Because despite what we’d both agreed to, tonight hadn’t felt like we were acting. Not in the slightest.


    Faye


    I wake up to birds chirping and sunlight streaming in through the window, to a faint headache and the scent of coffee. Where am I?


    I roll over in the massive bed as full consciousness hits me, and with it the memory ofst night. Of Henry’s family, me confronting his father, his amazing sisters and brothers. Holding hands as we walked along the beach. Me and my loose tongue, feeling morefortable around Henry than I ever had before. We spoke about past rtionships and I told him about Aiden.


    We kissed right outside this bedroom door.


    I asked him to be reckless with me.


    And he said no.


    I turn over in bed again and stare up at the ceiling. He was being rational. Nothing good woulde out of sleeping together, regardless of how good it would feel. And while yesterday had felt natural, it wasn’t; it was me fulfilling my end of the bargain.


    From the sounds outside my bedroom door, he’s already up, doubtlessly already hard at work. I allow five more seconds of feeling sorry for myself before I jump into the shower and get dressed.


    There’s a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me on the kitchen table when I get out, and an opened bag of bagels. Henry is already typing away at hisptop, hair wet from his own shower.


    “Morning,” he tells me. “Sleep well?”


    “I did, yes.”


    “Help yourself.” He nods at the food. “You’ll need your energy today.”


    “I will?”


    “Yes. We’re working for a few hours, and after that we’re going sailing.”


    I sit down opposite him and reach for the coffee cup. “You were serious about that?”


    “Dead serious, Faye.” His green eyes look solemn, but there’s humor there, too. “I hope you packed a swimsuit.”


    I did, but the idea of stripping down around him… I take another pull of coffee and wince at the strength. He brewed it dark.


    Henry cocks his head. “Are you game?”


    “Yes, of course I am. Show me the ropes.”


    “Oh, I will. You’ll be a sailor when we’re done.”


    I walk around him to see what he’s working on. It’s the opera house, and he rotates the models, letting me see the changes. “I added the beams here that you suggested.”


    “Wow.” It’s apletely different entryway now. I sit down next to him, absently tearing off a piece of bagel. “That looks great.”


    “It does, doesn’t it. Here, why don’t you open yours…”


    I log on to the same project on myputer, and we spend the rest of the morning side by side, designing an opera house for the ages.


    It’s early afternoon when we finally pack up our things and head out to sail. The drive to the marina is calm, the radio ying an old Fleetwood Mac song. Henry’s tapping along to the beat of the song and I steal a sideways nce at him.


    I’d been intrigued and attracted to the man he was in the office-an efficient hardass. Now, seeing him rxed in his element, I’m dangerously close to another feeling entirely.


    He shoots me a sideways look. “You’ve been quiet this morning. You’re not thinking aboutst night, are you?”


    “No.”


    His lips twitch, like he knows I’m lying, but he doesn’tment. He pulls into a small parking lot and guides me through a set of trees in silence. The ocean glitters through the leaves and then we’re there, at a beautiful natural harbor with boats bobbing on soft waves. It looks heavenly.


    “Come on,” he says. “Our boat is over here.”


    At the end of the dock, I stop in my tracks. “This thing?”


    “Yes.” He tosses our bag with snacks and water onboard and begins untying ropes with quick, steady hands. He pauses when he realizes I’ve stopped.


    “Something wrong?”


    “This boat is massive.”


    His eyes light up. “No, it’s not. It’s mid-sized. Don’t worry, we’ll mostly use the motor, not the sails. We can handle it with two people.”


    “But I don’t know how to. I’ll be in your way.”


    “No chance. I have faith in you.”


    I want to say that I don’t-I don’t know how to tie a single knot-but I don’t want to sound weak.


    “Don’t worry,” he says, eying my expression. “You’re sailing with the winner of the Paradise Shores Junior Sailing Regatta. You’re in good hands.”


    Iugh, the tension broken, and climb onto the boat. It’s solid under my feet, rocking rhythmically with the waves. “All right,” I say. “Tell me what to do.”


    He’s a good teacher. I’m given instructions, clearly exined, to turn the key in the ignition. To turn the handle toward the starboard side-“your left, Faye, your left”-and then we’re moving.


    He ties up thest of the dock lines andes to stand next to me at the helm.


    “Go to the bow,” he tells me. “Help guide me out of the harbor.”


    “Okay. What do I look out for?”


    “We need to stay between the red buoys. They’re clearly marked.”


    The bow of the boat quickly bes my favorite spot. I watch as we cleave the glittering nket of water in two and feel the spray of seawater.


    Henry barely needs my instructions-he steers us out of the harbor on memory-but I give them regardless. And then we’re cruising along the coast, with little coves and rocks and windswept trees.Exclusive content ? by N?(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.


    I close my eyes and lean back. The sun is warm on my skin and the smell of ocean is all around me. Why have I never done this before?


    “Enjoying yourself?”