Down the circular staircase into the foyer, past the caterers carrying seafood towers. Through the kitchen and out to the wide porch overlooking the ocean, then down the cedar path to the docks, where a family is exiting a cabin cruiser and two fishermen are organizing coolers.
And there it is: the boat I saw during my morning walk, with the wordsFootloose and Fancy Freepainted on the side and a rubber keychain dangling from the ignition.
“Sloane!” someone calls from the inn behind me, but I can’t make out who.
It’s been years since I’ve driven a boat, not since I spent a summer working for a wealthy couple in the Muskoka Lakes in Canada, ferrying them back and forth from various boozy lunches and lakeside soirees. Still, muscle memory kicks in. With a flick of the key, the engine roars to life, the sharp scent of gasoline rising in the air like hope.
I guide the boat out of the harbor. Within minutes, I’m flying across the bumpy waves of the Oregon Coast, half shocked, half panicked by what I’ve just done.
But the farther I push the throttle, the lighter I become, and I’m having an out-of-body experience. The ocean spray hits my face as I hang onto the wheel for dear life, and for the first time in a long time, I feel weightless.
I am alive.
I amfree.
Until I’m not.
I’m at least a half hour away from the Grand Saltspring when the calm bay turns to heavy surf, and the bow slams against it. I glance at the coastline, which is nothing but cliffs and jagged rock. My gas tank is all but empty. Up ahead, I spot a tiny-looking town tucked into the next cove and I know it’s my only option. Heart pounding, I ease back on the throttle and turn toward shore.
There’s no dock to aim for, so I guide the boat as close to the coast as I can. The bottom scrapes against sand and rock before it stops, still twenty feet from shore.
I sigh and dip my hand over the side of the boat into the water to test the temperature. The cold shocks me right out of my momentary euphoric escape back to reality. It’s not just cold, it’s downright frigid.
I slip over the side of the boat and find the water is deeper than I expect, right up to my waist. My dress is soaked. Dammit. The gown is heavy enough that if I were farther out a strong undercurrent could easily drag me out to sea.
For a moment, I consider shedding it and letting ten pounds of hand-loomed Italian Mikado silk drift away forever, but the elaborate hooks and buttons require another person to unfasten them. And there could be people on the beach watching, maybe even filming what must look like the world’s strangest shipwreck.
Ignoring the cold penetrating right into my core, I gather the heavy fabric as high as I can (no need to flash the lacy silkunderwear one of Jack’s cousins gave me at one of the too-many bridal showers). Then I trudge through the waves toward shore, hopefully in the opposite direction of any gawking locals.
Gulls circle curiously overhead, cawing as though they’re announcing my presence. When I reach the sand, I collapse, breathing hard, tasting salt as water drips from my ruined updo.
My boat—well,theboat—bobs in the distance. Back at the inn, the wedding party must be scrambling. What do they do now? Wait for me to change my mind? Start packing the fancy deviled eggs and coconut shrimp into plastic containers?
Does Jack know yet? Hisparents?
What was I thinking?
What have I done?
I lie back in the sand, drawing in a shaky breath, until a voice sounds over the crash of the waves.
“Marshall! Marshall, come here!”
Moments later, I feel something warm on my cheek and I struggle to sit upright. A golden retriever is standing beside me, wagging his tail enthusiastically. Behind him, a man jogs toward us wearing a baseball hat and a crewneck sweatshirt, tennis ball in hand.
In the seconds before everything fades to black, I see deep brown eyes, a freshly shaven jaw, and lips that look capable of resurrecting the dead.
Then nothing.
***
RYAN
A woman lies in the sand ahead of me, soaked, pale, and looking like she’s had the hell beaten out of her by the Pacific. Marshallreaches her first—of course he does—and licks her cheek before I can stop him.
“Marshall! Marshall, come here!” I shout, jogging toward them.
She jerks upright, startled, and her big jade green eyes blink at me, before she lays suddenly back in the sand as though she’s decided to take a nap.
