My stomach flips. The way he says it, like it’s normal, like it’s nothing, like it’s just another morning he always hoped we’d share.
He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on. You need to see something.”
I slide my fingers into his. They fit. God, they fit.
He leads me to the bow where the world stretches open, open sea ahead, the vast harbour behind us, the faint outline of the marina waiting like a promise. The breeze lifts the ends of my still-damp hair. Salt mist kisses my skin.
Dane stands behind me, one hand resting against my hip, fingers hooking into the fabric of my shorts like he needs the anchor.
“Welcome,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear, “to the stupidly expensive part of my life I’ve never given a shit about until right now.”
I laugh softly. “Right now, because…?”
“Because you’re in it.”
My heart squeezes. I grip the railing and breathe.
The yacht drifted toward the marina an hour later, sun catching the water in long shards of light. I felt the soft ache of leaving the cocoon we’d made on board. Below the deck, I hear the skipper,moving, checking things, preparing for docking. Soft thuds, ropes shifting, the familiar routine of men who live on the water.
The yacht slows. The Skippers voice rings up around. “Ten minutes to dock, Mr. Stark.”
Dane nods. “Perfect.”
He turns to me, brushing a stray curl from my face. “You good?”
“I think…better than good.”
His smile is slow, private. “Yeah. Me too.”
The gentle thrum beneath our feet changes pitch as we enter the sheltered marina waters. Everything softens, the waves, the wind, the motion. It's like being lowered into another world.
Dane’s fingers trail up my spine. Not sexual. More like reassurance. More like a reminder:I’m here. You’re safe. We start again from here.
The yacht begins turning slowly, angling toward the marina. Water churns, white foam curling like lace.
My chest tightens.
Going back to land means going back to reality.
He must feel it in the way my shoulders stiffen. Dane’s hand slides up to my neck, warm, grounding. “I’ve got you, Peach.”
I nod. “I know.”
“And today…we don’t let anything touch you. Not Blake. Not the past. Not anyone.”
The fierceness in his voice cuts through the wind. Protective. Near-angry. Controlled, but only just.
I swallow.
As the marina grows closer, the world seems to sharpen, the masts, the busy walkways, the shimmer of other yachts bobbingin their berths. People appear in the distance. Crew prepping boats. Early fishermen. Tourists meandering like sleepy birds.
Normal life. I’m so not ready for.
The yacht is docked, engines quiet, but neither of us moves to leave. The world feels soft and suspended, like we’re wrapped in the last threads of our night.
Dane sits across from me now, knee brushing mine, coffee in hand. The morning light hits him just right, bronze skin, dark hair ruffled, jaw shadowed from sleep and stress and something like relief.
He looks…young. Human. Breakable. Coated in stillness. A stillness my body aches for. Finally, he clears his throat as I look over from the open sea behind us to meet his eyes. “Time, we got off the water, Peach.”
