I bite my bottom lip, then state, “That sounds similar to a relationship.”
He nods. “It does.”
“Would you?—”
The radio attached to Sawyer’s belt crackles, followed by Gus’s voice saying, “Hey, Cap. I’ve got a couple of renters here who aren’t sure what they rented, and I’m not clear either. Can you come over to the office?”
Sawyer grabs the radio and hits a button. “Be right there, man.” To me, he gives an apologetic smile. “This, uh, probably wasn’t the best time to discuss …”
“Probably not,” I agree, smothering my disappointment.
“Jerry King thinks his steering is stiff. Probably a rudder post issue or hydraulic problem. I can’t tell dockside, so I told him I’d take it out for a sail test after my shift to see howOdysseyacts under load.”
“I understood about a third of those words.”
He grins. “I have to work late, but I should wrap up by six. Wanna meet me here then, and we can talk more? Grab dinner? My mom is visiting her brother this week, so I have the house to myself.”
“I’ll check my schedule. See if I can fit you in.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Sawyer steps forward, spinning his hat around and pressing a quick kiss to my lips. He grins at my shocked expression, taking a couple of steps backward before turning and jogging toward the marina office.
And I allow myself to hope, just a little bit, that he might actually love me back.
34
“It’s getting worse, Cap.”
“I know,” I say grimly, watching another wave sweep across the hull. Locking my knees as we rock with the motion.
Wade checks his phone. “Still no service.”
“You won’t get any out this far.”
It was stupid to sail past the lighthouse. Wade wanted to, and we were flying so fast that I didn’t think going out farther would add that much time. Until the winds shifted, and the water got rough, and I recalled the many times Jerry King had boasted about how his father had this vessel custom built. He’s meticulous about maintaining it, but not modernizing it. Meaning there’s no digital navigation, let alone the smart sensors or infotainment system or security cameras that are practically standard these days. Distractions, I thought privately in the past, but some of that tech would be helpful now.
What’sreallynot helpful? That I didn’t bother to do a full safety check before we left the harbor on what was meant to be a quick trip,and the VHF radio didn’t turn on when I ducked into the cabin to grab Wade and me life jackets.
I sure as fuck didn’t mention that to Wade, who was already looking pale as the boat continued to rock faster, and I didn’t take the time to troubleshoot, but the possibility there’s a bad connection or a dead battery is a heavy weight on the back of my mind. Because the lack of tech also means that radio is our one means of calling for help. If this storm picks up rather than settles and the sun fully sinks, we’ll be in serious shit.
“Shouldn’t we be heading closer toward the shore?” Wade calls.
I shake my head. “It’s safer out here. Room to maneuver or run off.”
Another wave hits, soaking Wade’s shorts. “Sounds fucking counterintuitive.”
“Well, one of us took sailing lessons, and it wasn’t you.”
“I didn’t foresee being stuck out in a damn hurricane and needing to know how to sail.”
“It’s not a hurricane.”
I glance at the darkening horizon. I saw rain was predicted tonight, which is why I scrapped the plan to take Wren to the beach later.
Wren.
I have plenty of regrets. But the one that is suffocating me now?
I never told her.
