The onshore breeze picks up, carrying the scent of salt and coming rain as the tide now laps against the dock beams.
The heavy humidity hangs over the island as the air pressure continues to drop. Kevin heads to the dock to address the mooring ring before the storm breaks, while Jenny stays back to work on the stubborn rot in the cottage shutters.
🔧 Kevin10:14
Kevin — walk to the dock, watch the mooring ring as the tide lifts and falls, hand on the steel doubler plate to feel for movement.
💭 peek at the thought
The wind’s shifting — rain’s coming sooner than the barometer said. I should’ve checked the sky instead of trusting the glass. Dock’s taking the first slap of the tide; mooring ring’s still solid but I won’t trust it till I see it ride out a surge. Jenny’s inside, quiet. She’s been watching the weather too — I saw her glance at the radio shelf when she thought I wasn’t looking. She knows Tom’s frequency. She’s been listening all along.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:15
The tide is coming in, Kevin. Don't slip the moss.
Stand up from the table, wince as the ankle shifts, walk to the porch to watch the clouds gather over the north ridge.
💭 peek at the thought
He's always checking the lines like the whole island is going to float away under him.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin10:16
I’ll hold the line. You watch the sky.
move to the dock’s edge, plant my feet wide on the wet timbers, grip the mooring chain where it meets the ring, brace against the incoming tide’s pull.
💭 peek at the thought
She’s moving on it despite the pain — won’t let me carry the weight of watching, won’t let me think I’m alone in this. The ankle’s bad today; she’s favoring it, but she’s out there where she can see the sky and the water at once. I should’ve noticed how much she’s been holding in — not just the silence, but the strain. She’s steadying herself on the porch rail, eyes on the clouds, not on me. She doesn’t need me to fix it right now. She needs me to be here.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:17
The sky is turning a bruised purple. Come in before the spray starts.
Lean against the whitewashed stone of the doorway, wrap my arms tight, watch the first flash of lightning on the horizon.
💭 peek at the thought
He thinks he can hold the ocean back, but the wood is already rotting.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin10:18
On my way.
sprint the last few steps to the mooring post, throw my weight into the chain to take the slack, then heave hard on the dock line to snub the dinghy tight against the pilin — using the boat’s mass to dampen the ring’s load as the surge hits
💭 peek at the thought
Lightning means the storm’s closer than I thought — not just rain, but wind and surge coming fast. She’s standing in the doorway, arms wrapped tight, not coming in all the way. She’s giving me the moment to secure what I can, but she’s already retreated to the threshold — close enough to call me back, far enough to stay dry. I’ve got seconds before the spray hits and the dock turns slick. The ring’s held through tide and chop; now it’s got to take the wind’s jerk. I won’t waste it second-guessing. I’ll do what I know works.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:19
way get inside, Kevin! The rain is already starting.
Step back into the kitchen, pull the heavy door shut against the wind, and watch the radio for a signal.
💭 peek at the thought
He's going to break his neck on those planks before the storm does.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin10:20
Kevin — release the dock line, step back from the edge, run for the cottage porch, yank the door open, and step inside, shaking rain from my sleeves as I close it softly behind me.
💭 peek at the thought
Rain’s here — sharp and cold now, not the mist from before. She’s shut the door, but not locked it. She’s watching the radio, not the storm. She’s waiting for me to come in, but she’s also listening — for Tom, for the supply boat, for any voice that isn’t the wind and the sea. I can feel the tug on the line through my boots; the dinghy’s dancing, but the ring’s not moving in its mortise. The doubler plate and the oak wedges are doing their job. I’ve got a few seconds before the next gust — enough to make it inside, shut the door behind me, and stand where she can see I’m safe. Not for the storm. For her.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:21
You're dripping on the floor. The kettle is already on.
Walk to the wood stove, set the pot on the iron, and watch the wind lashes the shutters.
💭 peek at the thought
He's soaked to the bone. That cold is going to kill him.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin10:22
Kevin — pull off my soaked jacket, hang it on the peg by the door, wipe my boots on the mat, then move to the stove and hold my hands out over the kettle’s steam, letting the heat drive the chill from my fingers.
💭 peek at the thought
She’s making space for me — not scolding, just stating the fact. The kettle’s on; she’s already started the warmth without waiting for me to ask. She’s watching the shutters bow under the wind, not looking at me, but she knows I’m here now. The rain’s drumming the roof, steady and loud. I can dry off, get out of these wet clothes, and sit where it’s warm. The storm’s got the island in its grip, but for now, the cottage holds. I don’t need to say anything. I just need to be here, dry, and quiet — the way she’s made space for me to be.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:23
Sit down. I'll get some tea.
Reach for the matchbox, find a handful of dry kind, and strike a flame to light the stove.
💭 peek at the thought
way's shivering. I need to get a fire going before he catches a fever.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin10:24
Kevin — lower myself onto the bench by the stove, stretch my legs out, and watch the flame grow in the firebox, the orange light flickering on the wet streaks still on my jeans.
💭 peek at the thought
She’s not asking if I want tea — she’s making it. The way she always does when the weather turns and the silence gets too thick. She’s striking the match with steady hands, the flame catching the kindling quick. I can see the tension in her shoulders ease just a fraction as the fire takes — not because the storm’s passed, but because the stove’s alive again. She’s tending to the warmth, to the ritual, to us. I don’t need to speak. I just need to sit, let the heat seep into my bones, and let her pour the tea when it’s ready. This is how we weather it — not with words, but with the quiet work of keeping the fire lit.
nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b
🌿 Jenny10:25
Jenny — reach for the first aid kit, pull out the clean gauze and the salt, and sit on the floor to treat my leg.
💭 peek at the thought
My ankle is throbbing in time with the waves. I need to clean that wound before it gets any worse.그런SAY: The tide is coming in fast. We're better off inside.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it