Chapter 19
Chapter 19
THURSDAY SWUNG AROUND FAR too quickly for my liking, and I found myself strapped into a bright orange life jacket over my warm clothes, waiting on a pier beside Josh’s boat. I felt like the Michelin Tire man’s chubbier sister. It was not a good feeling.
To distract myself from my rising panic, I read the name of the boat: “Knot Working.” Josh loved a pun, that was for certain. I would have chuckled if it didn’t feel like my heart was about to leap out of my mouth with anxiety.
“Here. Let me help you,” Josh said, holding his hand out for me.
I shot him a grateful smile. Stepping aboard Josh’s yacht while clutching onto his hand like it was my only lifeline, my legs began to wobble—much more from fear than anything to do with the gently lapping water.
I tried to take my mind off the fact I was now on a floating death trap by looking around the boat as Josh busied himself with whatever you had to do to get a yacht ready to go. It looked old-fashioned to me in a lived-in, homey way, as though it had been lovingly restored, the wood a beautiful oak color, the trim and folded sails pristine white. I could imagine Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey perched on it, their hair moving in the breeze. I took a deep breath. If famous Hollywood stars could do it, I could too.
An image of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio at the front of the Titanic sprung to mind. Oh, no. The Titanic sunk and nearly everyone died! I swallowed, my mouth drier than the Sahara. What was I doing here?
My eyes darted around the boat until I spotted a cabin down a ladder. I could always stand in there and close my eyes, clutching onto the rail, pretending I was somewhere else—anywhere else—if it all became too much.
To be honest, I had held out a small hope Josh had one of those luxury superyachts you see in magazines sometimes, the ones with famous people lounging on recliners in the sun, sipping martinis. The fact I knew they cost hundreds of millions of dollars should have told me to forget that hope—Ned’s Coffee might be a successful business, but there was no way it was doing that well.
“Paige! Catch!”
I looked up in time to see a dark object hurtling toward me. I put my hands out and a light bag landed in my arms. “A little more notice next time, please,” I snapped.
Josh chuckled, stepping onto the boat himself. “It’s just towels. So, what do you think?”
“It’s . . . lovely.” My belly was so twisted up with anxiety I was finding it hard not to think about my impending demise on board this death trap.
“Thanks. She’s a beauty. Built in nineteen fifty-two, can you believe?”
I looked at him in alarm. “Nineteen fifty-two? Isn’t that a little old?” For some reason, I’d assumed the boat had merely been made to look old, not that it actually was. “I mean, are you sure it’s safe? No holes or anything?”
Josh laughed again. “Holes?” He shook his head. “It’s fine. Just relax, okay? I promise, you’re going to enjoy this once we get moving. I’ve been sailing this boat since I was a kid. You’re in good hands.”
I harrumphed. “Enjoyment” wasn’t exactly at the top of my list this afternoon. Survival? Survival most certainly was. “So, you didn’t name it?”
He smiled. “No, that was my Dad’s idea.”
“I see.” Josh’s whole family had a pun problem, by the sounds of things. They needed family pun-therapy. I would have laughed if I wasn’t feeling so uptight.
“See the cabin? You can take this baby out and sleep in there. We did it a lot as a family when I was a kid, although it was pretty cramped. We didn’t care; it was an awesome adventure.”
“That must have been”—I wanted to say “horrible,” but instead went with—“fun.”
“Oh, it was. That’s how I learned to sail, with my parents and brother. We spent a lot of time on this boat.” He patted the railing as though it were a dog, a whimsical look on his face. “Right, let’s get out there, shall we? It would be a shame to waste this beautiful afternoon.” Josh turned a key, and the engine spluttered and coughed as it started up.
This was not a good sign. I sat down on one of the cushioned seats at the front of the boat—the hull?— and clasped my hands nervously.
“She always takes a while to warm up,” Josh explained.
“Okay . . .” Not okay! This thing should work perfectly every time! “I thought when you went yachting you used the sail?”
“Yes, we’ll do that once we’re out of the mooring. For now, you get to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.” He winked at me. Was he meaning he was the show? He did look good in his cap and shades, although the lifejacket kind of ruined any yachting fashion statement he may have been aiming for.
