Page 61 of Timber Ridge
The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple, when Kane finally arrives. He’s apologetic for his lateness. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he ties off the boat and jumps onto the dock with a grin. “I wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly on the new troller.”
“It’s okay,” I respond, watching Hailey get excited at the sight of her dad and the new boat. “It’s important to be thorough.” I reflect on how detailed this man is with everything he does from the way he treats his boat to how he pleasures his woman.
“You want to take a ride?” Kane asks, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of excitement and pride as he nods toward the gleaming Seas the Day. “Just a quick trip.”
“Absolutely,” I reply, looking forward to the adventure. We help Hailey aboard, securing her life vest snugly before casting off into the increasingly vibrant hues of the sunset.
Once we’re a safe distance from the shore, Kane passes the wheel to me, and the boat moves with a gentle sway. The sun dips lower, streaking the sky with fiery oranges and deep purples, the sea mirroring the sight with every cresting wave. Hailey climbs onto a chair and presses her forehead to the glass, her breath fogging up the window as she peers out at the horizon.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, the vastness making the troller seem like a tiny speck in the endless ocean. “I can see why you love it so much. It seems like you’re really in control of your destiny.”
Kane nods, leaning against the side of the cabin as he watches me navigate. “Out here, it’s just you and the sea. If things go right, it’s because you made the right calls. If they don’t, well, that’s on you too.”
I glance at him, considering his words. “It must be nice, having that kind of control. In my job, so many decisions are out of my hands. I’m constantly at the mercy of someone else’s choices.”
“You might have more control than you think.” Kane’s hand brushes against mine as he moves to stand beside me. I glance up at him, our eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment. “You can always make different choices, Timber.”
Hailey’s small voice breaks through the tension. “Look! The sky is all orange and purple!” she says.
I smile at her observation. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, sweetie?” I steer the boat around a gentle curve of coastline before turning my attention back to Kane. “You’re right, but I have responsibilities—a job that pays the bills, a house that's more of a money pit than a home. I can’t just leave all that behind.” Part of me wants to leave all that and stay here, but the thought of giving up everything for a man again scares me. I did that once for David and look where that got me. It’s too much, too soon.
Kane frowns, the light of the setting sun casting shadows across his face. “I understand,” he says, his voice low. “But it’s also important to think about what makes you happy.”
His words linger in the air between us, heavy with unsaid truths. Sadness fills me, knowing that soon, I’ll have to leave this place and the possibilities it represents. The freedom of the sea, the life with Kane and Hailey—it’s a stark contrast to the world waiting for me back home.
As we turn the boat back toward the harbor, I let the wheel under my hands imprint on my memory, a reminder of what it’s like to steer your own course, if only for a little while. The thought of leaving this behind, of saying goodbye to Kane and the life I’ve imagined here, is as daunting as the open sea.
“Let’s enjoy the ride while we can,” I say as I meet Kane’s gaze. He nods, and together we watch the shore approach, the reality of our lives waiting to reclaim us.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
KANE
I stand on the dock, watching the sun bleed into the ocean. The salt air mixes with a bitter dread inside me. Timber and I have crossed lines I hadn’t expected to redraw in my life. Her laughter, her presence on quiet nights—she’s burrowed not just into my home but deep into my heart. I hadn’t meant to let anyone in that close again, yet here I am, facing a gaping void with her about to leave.
The closeness we share isn’t just physical. It’s in every shared silence, every look that lingers too long, every honest word spoken in the dark. These moments hint at possibilities my rational mind knows we can’t keep.
How has she become so important so fast? The thought of her absence is like imagining a part of me ripped away, leaving a raw, open wound.
I shuffle my feet, hands buried deep in my pockets as I try to sort out my thoughts. Can I really ask her to stay? To leave everything behind for a love that has no guarantees? The boldness of it makes my pulse quicken.
“What are you thinking about?” Eliza asks, appearing from nowhere but somehow finding her way next to me.
Caught off guard, I glance at my sister, noticing the heaviness in her eyes—a reflection of her own looming goodbye. Her husband is set to return to the oil rig, a cycle of departures and reunions that never seems to get easier. “Just thinking about how quickly things change, how fast time slips away,” I admit, kicking lightly at a loose board on the dock.
Eliza nods, understanding the fleeting nature of moments we wish could last forever. “I know,” she says. “It never gets easier … the goodbyes.”
Her voice cracks slightly, revealing the strain of repeated separations. It makes me think of Timber, about the agonizing countdown to her departure, and how every moment seems dipped in farewell.
“You could avoid one goodbye, you know,” Eliza continues, her gaze steady on mine. “Tell Timber how you feel. You don't have to let her go without knowing what could be. Tell her you love her.”
The idea hangs in the air between us, simple yet colossal. “What if love isn’t enough?” I ask.
Eliza steps closer, her presence comforting. “What if it is? Maybe it’ll turn into something wonderful. You'll never know unless you open up. Don't let fear decide the future for you. I’ve watched you over these past several weeks and she’s good for you. She’s good for all of us.”
Her words strike a chord. Eliza has always seen through me, knowing when I’m holding back. As much as I try to be a realist, I can’t ignore the hope Eliza carries. Maybe I’m afraid of the same gamble she’s talking about. But if she, who knows the pain of repeated separations, can still believe in the possibility of something beautiful, maybe I can too.
“I'll think about it,” I say, the decision still daunting.