Life of Jules 1

The marina shop sits just beyond the harbor sheds, its painted scuba sign creaking above a locked front door. A chalkboard lists lessons beneath a faded photograph of the sea.

Scott works beside a stack of tanks near the loading area, a broad-shouldered middle-aged man in a sun-faded blue shirt and work trousers. Gray shows at his temples, and one glove hangs from his belt.

He checks a regulator, sets it down, then checks the same regulator again. Nearby, an open crate of fins waits beside a hand truck, making the narrow walkway feel cluttered.

Scott still has not noticed Jules. The shop’s side window is propped open, revealing a dim counter crowded with receipts, keys, and a silent phone.

The harbor breeze carries Nia’s request with the smell of salt and diesel: the shoreline repairs are shifting customers around, and Scott should hear it from someone he knows.

A loose chain taps against the shop’s gate. Beyond Scott, the marina wakes by degrees, leaving Jules a clear moment to call his name or wait until he looks up.

Jules slips through the open side window and carefully lifts the receipts and keys from the counter. Beneath them, the booking folder lies flattened against the wood.

She draws it free without scattering the papers. Its blue cover is softened at the corners, with several handwritten tabs sticking out along the side.

Scott turns from the tanks and finally notices Jules at the counter, the folder resting securely in her hands. His shoulders loosen with immediate relief.

He wipes one palm on his trousers and gestures toward the folder, then toward the cluttered loading area. The marina’s morning noise fills the pause between them.