“Relax. Sure.” I knew that wasn’t going to happen until we were back on dry land. At least the thing had a motor, in case we got stuck out there. I tried to push the thought of being stranded at sea for days on end from my mind. What was that movie, with Tom Hanks in it, the one where he got stranded on a desert island for years? I knew we were only going for an afternoon’s sail around the Hauraki Gulf, but it could happen.
The engine now running smoothly, Josh turned the wheel and drove—is that what you do with a yacht?—away from the pier and out onto the open water. To distract myself, I concentrated on the masts of all the neighboring yachts, listening to the clinking sound they made in the gentle breeze. After a while, we powered away from them—and dry, safe land—and out into the harbor.
“Isn’t it fantastic out here? Wait until I turn the engine off. You’ll see just how serene it is, like the city is on mute or something.”
I looked longingly back at Auckland, holding onto the railing for dear, sweet life. What I wouldn’t do to be in the thick of the noisy city right now.
“It’s going to take us about fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe longer with the lack of wind, to get out past North Head, over there,” Josh said, pointing at the entrance to the harbor.
Anxiety slammed into me. “You mean, we’re leaving the harbor?” I gawped at him. I hadn’t signed up to open-water yachting, with all those sharks and killer whales and colossal squids out there.
“Of course. What did you think we were going to do? We’ll wait until we’re a little further out, then we’ll put the sail up.” He smiled at me, adding, “It’ll be all right, Paige. Don’t worry.”
I nodded and forced a smile, reminding myself I was doing this so I wouldn’t make a total idiot of myself in front of Roger and the Nettco marketing team next week. In a roundabout kind of way, this was helping me get back to my career. Although, suddenly, that didn’t seem quite so important to me now as staying alive.
I checked the clasps on my lifejacket, tightening them so my boobs were squished uncomfortably against my ribcage—a small price to pay for survival in my eyes. After we’d been chugging along out of the marina and into the harbor for a while, with Josh rabbiting on about winching, tacking, jibbing, and other things I never wanted to know about, I began to feel more comfortable. The sun was shining, the breeze was light and refreshing, and the water sparkled around us. Every time we passed another boat, Josh would wave and they would wave back. I leaned back in my seat, unclasping my hand from the railing for the first time since I’d boarded the yacht. I began to feel I could do this. Today, maybe, I wasn’t going to die.
And then “it” happened. Looking back, I don’t even know quite how. With Josh steering, the motor propelling us through the calm waters, the boat flat and firm, I decided to chance it and stand up. Josh shot me an encouraging smile as I walked around the back of the boat—I knew that was not what it was called, but I didn’t care—resisting the urge to clutch onto the railing. Even though I had enough adrenaline pumping around my body to power an East German weightlifter in the seventies, I had my pride and wanted to at least look confident in front of Josh—even if I wasn’t feeling it all that much.
I shimmied around the side, heading to the front of the boat, keeping my butt in close contact with the cabin with every side step. I knew there was room to walk like an actual human being, but there was no way I was ready for that just yet with the moving water only a handful of feet away. I reached the front of the boat, holding onto the railing with white-knuckled hands. I could almost hear Celine Dion, telling everyone her heart will go on once Leo DiCaprio was dead and gone.
I swallowed, trying not to think about his fate when Josh called out, “Can you see the dolphins?”
Other sea creatures may have scared the living bejesus out of me, but dolphins were different. Perhaps it was growing up watching them on TV, the almost human laughing sound they made, or the fact they seemed so friendly. I scanned the water, but no sign. “Where?”
“Alongside the boat, port side.”
“You’ll have to use regular person’s language, Josh.”
“On the left.”
Holding the railing, I did my best crab impression, sidestepping around to the left of the boat. Dolphins swimming alongside the boat seemed such a romantic notion, I was determined to see them. With my legs pressed up against the wire of the railing for support, I peered down to look for Flipper and his buddies, but still no sign. “I can’t see them.”
“They’re still there. There’s three of them. They’re incredible.”
