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I wiped the rim of a bowl, ensuring the plating was perfect. But as much as I tried to concentrate on the present, thoughts of Aiden lingered. A question burned brighter than any prospective romance. I wanted explanations—needed them. But that was going to be a tricky conversation, fraught with emotion. I’d wait for the right moment, under a canvas of sky over the marina.
That’s when I’d ask Aiden Mitchell why he left me behind.
Chapter Thirteen
Aiden
Leaning against the weathered marina gate, my hands were fidgety, a stark contrast to the languid sway of the boats moored in their slips. It was almost five and my pulse thrummed in an anxious rhythm. Beside me, the water shimmered like spilled mercury in the golden light, and every ripple felt like it echoed in my chest.
When I turned back to the parking lot, my lungs froze. Stella walked toward me, her strides confident, her glossy dark hair catching sunbeams that slipped through the palm fronds. Dressed in a simple lavender shirt and denim shorts, she was the epitome of understated elegance. My heart skipped, lodged somewhere in my throat as she approached.
“Hey there,” Stella greeted with a casualness that belied the electricity sparking through the air.
“G-good evening.” At least my mouth only stumbled a little when I greeted her. “Glad you could make it.”
We started down the dock, our footsteps making rhythmic thuds on the seasoned planks. Boat by boat, we passed the small community of fishermen and sea lovers, each vessel tethered to its own little piece of the marina’s world. Though it was a near-empty world as the day wound down.
“Here she is,” I announced, coming to a halt beside my beauty.
“She’s really nice.” Her experienced eye skipped over the boat and the admittedly roughhewn deck.
“Thanks.” Warmth and pride bloomed in my chest. “I want her to feel like new, you know? She’s a classic Gulfstar 37, and I’m refinishing the teak decking.” As we stepped aboard, I pointed out the sanded wood beneath our feet. “It’s taking forever, but I enjoy the work. She’s got great character, and I’m trying to preserve that.”
“Character’s important.” Stella traced her fingers along the curved railing I’d sanded down to perfection.
“Each plank has its story. Like us, I guess.” I smiled, but now that she was here, my insides were a tangled mess of hope and history. I gestured toward the stern where the setting sun painted everything with hues of tangerine and rose. “And see here? I reinforced the rudder mount. No shortcuts, all craftsmanship.”
Oh my God. I’m babbling!
“Looks solid.” She leaned slightly over the edge to peer at the structure. Her proximity sent a fresh wave of awareness coursing through me, the subtle scent of her roaring through my senses.
“Doesn’t she deserve a name?” Stella asked, peering at the blank space where the name should be.
“Well, that’s a work in progress.” I rubbed the back of my neck with a sheepish grin. “I have a few ideas, but nothing concrete yet. It’ll come to me.” Nothing seemed to encapsulate all the dreams I had for this boat.
“Fair enough. She looks seaworthy, that’s for sure.”
“Seaworthy and ready for adventure. Just like her new crew member,” I said with a teasing lilt, waiting to see if she’d respond in kind or be pissed at me.
“New crew member?” Stella’s eyes sparkled, and my stomach unclenched. “I just got done working two jobs. I had to give notice at Blue Nirvana in Key West in addition to starting at Orchid. So I’ll stick with chef for now.”
“Chef, then. The part you were made to play.” Part of me yearned to see her on this boat beside me, wind in her hair, the way I often pictured in those quiet moments alone with my thoughts.
“Still, you’ve got to give her a name,” Stella pressed, a playful challenge in her voice as she leaned against the stern wall. “You’re not superstitious about it? Renaming a boat?”
“Superstitions be damned.” I laughed, shaking my head. “The stern was so weathered when I got her, any name that was there is long gone. I picked her up at an auction in Key West right after I arrived.” I stroked the freshly sanded railing, feeling the smooth wood under my hand. “Besides, I like to think she’s getting a fresh start with me.”
“Fresh starts.” Stella’s words held weight—a shared understanding that resonated deep within me.
“Exactly,” I replied, and our gazes locked for a long moment. She was so beautiful, with a hint of something… maybe vulnerability, hiding in her gaze.
Breaking the trance, my eyes dropped to her bandaged hand. “Let’s have a look at that.” We sat on the padded bench near the stern. Gently taking her hand in mine, I unwrapped the gauze and examined the healing cut, the black stitches neat and even.
“Looks like it’s healing well.” I unconsciously traced the lines of her palm with my thumb before I caught myself. “You should come by the clinic on Friday, and I’ll take the stitches out.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that,” she said softly, her hand warm in mine.
After rewrapping the gauze, I lingered a moment longer than necessary, reacquainting myself with the feel of her skin. I released her hand with reluctance, and the absence left a cold void. To cover my discomfort, I pushed to my feet and picked up a hand sander.
