Page 154 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Fine," she says. "I'll figure it out myself."

"I have complete faith in you."

Winter shakes her head but she's smiling as she walks toward the adjoining door that connects our suites. She pauses with her hand on the handle and turns back.

"Knox?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For breakfast. And for..." she trails off, searching for words.

"For last night?" I offer.

"For all of it."

There's something vulnerable in her expression, something that makes me want to cross the room and pull her back to bed and spend the entire day there instead of going to this meeting.

"You're welcome," I say instead.

She nods and slips through the door, closing it softly behind her. I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door, feeling the absence of her in the room. Then I turn and head to the bathroom to shower.

***

Around 5 PM, we're both in the car headed toward the pier. I glance over at Winter. She's looking out the window, watching the waterfront properties pass by, but there's anticipation in her posture. She keeps shifting slightly in her seat, like she's trying to figure out where we're going.

I don't give anything away. The driver turns down a private road that leads to the marina. Winter's eyes widen slightly as we pull up to the entrance and she sees the yachts lined up along the docks.

We get out of the car and I lead her down the long pier. The sun is lower in the sky now, casting everything in golden light. The water is calm, barely rippling.

Winter's heels click against the wooden planks as we walk. She's wearing a dress—not the black one from last night, something lighter, flowing. It moves with the breeze coming off the water.

At the end of the pier, there's a yacht waiting. Not the largest one here, but substantial. Sleek white hull, multiple decks, the kind of vessel that makes a statement without being ostentatious.

Winter stops walking when she realizes this is where we're headed.

"Knox—"

"I thought this would be a nice way to get on the water and have a little dinner," I say, extending my hand to help her board.

She looks at me, then at the yacht, then back at me. There's something in her expression I can't quite read. Surprise, maybe. Or disbelief. She takes my hand and I guide her up the small gangway onto the main deck.

We're greeted immediately by the captain, a man in his fifties with graying hair and a weathered face that speaks to years on the water.

"Mr. Sterling, welcome aboard." He extends his hand and I shake it.

"I'm Captain Harris. We're ready to depart whenever you are."

"Thank you, Captain."

A crew member appears with a tray holding two champagne flutes. I take both and hand one to Winter.

"The crew is at your disposal for the evening," Captain Harris continues.

"We'll take you along the coast, around the bay, whatever you prefer. Dinner will be served on the upper deck at your convenience."

"That sounds perfect."

Another crew member steps forward—a woman in her thirties with a professional smile.