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Stella rose to stand by me. “What do you need help with?” Her voice was eager, and she was already rolling up her sleeves.
“The two current tasks are varnishing and sanding the deck up here,” I said as if presenting the two tasks like choices on a menu. With her cut being on her left hand, neither should present much difficulty for her. “Take your pick.”
“Varnishing,” she decided with a decisive nod and twirled her hair into a messy bun with a casual, efficient grace I found extremely sexy. It would be so easy to undo that knot of hair and rush my hands through her tresses.
“Here you go.” I handed her a paintbrush. As she took it from me, her fingers grazed mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. Stirrings and emotions were definitely waking up in me, and I wasn’t sure yet if that was good or bad. Masking the sensation with a smile, I moved to continue my work on a rough patch I had been tackling earlier.
We fell into a rhythm, the sound of my sanding block scraping against the boat’s deck pairing with the gentle swish of Stella’s brush. The sharp tang of varnish filled my nostrils, mingling with the salty breeze. Waves lapped against the hull in a soothing cadence, underscoring the quiet that settled between us, a comfortable silence punctuated by our shared task.
I stole glances at Stella as we worked, studying the way her brow furrowed in concentration, or how a loose strand of hair would occasionally dance across her face before she’d blow it away with a huff. Being here with her, doing something so simple, made me feel like I was finding pieces of myself I hadn’t even realized were missing.
“Looks good, if I do say so myself,” she said after a while, standing back to admire our handiwork. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a faint streak of varnish.
“You’re a natural.” I gave her a lazy smile and returned to my sanding, deciding we were on solid enough footing to fish for some updates on her life. “Blue Nirvana,” I said between long strokes. “That’s always been one of the hottest restaurants around. Did you like working there?”
Stella set down her brush and stretched, rolling her shoulders back. I took a deep breath as her shirt stretched over the full curve of her breasts. “It was the best apprenticeship I could’ve asked for. Taught me more about cooking than any class ever did.” Her eyes caught the last flicker of light, and I saw a glimmer there that hadn’t been present earlier.
“Life lessons in Key West, huh?” I laughed, imagining a younger, carefree Stella navigating through throngs of tourists and sea-salted adventures.
“Something like that. And what about you? Medical school must have been interesting.”
I paused, the memory surfacing like a buoyant thought. “Well, there was this one time during my OB rotation…”
The story slipped out effortlessly, an anecdote involving a fellow student prank and a doll that had Stella laughing, her head thrown back and the sound mingling with the waves. As our laughter subsided, the evening settled around us. The moon rose, casting a silver path across the water, guiding us into the night.
“I’m starving,” Stella said, staring at the stairs leading into the cabin. “Do you have a working galley on this thing?”
“Yeah, but I don’t have much in the way of gourmet food on board. The marina market doesn’t exactly scream haute cuisine.”
She shrugged, the marina’s lights playing off her sly smile. “I can make a meal out of anything. Trust me.”
I grinned back. “If anyone can, it’s you. But you might be stuck with macaroni and cheese along with a can of pork and beans.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I shook my head, amused by her confidence, and we made our way to the small store nestled at the edge of the marina. The shelves were half-stocked, the produce less than perfect. But Stella moved through the aisles with purpose, selecting ingredients with a magician’s flair.
“Are you sure about this?” I eyed the eclectic assortment in our basket as we headed toward the front of the store. “We could pick up something from Conch Republic.”
“Positive,” she replied, not missing a beat. “I’ve got everything I need.”
At the checkout, I slid my card before she could protest. “In that case, dinner’s on me.”
The galley below deck was tight but serviceable. With deft hands and a concentration that drew me in, she maneuvered around the small stove like it was her own gourmet setup at Orchid. The sizzle of vegetables hitting the pan mixed with the tangy scent of a lone orange she’d found and savory herbs, creating an aroma that was downright seductive.
“Can I help with anything?” I leaned against the bulkhead that separated the galley from the bedroom, captivated by her ease in this culinary dance. Even as a teenager, her love for cooking had been evident. But what I saw now was a seasoned professional, at home in her element.
“Sure. You want to set the table?” she replied without looking up, her focus never wavering from the task at hand.
“I can do that. We’ll eat upstairs.” After tossing a blanket down on a section of varnished deck, I laid out the plates and cutlery. The wood gleamed under the soft glow of lights lining the dock.
Dinner was a simple affair but nothing short of spectacular. We sat opposite each other, sharing stories between bites of the delectable meal she conjured from the market’s humble offerings. A late fisherman had brought in a snook that had made Stella light up, and she found a bag of salad greens that were still in date. The rest was a mix of crackers, scraggly vegetables, and herbs that somehow melded into perfection. Her laughter was warm, spilling over us in waves, and I found myself drawn into the comfort of her presence. How naturally she fit into this setting. With me.
“Did you learn to cook like this from the resort chefs?”
“Partly.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But mostly afterward. First culinary school, and then Blue Nirvana.”
“You were always meant to be a chef. This proves it even more.”
