Kellen is slicing strawberries for breakfast tarts. “Good morning, angel.”
I flop onto the nearby bench and steal a berry right from the knife. “Good morning. How are you all?”
Elliot sits nearby with a coffee in-hand. “Well-rested for once. It’s nice.”
Nolan looms by the espresso machine. “I hear that.” He’s in gym shorts and a hoodie, beard looking extra burly in the morning light.
I lean back and let them chatter over my head. There’s something about mornings with these three that make me grateful I stopped listening to the part of me that said I’d never want a pack and would never be ready for love. Oh, how much I love being wrong about all of that.
Kellen sets a plate in front of me with a strawberry tart, still warm with perfect crust. His hands are steady and gentle as hedusts powdered sugar over it like he’s performing a magic trick. “For the lady of the hour.” He bows lightly.
I raise my eyebrows. “What? What’s the occasion?”
He always stuff like this, and as a whole my pack treats me like royalty, but there’s definitely a different energy in play today. I can’t nail down exactly what, but it’s made of anticipation and a charged-love sort of feeling.
He doesn’t answer, which immediately makes me more suspicious.
We finish breakfast and migrate to the deck, where the sun is bright and the horizon goes on forever where the ocean disappears. I pull my knees to my chest and let the warmth bake my skin. Kellen is already taking pictures, a dozen in quick succession, all of which will be terrible but I’ll save them anyway. Nolan and Elliot lean on the railing, arms folded, surveying the empty sea with a soldier’s restlessness. They look so at home, even out of uniform. Even when there’s nothing to protect but us.
I lean back against the railing and face them. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”
“I was thinking we could swim later,” Kellen offers, “or just do nothing.”
I snort. “You’re constitutionally incapable of nothing.”
“Untrue,” he says. “I once took a nap in college. I almost failed out.”
“Taking it easy isn’t a bad idea,” Elliot suggests. “You’ve been working a lot, Piper.”
He says it casually, but I can hear the subtext:Take a break. You’ve earned it.
He’s not wrong. The last six months have been a blur filled with an album launch, tour, press, and an exhausting promotional schedule that has left my inbox in a perpetual stateof crisis. The folk album—my first in years—got better reviews than anything I’ve done.
“No, you’re both right,” I admit. “Doing nothing sounds amazing.”
“Then it’s settled.” Kellen finds a lounge chair and sprawls across it under the sun.
We spend the rest of the morning doing absolutely nothing. Later, after I nap post-sunbathing, I wake to the sound of Elliot and Nolan bickering in the next room.
Elliot hushes someone. “She’s going to know something’s up.”
“She already suspects,” Nolan counters. “She’s not oblivious.”
I hear footsteps, then the lowthunkof a bottle hitting the counter. Quietly, I get up and peek into the galley to see them standing side by side, both facing away, both so tense they might as well be one person. Nolan glances over his shoulder and catches my eye. His face softens, and for a split second I see something nervous in it.
I slip in, quiet as I can. “What’s the conspiracy?”
Elliot turns, eyes wide, and for a second I think he’s going to flat-out lie. Instead he just says, “Nothing sinister. Kellen’s making dinner reservations for us tonight.”
“We’re on a boat,” I point out, but I don’t push it.
I head back to my room, feeling oddly giddy. I can’t explain it. If there’s a plot, I’ll let them have their fun.
By sunset, the yacht is aglow. Someone’s put out fake candles everywhere. I sense that if real ones might have been preferred but the wind would just keep snuffing them. I can hear plates clinking, silverware, and someone humming, probably Kellen.
I change into my favorite dress for dinner and make my way to the top deck.
The scene is almost too perfect.
