A Message From My Future Husband Set Him Free—So Did I Chapter 09

One month later, I rented the empty house by the dock.

The landlord was a tanned old man. He kept glancing at me while showing me the place.

When he handed me the keys, he said, “This place has been empty for eight years. You’re the first person who wanted to rent it to run a business out of it.”

Renovations took a month.

I painted the sign myself on an old piece of wood: a fish and a coffee cup, drawn with a marker.

On opening day, three people showed up. All locals I’d gotten to know on the island.

That night, I sat behind the counter and wrote carefully in a small notebook: [Day one: sixty dollars.]

The first time Julian came to my café, I was wiping down a mug.

The wind chime on the door jingled. I looked up.

He gave me a small smile.

I found out later he’d rented another empty house on the other side of the village, planning to stay.

He hung a crooked wooden sign on an old tree out front: [Small Engine, Radio & Window Repair.] The writing was messy.

The islanders started calling him Julian. Broken motor? Call Julian. Radio won’t work? Call Julian.

He walked in and sat at the table by the window. “One coffee.”

I brought it over. He took a sip. Didn’t say anything extra.

He came on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Ordered a coffee, drank it, paid, and left.

We always kept a pot of pothos between us.

One day, he came carrying a clay pot. “Time to repot that plant.”

I didn’t answer, but he went ahead and did it anyway, like it was the most natural thing.

That night, lying in bed, I suddenly remembered I forgot to water the pothos.

I threw on a jacket and walked to the café. Moonlight lit up the windowsill. There were drops of water on the leaves.

Someone had already watered it. A note was tucked under the pot: [Was passing by. Thought I’d help.]

I bit my lip and put the note in my drawer.

He knew I wouldn’t talk to him, so he wrote instead.

By now, those notes had almost filled the whole drawer.

One day, a tourist couple came into my café.

“The scenery here is amazing. Too bad there’s no real tourism economy.”

“If someone developed it, built a resort or something, it could be great. But it’s too remote. Not even a real ferry line.”

The future Julian’s words came back to me.

[The island will grow a lot. If you get there early, you can get in on the ground floor.]

The next morning, I took the boat to the mainland.

When I came back, I had a lease in my hand.

The empty house by the dock. Two stories with a yard.

The landlord asked me, “You planning to dry fish here?”

I shook my head. “A bed and breakfast.”

In the second week of renovations, some people showed up on the island.

The leader was a middle-aged man with glasses. Two younger people followed, carrying clipboards and cameras. They stood by the dock taking pictures of the shoreline.

The islanders said they were from the county. Here to look into tourism development