My confidence up—this wasn’t so bad, after all—I leaned over to take a better look at this trio of incredible dolphins. Before I knew what was happening, I lost my footing and must have gone head first into the harbor as the next thing I knew, I was under the water, the only sound the dull drone of the boat motor fading. The shock of the cold hit me like a massive body punch. Almost immediately, I bobbed back up to the surface, my life jacket doing its job. Although I must have only been under for a matter of seconds, I gasped for air, gulping it in greedily as I flailed my arms and legs, struggling to find something to grab onto.
Realizing there was nothing to grab a hold of—I was bobbing about in the harbor, after all—I looked around in a panic until I spotted Josh’s yacht, moving steadily away from me. In a total panic, I called out, remembering how Kate Winslet’s voice had failed her when the Titanic went down. Did I have a whistle? “Josh! Josh! Help!”
I watched as the yacht turned in a wide circle, hoping Josh had seen me fall and was heading back to save me. I flailed my hands around so he could spot me, still yelling at the top of my lungs. There was no sign of Flipper and his cronies, and, if Flipper was out here, he was definitely not interested in rescuing me. So much for those kids’ movies I used to love.
After what felt like an hour of waving my arms and trying not to think of shark attacks, Josh pulled the boat up near me and yelled, “Here!” as he threw me a life ring. I clutched onto it, taking in a mouthful of salty water.
“Paige! What happened?” Josh asked as he hauled me out of the water and onto the boat where I sat, barely believing what had just happened to me.
“I . . . I don’t know.” My teeth began to chatter, my whole body shaking.
“We need to get you out of those wet clothes. Here.” He took me by the arm and hauled me up, helping me down the ladder into the cabin like I was an old lady.
He unhooked my lifejacket and helped me slip it off each arm, dropping it on the floor. Then, he pulled my shoes and socks off. All the while I sat there, my teeth chattering so hard I wondered if I’d need dental work, my breathing short and sharp as I imagined myself still in the water.
“Paige? Paige, look at me,” I heard Josh say through a thick fog.
I looked at him, watching his lips as I heard his voice, somewhere in the distance, saying, “You’ve had a shock, and we need to warm you up.”
I nodded my head, licking my salty lips. Warming up sounded good to me.
“Lift your arms.”
I did as instructed. Josh pulled my sweater and T-shirt up over my head. Wearing nothing but my bra, I watched as he pulled a towel from the bag he’d chucked at me by the pier and wrapped it around me, rubbing my arms. “Here, this will help.”
“Th . . . thank y-you.”
“We need to get these wet jeans off.” He reached under the towel and unzipped my jeans. “Lift your hips.”
With shaking arms, I pushed my butt up off the padded bench, and Josh pulled my heavy, wet jeans down my legs. It took him several attempts, the jeans so stiff and heavy with salty water. My legs were shaking almost uncontrollably, and I watched dumbly as Josh got another towel and rubbed my legs down before wrapping me up in it.
He got up and walked away from me, over to the tiny kitchenette, returning a moment later with a flask of something and a metal cup. “Here, this’ll help with the shock. Head back, down in one.”
He held the small metal cup to my trembling lips. I took it from him and threw my head back, the liquid slipping down my throat, warming me up immediately. I let out a cough, my throat burning. “What is that?” I croaked.
“Brandy. Consider me your own, personal Saint Bernard.”
I looked into his smiling eyes, half thinking of him as an oversized, fluffy dog with a miniature barrel of brandy tied around his neck.
“I could have died,” I croaked. Tears welled in my eyes, making them sting. I blinked them away, the brandy beginning to do its job.
He pushed my wet hair away from my face. The action was so tender, so unexpected, I lost the tear battle and they began to roll down my face, big, fat, and hot.
“You had your lifejacket on, and I got back to you in time,” he said, crouching down next to me, his hand on my thigh.
There was something in his look that made me feel so safe. Maybe it was the fact I’d thought I was going to die, or maybe it was just Josh. In an instant, everything I’d been holding in for all this time came flooding out: Marcus and his confusing messages, losing my job, not being honest with Dad, pretending I was still working at AGD.
Josh sat next to me, listening and nodding along, shooting me understanding looks. I told him about Portia, about how I’d completely ignored my gut, screaming at me not to take the job at Nettco. I told him about how I’d chosen to listen to my head instead, trying to do what I ought.
“I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Well, not particularly hard in my final months at AGD, but up until that point.” I smiled, the brandy warming my belly, the shaking finally abating.
