Page 27 of Hooked on Love

“Set the mood? Really?” I smile, reaching for the container he slides toward me. Chicken piccata, a shared order of bruschetta, and tiramisu for dessert.

He chuckles. “He seemed very pleased with himself.”

We eat and chat about our day. Jake tells me more about the repairs and Luke nearly dropping a wrench into the bilge on day two—whatever a bilge is. He’s lit up in a way that’s beautiful to watch. Energized. Fully himself with the stress of the breakdown gone.

This is Jake in his element. Happy. Whole.

I love it.

I also feel, quietly and without wanting to, the first cold thread of doubt working its way through my chest.

“I’ve already got re-bookings in order,” he says, pulling out his phone to show me. “Tomorrow’s fully booked—private fishing charter in the morning, whale watching in the afternoon. Weekend is almost full.” He looks up, bright and relieved. “I was worried about the revenue hit, but it’s coming back faster than I expected.”

“That’s amazing.” I mean it. I do. “Jake, that’s really great.”

“And once the season settles I want to look at adding a second boat. Nothing huge, just a smaller vessel I could run coastal tours on when I’ve got the—” He stops. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” I shake my head, reaching out to place my hand over his. “I love hearing about it.”

He studies me for a second, then seems to trust me before glancing back at his phone, scrolling through the booking calendar with quiet satisfaction.

I watch him and think about the apartment. The couch he hasn’t slept on all week and the coffee he makes without being asked every single morning. Good coffee, too.

I think about how none of that was ever supposed to happen. Yet, here we are. And I’m left wondering where those moments fit in to his calendar.

“Will you still be able to come to Danny’s party?” I ask him, my voice light. Not a hint of fear for us. “The rooftop thing for the Fourth of July. It’s tomorrow night. I got Chris to cover the reception so we could…”

He glances up. “Oh. Yeah, maybe.” He sets his phone down. “Depends on how the afternoon charter runs. If we get back late, I’ll need to clean up before…” He trails off, distracted by something behind me. “Is that a loose fitting? “He’s already half out of his chair.

“Jake.”

He stops, glancing back at me.

My smile is strained. “Go check.”

“Sorry, this’ll just take two seconds,” he mutters.

I watch him crouch at the far end of the deck, completely absorbed.

Maybe. Depends. We’ll see.

I stare down at my chicken piccata.

It’s delicious. Antonio’s is everything Chris promised and more, and I make a mental note to tell him so tomorrow. I also make another note, quieter and less comfortable, somewhere behind my sternum.

He loves this boat.

He loves this life, the water, the people, the open horizon. He was broken without it. Landlocked and restless and not quite…this version of himself even in the best moments we shared.

And the boat is fixed now.

Which means the reason he’s here—the reason any of this happened—is over.

I knew that. I did.

I just forgot it somewhere between the intimate walks and takeout.

Jake reappears. “Just a loose clamp,” he says with a sigh as he drops back into his chair beside me. His hand finding my thigh with a gentle squeeze. “Where were we?”