Page 73 of Jesse

He looks at the sporty little trimaran and sighs. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

He looks back at me. “No. Really. I do. Because this”—he pans his hand towards the yacht—“this is me. This is what I do. And now I get to do it with you.”

My stomach does this weird fluttery flip thing as he stares at me and suddenly I’m at a loss for words.

“I told you back then I’d take you places. Take you across the ocean and show you places. And I never did. But now…” He looks back at Luke’s sailboat. “Now I can.”

I nod. Smiling as he returns his gaze to me. Maybe even turning my trademark shade of Bright Berry Beach Pink. Because he’s looking at me like… like I’m his best friend and his best girl. And even though I had no plans beyond showing him who was boss when this day started, right now I wouldn’t mind being bossed around by Jesse Boston.

He hops onto the deck. Pauses, taking it all in. His gaze wanders up the very tall mast, then down to the sails, all packed away. I don’t know him well. Hardly at all, in fact. But I can feel his mind whirling and twirling with ideas and plans for those sails once we get out of the marina.

“Where will you take me?” And then I realize I just said that out loud and didn’t mean to.

He grins. Grins big. Then extends his hand and says, “Join me and see.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - JESSE

Home.

That’s the only word that comes to mind once we motor out of the marina and Emma and I raise the sails. When the wind fills them and the ship lurches into it. When the spray from the salty sea air hits my face and the sun beams down on my bare shoulders—everything about my overturned world uprights itself again.

It’s not that I don’t sail anymore. I do.

But I haven’t done it like this in so long, the last time I felt this free actually eludes me.

Certainly haven’t sailed in the tropics since before my father died and I’ve never done it with a girl like Emma. Ever.

I have so many regrets about that weekend we spent together when we were young. Because I wasted it. Sure, we kissed and fucked. We stargazed and dreamed. But I could’ve done it so different. I could’ve done it better.

I set a heading for one of the eastern islets and just stand in the wind and let the stress and tension of more than a decade evaporate.

Never in a million years could I have predicted this day.

This morning I was angry. Fuming that Emma and her friends got the best of me last night. Embarrassed about the whole mess and eager to show her who was in charge. I was going to force her to spend the day with me. Make her miserable. Drag her to places she didn’t want to go.

Maybe it would’ve turned out like this. I like her. I knew I liked her before I found out who she was and the history we shared. So maybe we’d have found this kind of peace with my plan back in the city. Have breakfast, and then… I don’t know. I’d buy her shit she didn’t need. Expensive shit to prove I could. But of course, that would’ve just perpetuated the hostility.

She has too much money to be impressed by things.

So I don’t think so. I really don’t.

I don’t think I’d have come up with such a perfect way to impress her as she did me. And here’s the thing. This didn’t cost her much. Oh, the jet is expensive. The fuel, and Miles, and the crew. Not to mention the hangar fees. But that’s just side money, really. Besides, I really don’t think she was trying to impress me with the jet as much as let me know she and I are equals when it comes to that kind of shit.

But this yacht. This day trip sailing around the tropics. This is something else. It’s not the money, because again, it’s costing her the price of fuel and nothing more.

It’s the thought that went in to it. And maybe… the fact that this is just something she can whip up by asking a few favors of her family.

And her family. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her family. All that boisterous bellowing and macho posturing tempered by her mother’s monopolization of everyone’s Saturday night with the promise of a well-cooked meal.

Her day is purposeful. Not the way mine was planned. Different.

Maybe I’m making that up. Wishful thinking and shit like that.

But she planned this day for me. Only Jesse Boston would be so impressed with such an experience.

I glance at her now, her pigtails blowing in the wind, her eyes scanning the deep blue ocean. Every once in a while she points at something and says, “Dolphins.” Or, “Sharks.” Or, “Jellyfish.”