The next morning arrived with an optimism that felt almost unfair. Sunlight burned the mist away in uneven patches, leaving the canal striped in gold and shadow. The roof of Ivy’s boat glistened with dew, droplets rolling into thin lines before vanishing at the gutter seams. Birds took the day as their cue to be loud gulls squabbling over scraps, blackbirds stitching their notes across hedgerows. The world was awake whether she was ready or not.

Ivy emerged from the cabin squinting, a mug in one hand, her father’s cap in the other. She hadn’t worn it yet, only carried it like an object that she still needed permission. She turned it over in her fingers, thumb tracing the faint curve where his hand had always adjusted the brim. Finally, she set it on her head. The weight was small, but it changed how she felt her spine stack itself. She looked out across the cut and whispered, “Well, here we are.”

A man passed on the towpath leading a pair of dogs that strained in opposite directions. He lifted a hand in greeting. Ivy managed to return the gesture without spilling her coffee, though her smile felt unpractised. People along the canal noticed newcomers. Some tested them with silence, others with conversation. Either way, the water carried word faster than gossip had any right to travel.

She busied herself with the small work of the boat, checking the fenders, tapping the deck boards with the toe of her boot to listen for any hollow places, coiling a line that didn’t strictly need coiling. Each action steadied her, though underneath it all ran the pulse of the memory from yesterday: the man with the violin, Theo, his music threading through the fog. The canal had introduced them, but only on its terms. She wasn’t sure she wanted more, and she wasn’t sure she had a choice.

The sound of hammering drifted down the row of moorings. Someone was making repairs, the metallic rhythm irregular but determined. She followed it with her eyes and saw an older man in overalls repairing a hatch cover on his boat. He looked up, caught her watching, and tipped his flat cap in acknowledgment. Ivy nodded back. A little exchange, small as a coin, but it felt like her first earned currency on the cut.
By mid-morning, she knew she couldn’t avoid the errand any longer. Supplies were thin; she needed coal for the stove, milk, bread, and things to turn the galley from storage into a kitchen. The nearest village was a mile along the towpath. She set out with a canvas bag over her shoulder, boots crunching the gravel in a rhythm that matched her nerves.

The path curved past fields furrowed from the last ploughing, crows stalking the ridges like inspectors. At a bend, the sound of music stopped her in her tracks. Violin again. Not distant this time, but immediate, close enough she could hear the rasp of bow on string, the breath between phrases. Theo sat on a low stone wall, the case open at his feet, the bow dancing quickly and sure across the strings.

She considered turning back before he noticed. But the choice evaporated when he raised his head, eyes finding hers with the same inevitability as yesterday. He finished the tune before speaking, the last note hanging like a question.

“Morning, line-burn,” he said, his mouth tugging into that half-smile.

Ivy felt heat rise in her face. “That’s not my name.”

“It could be,” he said easily, resting the violin against his knee. “Names come from somewhere.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag. “I’m Ivy.” She put the word down firmly, as if staking a claim to the ground.

“Theo,” he said, though she already knew. The woman with the dog had told her, but hearing it from him was different, like a secret repeated for the first time.

For a moment, neither spoke. Birds chattered in the hedge. A barge engine grumbled in the distance, its thrum carrying along the water. Theo tightened his bow hair, more ritual than necessity. “Off for supplies?”

She nodded. “Trying to make the boat liveable.”

“Coal yard’s just past the bridge. Grocer’s across from the pub. You’ll find both faster if you ask, but you’ll remember better if you get lost first.”

“Do you always give instructions that sound like riddles?” she asked.

He considered that, then grinned openly for the first time. “Only when they’re true.”

She surprised herself by smiling back. The wariness didn’t vanish, but it shifted, made room for curiosity. She adjusted her grip on the bag strap and moved to go. “Thanks,” she said.

Theo lifted the violin again, bow already coaxing a new melody. “See you on the water, Ivy.”

His music followed her down the path, weaving into the rhythm of her footsteps until she couldn’t tell if she was carrying it with her or if it was carrying her. By the time she reached the bridge, she realized she was humming along.