett – more of a glorified tour guide. I stepped back, sending her a tight smile. "Alright. Give him my best. See you."

She nodded, quickly turning and stepping out from the counter to enter the kitchen. With a sigh, I spun to the door.

Everett wasn't leaving his room.

I glanced at the rickety wooden staircase that lead to the guest rooms.

No. Don't be stupid. I had to go to work, and we were barely friends. He didn't tell me about this for a reason. I'd probably see him tomorrow, and things would go back to normal.

Back to toeing the line between asking questions and his walls flying up again.

I took another step towards the door, my legs heavy like led. Glancing towards the kitchen to be sure Mrs Clemente had left, I made my decision. I turned to the staircase, taking two steps at a time to reach the second floor.

I grew up in this inn. My mother worked here part time for a while and Mrs Clemente, always the sweet old lady with a heart of gold, took it upon herself to babysit me while she ran the place. I knew my way around.

Room 137 was at the very end of the maze of hallways. Even when they were fully booked for the summer, that roomed stayed open. Just in case, Mrs Clemente would say. I never knew what for, but now I was pretty sure I did.

She'd been keeping it open for her family – a family I hadn't known existed, halfway around the world.

I sped to the room before I could change my mind and rapped quickly on the door.

There was a pause and doubt began to creep into me. What if this wasn't even his room? I'd been pretty hungover the last time I was here. What if I was wrong?

But then Everett's voice was croaking out, thick and raspy.

"I'm not going, Grandma!" he called out, his voice a low drawl.

I narrowed my eyes at the door. "I'm not your grandmother."

Silence. Then, quick footsteps and the door was being pulled open.

Everett stood in front of me, his eyes wide and red around the edges. Bags lined them, staining his skin a dark purple, and I wondered if he'd gotten any sleep. He wore sweatpants and a hoodie, the air conditioner blasting in the background, escaping from the crack in the door and sending a chill through me.

He frowned at the sight of me. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, idiot," I said, shoving past him.

I stepped into the room, wrapping my arms around myself to shield from the chill of the air. It was dark and his bed was unmade, like he'd just rolled out of it. My face warmed as I remembered sleeping in that bed, his arms around me.

I shoved the thought from my mind, turning to face him.

"Your grandma said you weren't leaving your room," I said matter-of-factly.

He raised a brow, closing the door and walking straight past me to collapse back into his bed. He buried his face into a pillow, his voice muffling when he spoke. "She was right."

"Why not?" I asked carefully. I stepped closer, noticing the way his body stiffened at the question.

"Who cares?" he muttered, his grip tightening around the pillow.

"I do." I moved to the mattress, taking a seat at the very edge. It dipped and he shifted uncomfortably, his head still buried in the pillow. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"You're going to be late for work."

"Tom won't mind," I said immediately. "It's an emergency."

He paused. The room was silent except for the quiet buzz of the air condition in the background. Then, slowly, he craned his neck to meet my eyes.

"Today is the day my mom died."

Immediately, regret seeped into the pit of my stomach, weighing it down. I shouldn't have asked. I was prying. I should have let him grieve on his own instead of forcing him to talk to me.

A withered face with warm eyes and a kind smile shoved its way into my mind and I squeezed my eyes shut to force it out.

A lump formed in my throat and I felt gagged by it. I wanted to vomit.

"I'm sorry," I managed weakly, wringing my fingers together. My voice sounded so quiet beneath the hum of the air conditioner, I wondered if he'd heard me. But I didn't have the power to repeat myself.

A moment passed and I had the vague idea of leaving the room. Leaving him to grieve in peace. But my legs felt leaden and I wasn't sure I could move, even if I wanted to.

"She died two years ago," Everett said.

My eyes opened and I was surprised to find him staring back at me. His hazel eyes seemed so dull in this room. His lips were pursed into a flat line, keeping his face neutral, but I noticed the wrinkle in his brow. I wanted to rub it off his face and never let it come back.

