“Treat him gently. And keep his bookshelf well-stocked. He’s a dreamer at heart, just like my sister.”
She pointed then, at the dock where Arden was carrying a bag of ice in one hand and what looked like a piece of machinery in the other. He was tanner and blonder than I’d ever seen him, wearing cut-off jean shorts and white, canvas boat shoes. This was Arden in his natural habitat. My overly expensive suit was stained with sweat, and my styled hair had melted in the heat. I felt foolish. A fish out of water.
“Better go catch him before he sets sail.” Janice winked with the smug certainty of a woman who knew more than she was letting on. “Good luck to you, city slicker.”
22
the proposal
“Michael.” Arden crossed the gangplank in a few long strides and launched himself into my arms. “You came.”
“I said that I would.”
“I know but…” He squeezed me tightly and I gripped him solidly back, neither of us wanting to let go. A hug had never felt so good. Arden finally released me to look skyward. I thought he might be preparing to sneeze, but he batted at his eyes instead. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
“I had iced tea with your aunt. And she told me one of your deep, dark secrets.”
Arden looked stricken for a moment. “Uh oh. Which one?”
“That your favorite book is notThe Old Man and the Sea, but that it’sWanderlustby Danielle Steel.”
He shook his head and gave me a lofty grin. “Michael, how would you have reacted if I’d told you, a literary genius, that my favorite novel is a pulp romance from the eighties?”
“I write pulp. I’d have been delighted. I would have teased you relentlessly, but I’d have been delighted nonetheless.”
“Well, it takes place during World War II, so really it’s more of a historical romance.”
“Of course, it is. And I’m sure you read it for its historical value and not the sex.”
“The romance is integral to the plot,” he said with another lopsided grin.
“You’ll have to read it to me one day.”
As if on impulse, he hugged me again. My nose brushed his neck for the briefest moment, and I inhaled his sweat mingled with saltwater. Missing was his expensive aftershave and the other manufactured scents he’d worn in New York. This was Arden’s smell. I wanted to fall asleep to this scent and wake up to it in the morning, mingle it with my own while making love. Every day for the rest of my life.
“Show me your boat,” I said roughly. I felt as though I knew her already, but my greatest desire, as ever, was to learn absolutely everything about him.
He led me along the gangplank, holding my hand for the somewhat nerve-wracking experience of balancing on a two-by-six wooden plank to climb aboard. The boat was white with a navy hull and matching canvas sail covers.Tondaleowas written in an elegant font along the sides and across the back. Inside the upper cabin, Arden showed me the captain’s helm and the spoked wooden wheel where he’d first learned to steer. He rattled off the names of the various technologies that would likely take me months to learn completely. Within the other alcove was a station with nautical charts laid open, which Arden said were necessary because GPS relied on satellite signals that were spotty at best.
Arden then showed me below deck where the teak cabinetry and wooden trim gleamed with a fresh coat of epoxy. There was a queen-sized bed and a small desk area with another CB radio. The kitchen, orgalleyas it was called on a ship, was wide enough for only one person to stand. There were metal latches on all of the drawers and Velcro tabs securing anything that might be jostled on the high seas. He showed me the head, so narrow he could hardly turn a full circle. To the side of it was an equally miniscule shower. The combined living quarters were only slightly bigger than my first apartment in New York. Everything on the boat was both functional and minimalistic. Austere and modest, much like Arden himself.
“She’s beautiful.” I could see his hand in everything—from the way the spices were arranged to the simplicity of his furnishings. He showed me a recessed cabinet with a sliding mirrored door, behind which was only a fraction of his book collection. Included among his favorites was the entire set ofCold Lake Chronicles.
“I heard that author speak once,” I said. “Not that impressive.”
Arden chuckled, grabbed two sodas from a cooler with ice, and led me to the top deck.
“We’ll take her out tomorrow. Sail over to Caladesi Island. As soon as I’ve got the bilge in working order.” He told me about the repairs he’d made, from hauling the boat out of the water in order to scrape barnacles off the hull and give her a fresh coat of paint to upgrading the old diesel engine with a 45-horsepower one.
“It’s much better on emissions. She should be able to go at least six knots in good weather now.”
The conversation was largely over my head, but I listened intently as Arden spoke about his progress. I didn’t know if he’d gone for too long without conversation or if he felt the need to fill the silence. Or maybe it was because he thought our time together was limited, that he had to share with me everything all at once.
“How’s New York?” he asked after a dry spell.
“It’s been rainy. And cold.”And lonely without you.“Down here is like a whole different world. So… tropical.”
Arden nodded. “My first winter in New York was hard. I never even needed a coat before.”
