CHAPTER 1
“We have a woman problem.”
The words were so startling—especially coming from our pioneering, feminist mayor—that I dropped my ratchet.
“Indeed, we do,” my father agreed.
I jerked, clonking my head on the underside of the car I’d been repairing. Grunting back a curse, I rubbed the rising welt as I strained to hear their conversation.
“The census results don’t lie,” the mayor continued. “There are fifty men for every woman on this island. And while I’m sure there are a portion who aren’t interested in marriage, or the opposite sex, or having a family for that matter, there will be a portion who are.”
I glanced around the tire of the vehicle I was currently under to see my dad nodding. Dressed in an old and dirt-stained boiler suit not dissimilar to my own, he leaned against the office door, sharing a cup of coffee with our mayor.
Agatha Dorante, in contrast, looked ready to walk into the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company. While they both had a shock of silver hair, Mayor Dorante’s lay in a tightly contained bob, while Dad’s flew about in wispy tufts.
The mayor—dressed in a burgundy silk button-up dress that she’d paired with black heels and pearls—seemed immune to the chaos—and mess—of our workshop.
Our apprentice bustled in and out while our office manager handed over keys and issued invoices.
“If I know anything, Agatha, I know you have a plan.”
She nodded. “Singles weekends.”
I thumped the ratchet against the car’s undercarriage for effect, but all my attention had become hyper-focused on their conversation.
“You think that’ll work?” Dad asked, his tone skeptical.
“I’ve already had over fifty women sign up.”
He whistled low. “Well shoot, that’s promising.”
“I’m going to need help to wrangle the visitors over the weekend. Can I count on you?”
Dad ran a hand through his hair, leaving a trail of grease and muck. “This is our busy season, you know. What with spring approaching and all.”
The small village of Trinity Bay sat at the northern tip of Kink, the northernmost island of the Isle of Astipia. With a population of less than five thousand people, the island had attracted few migrants over the years due to its wicked winters and tightly held land. It was, however, a popular tourist destination for foodies looking to try farm-to-table fare, or our local seafood delicacies.
Many of our young people inherited their businesses—either the farms or the boats—though some worked to capture the energy generated by our powerful waterfalls and strong ocean currents for the hydroelectric company, using that energy to pump power to the mainland.
Others worked for the island’s second biggest employer, the distillery, making whiskey, gin, and vodka of all kinds. We were famous for our alcohol and rugged beauty—drawing tourists by the thousands each year.
But few stayed. And even fewer of those who did stay were single women.
Agatha pushed Dad again. “Please, Bruce. If not you, then surely Riley could be spared.”
I started.
“Ry? Well now, that’s a thought.”
I could practically see the ancient cogs turning in my father’s mind.
No, no, no, no, no?—
“Riley could do with some women friends.” He shook his head in a gesture that had become all too familiar. “Poor love. All these men and not a one who sees her as anything but a sister.”
Done with eavesdropping on conversations I knew better than to listen to, I turned back to my work, determined to get this stubborn engine finished before dinner time.
Alas, despite my efforts, their voices carried across the cool concrete floor toward me.