"My dad died when I was nine," I said eventually. The words sounded foreign to my ears. I never spoke about him. How long had it been since I'd actually said those words? My dad.

"I'm sorry," Everett said quietly.

I released a sharp breath, moving to sit beside him on the mattress – until we were almost touching. I avoided his eyes, instead picking at my fingernails and cuticles. "I know what it feels like."

Everett let out a bitter laugh that sounded grating to my ears. "It feels like shit."

"That's an understatement."

I glanced at him to see him already watching me. His lips twitched faintly before resettling into the grim expression he'd had before. He turned back to his feet.

We listened to the hum in the air vents, not daring to say a word. In the distance, I thought I could hear the waves of the beach, but it was probably the blood rushing in my ears.

Brown eyes flashed in my mind, and this time, I didn't shove them away.

My dad. I thought of his warm eyes, permanently crinkled at the edges from all his smiling. I thought of his calloused hands – palms that would rub me on the back when I cried and tickle my sides – rough from years of construction work.

I thought of his frown when he came home too tired to read his books. His eyes withered and fading when he thought I wasn't looking. His tears in the privacy of his bedroom when he thought I was sleeping – tears over a dream that he'd never achieve.

I thought of him in that bleached hospital room, his pulse erratic. That cursed trip to Sydney. The doctors who did nothing.

I had the urge to speak about him. To tell Everett about how kind he was. How smart he was, though no one would ever know. How many opportunities he'd dreamed of achieving.

Instead, I said, "Tell me about her."

He looked at me and I knew he'd been thinking the same thing about his mother. Remembering her eyes and her smile. Remembering his last moments with her.

"She was beautiful," he said finally. He turned to his fingers and wrung them together. A smile played on his lips. "I have her eyes, but her hair was lighter than mine. Almost blonde. She was always smiling and singing. She used to hum this song. I don't know if you've heard it."

"Sing it for me."

He faced me and blinked, but then his lips tilted in a lopsided smile and he begun humming lowly.

"Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do. I'm half-crazy all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage. I can't afford a carriage." His voice cracked, but he continued, his voice growing quieter with each word. "But you'll look sweet, upon the seat, of a bicycle built for two."

He paused, smiling coyly at me. His eyes glistened sadly. Then, his lips twitched, and it turned into a deep frown, tears beginning to drip from his eyes. I watched as they fell, trailing down his cheeks in hot, salty streams.

In a moment of confidence, I reached out to take his hand into mine, holding our fingers flush against each other.

"She died of breast cancer." He sniffled loudly, wiping aggressively at his eyes with his sleeve. His grip on my hand tightened. "And then my dad got a girlfriend six months later. Not even a year. And now they're engaged, and – and – it's like my mom never existed. Like he's replacing her. Us."

"Everett," I said quietly. His eyes darted to mine and I watched them break. I watched the tears flood them, turning the hazel all shades of brown and green, like a smudged watercolour. His eyelashes were wet with tears and his lip trembled. I reached forward, taking him into my arms.

He happily accepted the embrace, burying his head into my neck. He didn't make a noise, but I knew from the wetness at my collarbone and the shaking of his shoulders that he was freely sobbing now.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, holding him. "I'm so sorry. No one could ever replace her. I know that."

"I just can't believe him," he muttered into the crook of my neck, his lips burning against my skin. "First my mom died, and then Emma cheated on – I just... I couldn't take it anymore. And neither could he apparently, because he shipped me off here like a piece of trash."

I pulled away then, meeting his eyes with a sort of fire. "Everett Conolly, you are not a piece of trash."

"Oh, please. I was the biggest dick to you the day we met. I –"

"I don't care what you did to me the day we met. You're not that person. We're not the sum of our parts, Everett. We're more than that."

"But I –"

"No," I cut him off sternly. He frowned at me and I took his face into my hands, using my thumbs to wipe the wet streaks on his cheeks. "You walked forty minutes to my house to make sure I was okay, before we were even friends. You walked me home when Austin ditched me. You made sure me, River and Connor were safe the day we got drunk. You saved me from Austin and Mia.

