Between two ladies’ hats, Mary spotted Jim.
He stood, holding onto the mast, leaning forward, his navy blue overcoat unbuttoned and flapping behind him. He cupped his hand over his mouth. “Mary!”
“What’s the matter, sailor boy?” a man called down to him. “What’d you do to break her heart?”
The sailboat tacked away from the ferry, and Jim laughed, big and merry. “Never had the chance to break her heart. Never told her I love her. That’s why I need to find her. I need to tell her I love her.”
The deck, the whole world pitched beneath Mary’s feet. She gasped and hid behind a large brown hat. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.
“I love you, Mary! Are you there?”
No. No, she wasn’t. How could he say he loved her? How could he do this to Quintessa? She’d never taken him for the type of man to dally with two women’s hearts, but what else could she think?
Mary reached between the two ladies and gripped the rail for balance. A stew of emotions simmered inside her—anger, confusion, wonder, joy. But how could joy rear its head when this man was breaking her best friend’s heart? Did Quintessa know what he was doing?
Oh, she had some questions for Ensign James Avery.
She wormed closer to the rail, then halted. If she answered Jim’s call, everyone on the ferry would stare at her. And wasn’t this a conversation to have in private? This time, avoiding the spotlight had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with propriety.
“Mary! Has anyone seen Mary Stirling? About this tall. Dark brown hair and the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen, all silvery like moonlight on the ocean.”
Mary ducked her chin, breathing hard. That couldn’t be Jim. Couldn’t be.
“Isn’t that sweet?” the lady to Mary’s right said.
“The poor lovesick boy,” her companion said.
“Mary!” Jim yelled, his voice smaller, farther away. “I can’t let you leave Boston without talking to you.”
He knew she was leaving. How? Did Quintessa read him her letter, her pathetic letter detailing all her reasons for leaving? And what about Quintessa? What had he done to the poor thing? What had he said to her?
That was it. Attention or no attention, she needed some answers from that man in blue.
The sailboat tacked back toward the ferry.
Mary shouldered her way to the rail. “Excuse me. Excuse me, please. I’m Mary Stirling.”
She couldn’t believe she was calling attention to herself, but it worked. People fell back from the rail and cleared a path. Gaping at her.
Mary grasped the rail, her stomach wound into a knot tighter than any sailor could tie. “Jim Avery! What do you think you’re doing?”
A grin spread over his face, wide and luminous. He took off his cover and held it over his heart. “My Mary.”
A sight she’d longed to see and words she’d longed to hear, but how dare he? “I’m not your Mary. What on earth are you doing?”
“What I should have done months ago—telling you I love you.”
All the tittering, the pointing, the staring. Mary put it behind her and focused on that adorable, infuriating man. “You shouldn’t say such things. What about Quin—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I never loved her. How could I when I was already in love with you?”
Mary’s head spun, and she pressed her hand to her forehead, but the dizziness intensified. “How could you do this to her? Poor—”
“She’s fine. She says to tell you she’s sorry. She told me to find you and tell you I love you.”
Just when things couldn’t get more nonsensical. “I don’t understand. I don’t. This is crazy.”
“I know.” Jim swept his arm in a grand gesture. “Isn’t it great?”
