Page 98 of In Your Wake

“Exactly.” I tap the tip of my nose with my finger.

Her mouth turns down as she frowns. “Sounds super healthy.” After a moment, her expression softens. “And this has nothing to do with him leaving?”

“I’ve always known he’s leaving,” I reply with a shrug.

“Not Oakwhite. He’s headed to Germany. Some team reached out.”

“Oh.” I keep my face neutral, but something uncomfortable twists low in my stomach.

Of course he’s leaving. Mitch would never stay in Oakwhite forever. But thinking he might leave the country feels so strange and… final.

“Good for him,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, it is,” she replies, but everything in her tone says she’s not quite convinced. Or that she’s still searching for more from me.

I drain the rest of my champagne before I can think too hard about why I can’t catch my breath. “I’m getting another drink. Want one?”

She lifts her still-full glass. “I’m good, thanks.”

I head below deck, refill my glass, then wander slowly through the hallway, peeking into rooms.

The inside of the yacht looks less like a boat and more like a floating luxury hotel with smooth white walls, polished wood, and marble countertops probably worth more than my car. There’s even a washer-dryer combo!

Halfway through admiring an absurdly fancy espresso machine, a hand lands lightly on my shoulder.

“Jesus!” I jump, startled.

Mitch steps back immediately. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” I steady my drink. “Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a sneaky serial killer?”

“Good to know.” His small smile is sexy enough that it catches me off guard. “Are you snooping?”

“What? No. Just looking around. This boat is ridiculous.”

“Agreed.” He leans against the doorway. “Spencer says there’s heated bathroom floors, too.”

I blink at him. “That should be illegal.”

A brief silence settles between us. Not tense exactly, but uncertain, as if we’re both waiting to see what comes next: a sparring match or an affectionate cuddle?

“Can we talk for a minute?” he asks finally.

Something in his voice makes me soften a little. “About what?”

“I think you know.”

I do, but I hesitate before nodding toward the bedroom. “Probably better than standing in the hallway.”

He lets out a quiet laugh and follows me inside, shutting the door behind him.

The room is huge by boat standards, with soft cream-colored bedding and wide windows overlooking the water.

I sit at the edge of the bed while Mitch stays standing for a second, running a hand through his hair as if he’s trying to organize his thoughts before speaking.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says. “For helping out with my dad. For helping all of us.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”