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I don’t wantto be impressed with Benedict’s boat.Yacht.
I don’t want to be impressed with hisyacht.
But honestly, the thing is gorgeous. I’m pretty sure the mattress in my stateroom alone costs more than my entire apartment in Atlanta.
I only sat on it for a moment while I strapped on my sandals. But it practically reached up and cradled me, luring me so effectively, I almost texted Eloise to beg her forgiveness and proclaim I’d be staying in for the night. All the traveling today combined with the worry in the back of my mind has left me exhausted anyway.
Fortunately,The Oakleyisn’t anything like theotherboat I’ve spent actual time on. My last (and only) serious ex, a college professor who was much too old for me, had a sailboat. He talked about it like it was a yacht the size of this one, but you could fit Justin’s boat in this thing fifteen times. Still, the similarities between Justin and Ben aren’t lost on me. There is a specific brand of confidence that comes from wealth, a senseof belonging, of knowing the world will open up to you in ways it won’t for others. Thinking about it makes me queasy and uncomfortable. I’d ratherneverthink about Justin if I can help it. Things ended so badly, that over two years later, I’m still positive I’ll never be ready for another relationship. It just isn’t worth it.
While I’m waiting for Ben to finish changing clothes, I pull up my texts, checking again to see if German has given any updates. He hasn’t. Of course, he hasn’t. I would have gotten a notification if he had. But I can’t help checking anyway. This whole situation—being here, pretending like everything is fine—has me feeling completely off-kilter.
And Benedict King isn’t helping. Not with his flirting and his questions and the way his gaze seems to see right through me.
Not to mention his face and his biceps and his blue, blue eyes.Ugh.
“Ready to go?” he says from behind me.
Tensing, I take a breath and turn to face him.
Oh, geez.This is entirely unfair.
For once, Ben has lost the preppier look of his casual daywear. He’s wearing dark pants, perfectly tailored, and a light blue button-down that makes his eyes look extra blue. The top couple of buttons are undone, revealing a triangle of smooth, tan skin, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
He looks delicious.Perfect.Entirelytooperfect.
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat. “Yep. Ready.”
His eyes rove over me. “You look great, Sadie,” he says, no hint of teasing in his tone.
I press my lips together. He’s being earnest, and I allow myself to be the same in return. “Thanks. So do you.”
We stand there awkwardly staring and smiling for a moment. As though the break from our typical back-and-forth has broken us.
I follow him to the gangway leading down to the dock and let him go first, knowing (and hating) that it’ll be a lot easier to walk down the steep ramp in my heels if he’s there to keep me from pitching forward. Just in case.
I slip my hand into his, holding it tightly as he guides me onto the dock. We’re standing close when he lets me go, close enough for me to smell Ben’s cologne. It’s not overpowering, which likely means it’s expensive. As soon as he moves away, I breathe in deep, replacing his scent with the salty harbor air. Itsmells like my childhood summers.
Ben looks over his shoulder to see me still standing at the foot of the gangway.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I hurry toward him. “Fine. Good. Let’s hurry. We’re already late.”
The party is in full swing when we arrive, the wide lawn of the bed and breakfast populated with Oakley Island residents. Eloise explained earlier that the rest of the Flower Festival events will be geared toward tourists and people who come over from Savannah, but tonight is about Oakley’s old guard—the business owners and residents who have poured their heart and soul into keeping Oakley exactly like it is. I recognize a few faces from the last few times I’ve been down, and still others feel familiar even if I can’t connect them to a name.
Weirdly, I don’t need names for this place to feel like home.
Which doesn’t even make sense. I only ever lived here during the summers.Somesummers. Until our parents got divorced and the relationship my sisters and I had with Gran was collateral damage.
Maybe it’s enough that in my heart, in my blood, I belonged to Genevieve, and Genevieve belonged to Oakley. I swallow thickly. Then I remember that Ben is beside me, watching me carefully, with none of his usual snark and bluster.
He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, I walk away.
“Sadie!”
I look up and see Merritt crossing the lawn toward me. She’s wearing a loose, flowy dress in a kaleidoscope of colors and she’s never looked happier. Less uptight and controlled. More loose and free andhappy.
“Hey, Mer,” I say as she pulls me in for a hug. “You look good. Really good.”
