Eighteen
The sailboat wobbles beneath me as I clamber aboard,and immediately, I regret every life choice that’s brought me to this point. My balance vanishes and I flail, arms windmilling like I’m starring in a slapstick comedy I didn’t audition for.
The boat rocks harder, and I lurch sideways, seconds from tumbling overboard in what would surely be the least dignified splash of my life, when a warm, calloused hand wraps around mine.
“Careful,” Alder says, steadying me like it’s nothing. “Dramatic exits are usually more effective after the date, not before.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “This isn’t a date. We’re just…changing the location of our conversation.”
“Of course. Yes. Simply a conversation,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “I mean, what else would it be called when two people are alone on a sailboat with a picnic and unspeakable tension. Very casual.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but the boat swaysagain—harder this time—and I stumble straight into him.
His arms catch me without hesitation, strong and warm and way too solid for my emotional safety. My hands land on his chest, and unfortunately, it’s still as annoyingly perfect as I remember—broad, steady, stupidly well-built beneath his linen shirt.
“Think of it like riding a horse,” he murmurs, still holding me a little too close.
“A horse?” I ask, trying to sound unimpressed even though my pulse is tap-dancing behind my ribs.
“Well,” he says with a lazy shrug as he gently guides me toward the center of the boat, “a horse made of wood. With no saddle. Or reins. And floating.”
“Oh, perfect,” I mutter, catching my balance again. “So basically a death trap with a nautical flair.”
“I prefer to think of it as charmingly adventurous. Besides, it’s only a death trap if you fall overboard.”
“Comforting,” I say, eyeing the shifting water.
He flashes a crooked smile. “You’re the one who agreed to come.”
“Yes, well, I also once agreed to get bangs, so clearly my judgment is flawed.”
His laugh slides right under my skin. It feels good to make him laugh.
“Sit,” he says, motioning toward the bench. “I promise to keep all death-defying heroics to a minimum.”
I slide onto the bench and grip it for dear life, stomach fluttering in that traitorous, giddy way that only happens when you’re in mortal danger or about to fall in love. I’m not sure which one this is yet. Possibly both.
If only Amanda could see me now.
The thought makes me snort.
“Something funny?”
I open my mouth to respond, but laughter tumbles out instead—uncontrollable, impossible to stop. The sound bubbles up, bigger than me, breaking free of the knot that’s been sitting heavy in my chest for the past three days. It spills out until I’m doubled over, gasping, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.
Alder watches me with the same reverence most men reserve for a home-cooked meal or football. Then, slowly, he closes his eyes, inhales, and tilts his face toward the sun like he’s soaking up the sound.
“I can’t—” I try to catch my breath. “It’s just…this.”
I gesture wildly at everything—the boat, the ocean, the towering pines, the castle behind us like a Gothic fever dream.
“We’re in another realm, Alder. A literal, actual different world. I was supposed to be crying into my boxed wine while I packed up my life this week. Instead, here I am. On a boat in a magickal kingdom with a man who may or may not have spent the past decade emotionally wrecking me.”
He chuckles. “When you put it that way, I suppose it does sound a bit unconventional.”
I burst out laughing again. “You think?”
Alder’s tall frame is silhouetted against the sparkling waves as he moves to the mast. The wind teases his hair, brushing it across his forehead. In a few deft movements, he hoists the sail, and the fabric catches the wind with a satisfying snap. The boat jerks forward, the sudden motion pulling a startled yelp from my throat. My hands fly to the edge of the bench, gripping tight as the hull wobbles beneath me.
