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“Mm-hmm,” I hummed tightly. “It’s just a ferry,” I replied, as if the statement were an affirmation.
His mouth twitched in amusement, and, like the smart man he was, he held back his comment. The attendant waved him forward, and he followed the line of cars. By the time he parked, my hands were sweating. There was no turning back.
“Let’s go before all the seats with the best views are taken,” he said, tugging his beanie down against the cold and adjusting his sunglasses. He left the truck before I could unclip my seat belt, opened my door, and waited patiently for me to step out. The icy wind brought slight relief, and for a second I thought I’d make it without embarrassing myself, but then the ferry hummed beneath my feet, signaling its departure. Hart steadied his hand against my waist and led me inside. The higher we climbed, the more noticeable the movement became, and my stomach felt like it was lagging a half-second behind.
By the time we reached the seating area, I was fully aware of the sway and the slight dip of the vessel. Hart did, in fact, find a seat with one of the best views. I sank into the seat with a slow exhale, trying to get ahead of my seasickness before it consumed me. Hart sat beside me, and his arm came around my shoulders, pulling me into him without hesitation. I leaned into him, pressed my lips together, and breathed carefully through my nose.
“Hey,” he said gently.
I made a small sound in response, because opening my mouth seemed risky.
His hand slid up, and his thumb brushed slow, grounding strokes against my arm.
“I wouldn’t have ever guessed you’d be the type to get seasick. I guess I shouldn’t make any future cruise plans.”
“I’m immune to yachts,” I groaned.
He chuckled. “Of course you are. Stay here.”
He disappeared before I could say anything else, then returned almost immediately with a cold bottle of water and pressed it to the back of my neck. I hummed appreciatively and accepted the bottle from him. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and crouched before me.
“Please don’t tell me you’re proposing,” I murmured, half-joking.
Hart smirked and opened his wallet, retrieving a small patch. “I figured we’d skip straight to the “in sickness” part.”
I sighed. “You’re an ass.”
“Hopefully, this makes up for it,” he said. “Turn your head.”
I turned my head without question, and his fingers brushed just behind my ear as he pressed the patch in place.
“There.”
For a second, neither of us moved as his hand lingered at my neck. Eventually, he pulled away and cleared his throat.
Probably because I’m looking at him like I’m ready to take his last name.
He stood and shoved his wallet into his pocket. “I brought patches… just in case. It won’t fix your seasickness right now, but you’ll thank me on the way back.”
“Thank you, Sweet Hart,” I said softly.
He nodded.
“No problem, Sugar,” he said, taking the seat beside me. He pulled me in again—closer that time—and my head ended up tucked against his chest. I let my eyes close and focused on the slow rise and fall of Hart’s chest instead of the shifting world around us.
“You should’ve told me when I asked,” Hart said quietly.
I sighed. “What was I supposed to tell you? That I’m a weenie?”
Hart snorted. “You’re not a weenie. You’re the least weeniest person I know. But…” he said, tone softening. “You don’t have to be hard all the time… not with me.”
His gaze dropped to mine, softening under his earnest words. For a moment, something in my chest tightened — something warm and grateful. I settled back against him and tried not to think about how easily this was starting to feel like something more than it was ever supposed to be.
Yeah… I think I might love this man.
Vineyard Vibes
Hart
