Page 20 of Johnny

Go meet my prince, I guess.

That short walk in and out of the bathroom and the sugared-up imitation orange juice have my legs

working better now, so I grab my sandwich, walk over to the door, slide it open, and glance down the

hallway.

It’s short and leads to stairs off to the right. To my left is another small cabin. The door is open and

inside I can see the bed. Directly in front of me is the master stateroom, which is better appointed and

larger than the guest cabin I was in.

I go up the steep, but gently curving stairs and find a frosted skylight over my head. I stare up at it

for a moment, then press on and come out in the galley.

There are gray stone countertops, fully appointed with all the appliances, and then I turn to see the

helm, outfitted with fancy electronics and a leather bench seat. Past that is the salon. I’ve been on

yachts of every size and this one, while not super big, is still super nice. There’s a couch and two

chairs. A large-screen TV is mounted on the wall, and the glass doors leading out to the outdoor patio

are the kind that fold open to the outside.

I haven’t seen my rescuer yet, so he has to be out there somewhere.

I tilt my head to the side. Listening. No conversation. Nothing but the slosh of waves and the

rocking of the boat.

I walk forward through the salon and come out to the cockpit. It’s a nice outdoor patio with a grill

and steps leading down to the landing deck. I peer down, but he’s not there, either.

For a moment I panic and think that maybe he’s left me here. It’s not a huge yacht, but my

experience of being on yachts is mostly as a passenger and there’s no way I could run this thing alone.

“Stop it,” I mumble under my breath. He has to be here. We’re in the middle of the ocean. There’s

nowhere else for him to be.

I turn back, find the side deck stairs are lit up by tiny LED lights at the base, and go up.

The boat is rocking enough that I have to grab the handrail as I make my way towards the bow, but

I stop, letting my eyes adjust to the starlight.

“Come on then,” a gruff, manly voice says. “I can hear you. I know you’re there.”

I let out a breath and peek around the side of the helm window and find a shirtless man lounging

flat on the sun deck loungers, arms behind head, looking at me with narrow eyes lit up by starshine.

“Feeling better?” he asks.