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Sadie laughs. “Percy Jackson doesn’t control lightning. That’s Zeus.”
“Then who’s the lightning thief?”
“Oh, Ben. Clearly, we need to work on your young adult book literacy.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty low. I’ve never been much of a reader when it comes to fiction.”
“What do you read instead?” she asks.
“Mostly history. Biographies. Deep dives into cultural anthropology. That’s what I studied in school.”
“Really?” Sadie says. “How did I not know that? That explains so much about your obsession with Oakley’s history.”
“People don’t usually ask,” I say.
“You’re rich, so who cares what else you are,” she says, her voice low. “Right?”
“Pretty much.”
Turning in my arms, Sadie rests her forehead on my collar bone. I can only make her out when the lightning flashes, and even then, it’s just a dim outline. It’s kind of nice to rely on my other senses instead. The smell of her, like warm vanilla caramel with a bite. The feel of her in my arms, the softness of her hair under my fingertips.
“I’m sorry I judged you, Ben.” Her breath fans across the skin at my throat. If I leaned forward, I could tilt her head up and taste her.
But as nice as that would be, I’m enjoying just this. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a quiet, intimate moment with a woman before, and I don’t want to ruin it.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say instead. “I set myself up for it. I can’t blame you for making assumptions.”
Sadie’s quiet for a moment, her fingers toying with the buttons on my shirt in a way that feels like nervousness. “Is this normal?” she asks.
“Cuddling in the dark, fully clothed, after a date?” I tease.
She finds my ribs, and though I never thought I was ticklish, her touch makes me squirm. I capture her hands, laughing as I tuck her tightly against me.
“I mean the storm,” she says. “The lights going out. All of this.”
“We haven’t lost power before,” I admit. “But you heard John—the storm should blow over in a few hours. This feels like a lot because we’re out in it, but it’s a pretty normal storm, not a hurricane or tropical depression. And we’re still in view of the shore. Worst case, the coast guard isn’t far.”
I hope my words reassure her. I’m worried about the power too, but not more than a little. John would have come to find me if there were any significant issues. Still, if circumstances were different and I were alone, I’d probably be more concerned—concerned enough to be up in the wheelhouse, watching the weather and listening to Art talk through whatever decisions he’s making to keep us all safe. But Sadie’s nervousness somehow makes me feel the need to be steady—calm and confident where she’s unsure.
Well. Calm and confident aboutTheOakleysuccessfully weathering the storm.Not anything else.
Sadie has a life in Atlanta. A home. A job.
Would I ask her to move?
No—that feels like the kind of decision she’d need to make for herself. I certainly don’t plan to leave Oakley. Sure, I could handle things from afar—appoint someone else to run the historic preservation society, make decisions from another location. These days, so many jobs can be done from just about anywhere. Running an island is no different.
But I love Oakley. It’s home. And I like handling the ins and outs whileonthe island. Maybe I don’t want to live on this yacht forever, but I could figure out what to do about Mom’s house.
I wonder what Sadie would want to do.
And if she’d want to do it with me …
“You’re thinking really hard over there,” Sadie says.
“Mm.”
“Care to share with the class?”
