“Oh my God, it’s freezing,” she says. “You’re warm. Don’t move.”
I stiffen for half a second—then let it happen.
We sit together on the stern, coffee steaming between our hands. The marina slips away inch by inch as Ethan frees the last line and hops aboard. The engine hums low, steady. Tony takes the helm.
Once we clear the harbor, sails go up—canvas snapping sharp and clean, lines singing as they catch the wind. The sound fills my chest, lifts something heavy just enough that I can breathe.
Sage presses closer when the breeze cuts again, giggling now, sunglasses back on like armor.
“So,” she says lightly. “You excited for Plymouth?”
“I was,” I admit.
She tilts her head. “Past tense.”
I sigh. The sound escapes before I can stop it.
She waits. Lets the silence stretch. The boat glides forward, water hissing softly along the hull.
“I asked him to take the day off,” I say. “He said yes. Then… didn’t.”
“That’s rough,” she says immediately. No judgment. No sympathy performance.
Up front, Kate and Kristen lounge, already forming their own little constellation.
Sage watches them, then nods toward the cabin. “Come below. It’s warmer. And quieter.”
Down below, the motion softens. Music hums low. The smell of wood, salt, and coffee wraps around us. We sit close, knees almost touching.
“You okay?” she asks.
I laugh once, short and sharp. “I’m pissed. Hurt. And honestly? Embarrassed.”
“At the firehouse?” she guesses.
I look at her.
She nods. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
I stare at the table, then back up. “I keep telling myself it’s just schedules.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then: “Maybe. Or maybe he’s being an idiot.”
That earns a real smile from me. The first all morning.
She bumps my knee with hers. “Either way—don’t worry about it tonight. We’re gonna get you some extra cute clothes, a little makeup?—”
“I’m not?—”
“Oh hush,” she says, grinning. “You’re gonnakillit on the dance floor. Purely recreational.”
The boat rocks gently beneath us, steady and sure, carrying us toward Plymouth and whatever this weekend is going to become.
We end up in the galley without really deciding to.
Sage pulls out a cutting board. I grab a bag of grapes and a loaf of bread. The boat sways gently beneath us, not enough to knock anything over, just enough that we have to brace a hip against the counter now and then. The hum of the water against the hull is steady, hypnotic.
It feels domestic in a way that surprises me.