"You, Everett Conolly," I paused, sharpening my words, "are kind and sweet and amazing."

"You're just saying that because you pity me," he snapped, though his voice faltered at the end.

I tilted his face up, forcing to meet my sharp stare and narrowing my eyes at him.

"Pity you? Everett, that's the last thing I'd do. I know what it feels like, remember? My dad –" I cut myself off with a choking sound and he sent me a look. I cleared my throat, shaking my head. "My dad died too. I remember the pitying looks people gave me. Austin still looks like that whenever anything to do with my dad comes up. I get it."

"Isla," he said quietly, and my name sounded heavenly on his lips.

This was bad. He was grieving and I was thinking about how his eyes shone after he cried, and how his skin was hot beneath my fingers.

I pulled away quickly, swallowing hard. "I'm just saying."

He paused, rejection flickering through his eyes before being replaced by determination. "Thank you."

I blinked, feeling my face warm. "For what?"

"Coming here," he shrugged, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Comforting me. Saying all the right things."

"It's fine," I said, suddenly feeling shy. "You would've done it for me."

His hand came to rest over mine and my eyes shot up again. He leaned closer, his eyes dipping to my lips and back to mine. "No, really. Thank you."

"Everett," I managed, my voice coming out in a squeak.

He leaned closer, his voice turning low. "Isla."

His voice sounded like he was asking permission. I stiffened, unsure what to do. He answered it for me, brushing his lips lightly over mine.

"Tell me to stop if you don't want this," he murmured against my lips.

I shuddered at the feeling – at the fanning of his hot breath over my cheek. At the sight of his hazel eyes, dark and half-lidded as he glanced at my lips.

The word drifted to the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't manage to spit it out. The sensation of his lips so close to mine sent tingles all down my arms. Warmth blossomed from my chest, rising to my neck and ears.

"You like Austin," he whispered, as if reminding me.

Austin? Who was Austin? All I could think about was Everett's eyes, his lips, his hands. His hands. They'd moved from mine to my waist, so light and cautious and barely there, but there, nonetheless.

"Tell me to stop, Isla," he repeated, his voice losing its power. "Otherwise..."

"No," I managed.

He caught my lips then, pulling me into a deep, slow kiss. My eyes fluttered shut, my heart leaping into my throat. I sighed into the kiss, feeling his fingers tighten on my waist and his lips press deeper into mine.

He tasted impossibly sweet, like honey and sugar and vanilla all in one. I decided I liked the taste and pushed my lips against him firmer, hungrier. I vaguely wondered if I was imagining it.

But then I tasted the salt of his tears on the corner of his lips and I abruptly remembered where I was and what was happening.

I shoved him away, my eyes wide.

"Everett," I sputtered, shaking my head. "Wait. I can't."

"What?" he asked, hurt and rejection wrinkling his brow.

"I'm taking advantage of you," I said pointedly. "You're – you're grieving, and confused, and –"

Leaving in a few weeks.

He kissed me again. This time, it was short and sweet – a kiss in the traditional sense of the word, where he pressed his lips briefly against mine before pulling away.

"I've been wanting to kiss you since that first day I saw you," he said quietly, his voice thick.

"Oh," I managed. My mind spun. He's leaving soon. Stop. You like Austin. But my heart pounded in my ears, drowning out all rational thought, and all I could think about was tasting that honey again. "In that case..."

I leaned forward again, my lips twitching up in a small smile. He took the hint, pulling me closer by my waist and shifting on the mattress until he was practically on top of me, when suddenly there was a buzzing at my hips.

I pulled back, ripping my phone out of my pocket, my eyes widening.

Work was calling me, and I was almost an hour late.

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A U T H O R ' S N O T E

Finally! A kiss! And we learned a little more about Ev and Isla... Most of you predicted it! What did you think?? Let me know! Next time: a fight 👀

I hope you liked this chapter! Thank you for reading, voting and commenting as always! x