They Said Man on the Ship Was My Destiny—I Said No Chapter 06

Riverbend hugged both sides of the water. Willow Creek wound through the center of town, nine arched bridges crossing it from end to end.

Married women lined the bridges, ready to toss lavender sachets down to the passing boats. The first bridge was already coming up.

Two figures stood at the railing, waving. Julian Sterling turned his head.

“That’s my mom and grandma up there — don’t be nervous. They’ve always liked you. Honestly, they used to ask about you all the time when we were in school. When I told them you were riding with me, they couldn’t stop smiling.”

Something tight in my chest finally eased.

I’d been terrified making that call yesterday. Every young man in Riverbend already had someone in mind.

I didn’t know who else to turn to. Then I saw his post — a location tag on his story.

He was back around Willow Creek. Word was he’d finished school in Grand Harbor and was looking to settle down back home.

I called him as a long shot. He said yes before I even finished asking.

He was the one asking all the questions — what to wear, what the customs were.

“Clara, I’m really glad you called me for this.”

“We were so close in high school. What happened to us?”

I couldn’t tell him.

Because somewhere along the way, what I felt for him had turned into something I couldn’t name. He was at the top of the class. I was barely scraping by.

I was afraid that saying something would mean losing him as a friend altogether. By the time I figured out what I actually felt, we were already in different worlds.

He was in Grand Harbor. I was here. I buried whatever I’d been feeling and tried to build a life in Riverbend.

Julian wore a traditional long coat too — black, fitted close against his frame, the fabric stretching across his shoulders with every pull of the oars.

We reached the first bridge before I was ready for it. A red sachet dropped at my feet, trailing the scent of lavender.

I looked up. The sunlight broke through the bridge rails in bright, shifting patches — I couldn’t make out their faces.

But their laughter carried down, warm and full. I waved back, and for the first time in years, I felt something close to excitement about what came next.

I didn’t know then that Preston was behind us, rowing like his life depended on it.

His face was hard, jaw locked, arms burning against the oars.

His eyes were fixed on the dark shape ahead — the boat that had come out of nowhere and carried me off.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at the man rowing it. But something about him nagged — familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

His grip on the oars shook. The same stretch of creek he’d rowed a hundred times suddenly felt like foreign water.

Was this what Clara felt every year — watching him take Audrey onto his boat?

The resentment, the helplessness, the despair — it all hit him at once.

He kept circling the same question. Why didn’t Clara get on his boat? Why?

Because there was already someone on it. Because he never once made room for her.

She was his fiancée. And he’d counted on that — counted on her never leaving, spending her love like currency that would never run out.

God, he’d been so sure of himself. So untouchable.

Year after year, he put another woman on his boat, and Clara still came running. The other guys in town used to come to him for tips.

“Man, how do you do it, Preston?”

“Seriously — how do you keep them both in line without everything blowing up?”

He’d always shrug it off. “It’s not hard. Clara does whatever I tell her. I say jump, she asks how high. Besides, Audrey’s like my sister. Why would Clara have a problem with that?”

There was even the time Clara snapped and shoved Audrey into the creek.

Even then, the twisted thrill of it outweighed his anger. Because what did that prove?

That Clara loved him. Loved him enough to fight tooth and nail for him.

He’d always secretly loved that fire in her. But his mother didn’t — she kept saying Audrey was the tool to break Clara in, to sand down those sharp edges.

She was his mother. What was he supposed to do? And besides — once Clara married into the family, she’d have to get along with his mom anyway.

So he went along with it. Punished Clara the way his mother wanted. And when he looked at her afterward — feverish, unconscious, barely breathing — he told himself: next year. Next year he’d marry her.

But then Audrey told him Buford Higgins from the next village over had set his sights on her — said he was coming to claim her at next year’s regatta.

Preston wavered. Just one more year.

Clara had already waited seven — what was one more? He’d put her on the boat the following year. For sure this time.

He never saw it coming. Clara couldn’t wait anymore.

And he never expected another boat. He’d warned every guy in town — made damn sure nobody would take her.

So where the hell did that black boat come from? The rage hit him low and hard, like a wave.

“When I catch her—” he muttered through clenched teeth, “—she’s going to learn she can’t just board another man’s boat.”

He pulled harder on the oars, driving the boat forward.