The Archipelago Ferry – Part 2: Midnight Sun Run

The last run of the evening glided through the archipelago in a golden haze.

It was June, and the sun barely set. The water lay still as glass between the islands, pine-dark and rose-lit. Red cottages dotted the shore, each with its own little jetty. A few late passengers stood at the rail, quiet, drinking in the light.

Elsa leaned on the stern with a mug of coffee. The engine thrummed steadily beneath her feet, a sound she now knew by heart.

"It's running well," she said.

"She's happy," said Joakim, beside her. He'd come up from below, wiping his hands.

They watched the passengers disembark at the final jetty. A child waved. The captain locked up the ticket booth, said good night and went home.

"Can I ask you something?" said Joakim.

"Yes."

"Would you like to take the long way back?"

"Past the islands?"

"Past the islands. Slowly."

She smiled. "I'd love that."

He took the wheel, and she stood beside him in the wheelhouse. The ferry slid out into the pale evening, past green rocks and sleeping birds, the water rippling gold. A seal watched from a skerry.

"May I kiss you, Elsa?" said Joakim, at last, his voice low.

"Yes," she said. "And if I say stop, you must show me every engine on the ship."

"There are four."

"Then I'll be a very well-informed deckhand."

He kissed her, tenderly, one oily hand lifting to her cheek. She kissed him back, tasting of coffee and cardamom bun, her fingers curling in his collar. The ferry rocked gently. Gulls cried over the water, and the sun, not quite setting, bathed them in light.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Elsa. "Very green."

The Ingrid has a new tradition now. On the last run of the summer, the crew goes quiet and the chief engineer takes the long way home with a deckhand at his side.

More workplace romance stories: The Late Shift · Night Shift · The Personal Trainer