Nine years earlier
I was twenty-three years old when I stepped on board theSerendipityfor the first time. After pulling into the marina parking lot, I sat in my father’s pickup truck and kneaded my knee through the thick wool fabric of my forest-green dress pants. The pants were a bit warm for winter in South Florida, but paired with a white silk pussy-bow blouse and nude heels, I hoped I’d come across as both memorable and professional. And besides, these pants were lucky. I’d found them drowning in a sea of black and navy Ann Taylors at a Goodwill a couple of years ago and realized they were designer quality as soon as I touched them. Brunello Cucinellis, and in my exact size too. That day I’d felt as if wonderful things could be anywhere—maybe everywhere—if I only looked hard enough.
I caught sight of my résumé on the passenger seat, and the magic of my thrifted designer pants faded. This was an awful idea. I wasn’t qualified to work on a yacht. I couldn’t just pack up my life—what wasleft of it anyway—and ship out with a bunch of strangers for four months, could I?
My fingers fluttered beside the keys in the ignition. I could drive away right now. I could forget this whole yachting thing and go to Walmart. I’d buy a beanie and a pair of scissors, come back here, and rob the boat instead.
But I’d already spent money I didn’t have on ink to print copies of my résumé. Jobbery instead of robbery would have to do.
I let my hand drop back to my knee and gazed out at the boats on the water, spotting theSerendipityright away. One hundred and fifty feet hadn’t sounded like much last night, but the yacht towered over every other boat in the marina. I’d spent a long time scrolling through photos of the yacht before deciding to apply for the junior stewardess position. Thoughapplymight not be the most accurate choice of words. Technically, I hadn’t applied. Plenty of other people had. Over a hundred. Which was why I’d printed my résumé and driven down here as soon as I’d woken up this morning, hopeful I could march right in (or was it on?) the boat and demand a job I was clearly unqualified for.
Worst-case scenario? Captain Rodriguez would laugh me off the boat. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I snatched my résumé from the passenger seat and pulled my keys from the ignition.
But as soon as my heels hit the asphalt, anxiety set in. I wasn’t sure why. I’d done back handsprings in front of a panel of Olympic judges. I’d busted my ass in front of them, in front of everyone, on live TV. This was nothing. If this didn’t work, I’d find something else.
Except there was nothing else, nothing that could solve all my problems, most pressing of which was finding a place to live that wasn’t my parents’ house. Unfortunately, I hadn’t found any apartments in my price range, none that would take me after a credit check, anyway.
I took a deep breath and pulled my ponytail tighter. Last June, when I’d botched my standing Arabian salto on beam during Olympic trials and shattered my knee, I’d lost my confidence along with my career. My entire life until then had been gymnastics. It was a family affair. My father was my coach. My mother was a former Olympic gymnast herself. I’d already failed to make the team four years before. Everyone knew this was my best shot. I was at the top of my game, dominating competition after competition. Making the team was inevitable. And then... in a moment, everything I’d worked so hard for amounted to nothing.
It had happened in an instant. I couldn’t have told you what went wrong. I hadn’t watched the video to find out, though millions of strangers had. I pretended I was fine. Months of physical therapy had gotten me mostly back in shape, and I probably could have recovered enough physically to compete again, but it was the mental game I couldn’t overcome. Whenever I stepped on beam, anxiety, something I had never truly encountered in my life until then, sparked within me like a hungry flame, making it impossible to shut out everything that could go wrong. And so I retired from gymnastics.My career would have ended soon enough anyway, I told myself. But in truth, I was shaken. Not only because I’d been at the top of my game and had it all pulled out from under me, but also because during my recovery, I’d discovered my credit was abysmal. It hadn’t made sense. I didn’t have student loans. I’d hardly ever used my emergency credit card. Eventually, I’d learned the truth, that my father had a gambling addiction my parents had been keeping from me for years. In addition to tanking his own credit, he’d maxed out credit cards in my name. Defaulted on loans usingmyinformation. He’d ruined my life in what felt like a moment, though it had been years in the making. I’d never forget the look on my father’s face when he told me we needed to talk. Ever since, a loop ofNow what? Now what? Now what?had invaded my brain, never quiet long enough for me to think clearly.
And there it was, running through my mind again. I couldn’t walk onto the boat like this. I needed to calm down. I sighed and threw open the truck door, then slipped off my heels, setting them on the seat along with my résumé. Whenever my mind went racing ahead of me, skipping like a scratched CD over the same thought, there was only one solution: to quiet it with my body and take as much control as I could.
I swung out my limbs, getting my body warm and loose. After scanning the parking lot to make sure no one was watching, I flipped into a handstand right there beside the truck. The bow of my blouse flopped onto my face, but I concentrated on feeling balanced, on the strength in my arms and shoulders. I held the handstand until the noise in my head subsided.Better, I thought. Once I righted myself again, I wiped my hands on my pants and slipped on my heels, then grabbed my résumé and made my way down the dock before I could change my mind.
“You better get them fecking shoes off,” a voice said when I took my first step on board.
I turned to find a bronze-haired man staring at me from where he leaned against the railing. I’d been so busy hyping myself up that I hadn’t noticed him. Had he been there the whole time? And why was he so... pretty? He watched me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Something about them drew me toward him, but everything else—his body language, the tone of his voice—radiated an intensity that seemed to say,Stay away.
“Excuse me?” I said.
The man nodded to my feet. “You’ll feck up the teak with them stabby shoes,” he said, and I registered the Irish accent. “Haven’t you ever been on a yacht before?”
“No, actually,” I said. I slipped the heels from my feet. Suddenly, I was three inches shorter, forced to stare up at this rude stranger. I felt like a ridiculous party girl with my heels dangling from my fingers. “This is my first time on a yacht.”
“Yeah, I sort of guessed that,” he said.
I scowled. “Can’t say I’m loving the experience so far.”
The man continued to stare at me, his entire body still except for the fingers of his left hand, which rolled an unlit cigarette back and forth. The craving for a cigarette ghosted across my tongue, one of the many bad habits I’d picked up since smashing my knee, and I wanted to snatch it from him.
The man squinted at me. “You’re a wee little thing, aren’t you? You look familiar. Have we met?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Nice little show you put on there, by the way.” He nodded to the parking lot.
I followed his gaze to my father’s truck, dusty and pitiful-looking beside all these fancy ships. When I turned back to him, the corner of his mouth was tipped up in a half smile, but only for a moment. He shoved the unlit cigarette between his lips and tamped the smile down. He waslaughingat me and trying to hide it. I was sure of it.
It shouldn’t have bothered me. What did I care what this guy I didn’t even know thought? But it was that little smirk and the way he’d stamped it out when he realized I’d seen it that pissed me off. It would’ve been better if he had just laughed in my face. Concealment. I was tired of it.
I nodded to the unlit cigarette in his mouth. “You’ll kill yourself,” I said. “Haven’t you been scared straight by the Tobacco Free Florida commercials?”
The man drew his brows together. “The what now?”
