My grandfather had built her by hand nearly thirty years ago.
She wasn't the newest yacht in our fleet.
She wasn't the biggest.
But she was the heart of Sinclair Yachts.
Grandpa used to stand exactly where I was standing now, one weathered hand resting on the rail while staring out across the bay.
"If you listen closely, Storm,"he'd tell me,"the sea whispers her secrets before she gives them away."
At ten years old, I'd spent hours trying to hear those whispers.
At thirty-two...
I still listened.
The weather app on my phone showed clear skies all the way to Hawaii.
Wind conditions were favorable.
Barometric pressure steady.
Still...
I checked the radar again.
Then the satellite forecast.
Then the tide charts.
Then the engine reports that Calle had emailed me before sunrise.
Satisfied...
For almost five seconds.
"You're checking them again."
I smiled before I even turned around.
"I've only checked twice."
My sister Willow handed me a steaming cup of coffee.
"That makes four."
"Three."
She raised one eyebrow.
I sighed.
"Fine. Four."
"I knew it."
I accepted the coffee, taking my first sip while looking over the harbor once more.
