If I take it, I leave this.
And “this” isn’t just the sea and the breeze and the satisfaction of knowing exactly how the wind’s going to treat you. It’s the sound of Theo telling Jamie he coils rope like “an uncultured barbarian.” It’s Jamie firing back with something so crude Theo chokes on his tea. It’s Cam’s laugh weaving through it all, like she’s been here the whole time.
It’s dangerous, how easily she’s slipped into the rhythm of us.
I shift my weight, the wheel steady in my grip, and the motion sends me back to another day on the water years ago. Just me, Jamie, and Theo in a battered old fishing boat we’d rented from one of Theo’s “old mates” who swore it was “seaworthy as they come.” The thing leaked like a sieve at the stern and smelled like someone had been using it to store bait since the seventies.
Jamie brought beer, jerky, and one sad sandwich he called “emergency rations.” Theo turned up with a neat crate—spare rope, first-aid kit, flare gun, like we were about to sail around the globe. I’d brought the cooler because I knew neither of them would think to pack actual food.
By noon, Jamie had “accidentally” tossed the sandwich to a gull, Theo had gone sliding across the wet deck swearing so loud a fisherman on another boat yelled “language” at him, and I’d landed a yellowfin big enough to impress the harbor crowd—only for Jamie to nearly fall overboard trying to hold it up for a photo.
We laughed until my ribs ached for days.
That’s what I’d be giving up.
Her footsteps come light over the deck, each one a little faster as she climbs to the helm. I catch her in my periphery before she’s beside me, one hand resting on the rail, the other shading her eyes from the glare.
“How’s the captain doing?” she asks.
I glance over. The wind’s caught a few strands of hair, curling them against her cheek. The sun’s caught in her eyes, warm as late summer.
“Can’t complain,” I tell her, adjusting the wheel a fraction. “Weather’s perfect, wind’s on our side.”
She looks out toward the bow slicing clean through the water. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Yeah,” I say, and my voice comes out quieter than I meant. “It is.”
She leans in a little to see the compass, and her arm brushes mine. Just a shift in balance, nothing more—but it’s enough. Heat moves up my spine like a spark running wire. And with it, that same faint spice note in her scent, just a hint stronger this close. I force myself to breathe slow.
“You’ve done this before,” she says, glancing up at me.
“A few times,” I admit. “Mostly with those two idiots.” I nod toward Theo and Jamie, now in a heated argument about whether Jamie’s seal story counts as “wildlife expertise.” “We’ve been talking about trips like this since college.”
She smiles. “You guys must be close.”
“They’re my brothers in everything but blood,” I say without even thinking. “We’ve seen each other through a lot. Good years, rough years.”
She tilts her head, curious. “So why the big-city talk?”
My fingers tighten just slightly on the wheel. “Opportunities don’t always wait around. Sometimes you take the leap, see where you land.”
Her hand shifts on the railing, brushing mine for the briefest second. Warmth. Skin on skin. A beat where the world narrows down to the hum of the deck underfoot, the cry of gulls overhead, and the whisper of her scent curling deep in my lungs.
Then she pulls back, eyes scanning the horizon. “Leaps are good,” she says softly. “Sometimes they take you exactly where you need to be.”
The wheel vibrates against my palm, the boat answering the wind’s pull. Behind us, Theo laughs at something Jamie’s said, and the sound is so familiar it’s almost a compass in itself. My brothers. My life. And her, standing right here, smelling like something I could get lost in.
I can make lists until the ink runs dry. But right now, with the sun on her skin, the sea stretching endless ahead, and the faintest shift in her scent promising something I have no business thinking about, I’m not sure I want the answer.
Chapter thirty-two
Cam
The steady sway of the boat has settled into something hypnotic, the kind of rhythm that makes you want to curl up in the sun and let the sound of the water carry you away. My shoulders are warm from sitting out on the deck, breeze tugging playfully at my hair, the salt taste clinging faintly to my lips. Every so often I catch a whiff of cinnamon from somewhere—strange, because I haven’t baked in days.
The guys are quieter now, their earlier banter mellowing into the kind of companionable silence that only comes when everyone’s comfortable. Dane is at the helm, focused but relaxed, Theo sitting cross-legged by the rail with a book balanced on one knee, Jamie leaning against the mast with his eyes half-closed like he’s pretending not to nap.
I stretch, rolling my shoulders, but there’s a heaviness low in my belly that makes me shift in my seat. Probably just the heat of the day. The sun’s stronger now, high overhead, and the air feels thick with summer.