“Can I say something?” he asked, scrunching up his nose.
“Why not? I’ve told you pretty much every secret I’ve ever had.”
“All of it means nothing unless you’re happy. Believe me, I know.”
“Is that why you left that big company to roast beans, because you weren’t happy?”
“Yeah, it was. Something happened, something big, and I realized life was too short. I know it’s a total cliché, but it’s true. I wasn’t happy. So, I left, and I made sure I got happy.”
“But I’ve said I’ll take the job.”
“Have you signed a contract?”
I thought of the white envelope sitting on my nightstand. I hadn’t even read through it, let alone signed it. Shouldn’t that have told me something? I shook my head.
“Well, then you’ve got an out, haven’t you?”
I nodded, the thought of not working as an Email Marketing Assistant with loop-de-loop Roger Rabbit warming my belly.
“As for your dad? I only met him once, but I think I know the type of man he is. I bet he could handle the truth.”
Jack Nicholson’s famous line in that movie, “You can’t handle the truth!” sprang to mind. Could Dad handle the truth? Would knowing I’d been pushed out of my team for, let’s face it, doing a lousy job for a long, long time, affect the way he saw his daughter? The daughter he was always so impressed with, the daughter he helped put through college, who he had always supported, had always wanted to succeed? The warmth gone, my belly tied into a knot. “I guess.”
“Hey, why don’t you talk to Bailey?”
“About what?”
“Just talk to her, okay?”
I shrugged, at a total loss as to what I was meant to talk to her about. Staying on as a waitress? That was a darn sight more appealing than going back to email marketing, even if it paid beans and wasn’t exactly a career in my eyes. “Sure. I will.”
“Okay, next topic. This guy you’re dating. It sounds pretty complicated. Can’t you just walk away?”
My eyes bulged, aghast. “No! It has to work.”
“Why? Why is it so important it works out with him?”
I looked across at him in exasperation. Why was he playing dumb? He knew exactly why. “Because he’s my Last First Date, that’s why.”
His face creased into a smile. “Your what?”
“My Last First Date.” Geez, make me spell it out, why don’t you?
“Isn’t that a song by that boy band, you know, the British one that broke up?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “That’s my ‘One Last First Kiss .’”
“Oh, big difference.” He chuckled. “It still doesn’t explain what you’re talking about.”
I crossed my arms. He might have just saved my life, but he was beginning to get on my nerves. “You know, so cut it out.”
He shook his head. “Cut what out? Paige, you’re not making any sense.”
“We took a pact, my friends and me, that we would each get One Last First Date, meaning we would marry the next guy we dated, only I thought I’d gone on a date with Will, but he was in love with Cassie all along, so we reset the pact and I got back to zero, even though I decided I didn’t want to go out with anyone , and then I went on my One Last First Date with Marcus’ and now I’m not sure what’s going on, and it was meant to be you all along, but it’s not: you’re Josh. And . . . and you’re Josh , you know?” I buried my wet head in my hands, knowing I’d babbled on. The brandy must have gone to my head.
Josh put his hands up in the stop sign. “Whoa! That’s a lot of information.”
“I know.” My voice was muffled in my hands.
“I’m meant to be this last date of yours?”
I looked up at him and nodded from my bent over position.
“Why?”
“Because you are. Because Bailey and Marissa chose you for me, as you well know, only I went out with Marcus, so it has to work with him.”
Josh’s eyes were huge. “They chose me for you?”
“You know all this.” I’d just had a near-death experience, couldn’t the guy let up with this playing dumb?
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
I sat up straight. “You do. Why else would you be doing this for me? Helping me train for The Color Run, taking me yachting, being so nice to me?”
He blinked at me. “Maybe because I like you?”
I swallowed, the atmosphere in the cabin suddenly changing. “You do?”
His face creased into a smile. “Yeah, I do.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. Against my will, my eyes slid down his face and landed on his lips. They were moist and slightly parted. And they were nice lips. I could almost feel them touching mine. Immediately, I looked away, choosing to study my hands in my lap instead, a much safer option.
“Even though, I need to say, I’m having some serious second thoughts right now.” He laughed, his eyes dancing with playfulness.
I laughed along with him for a moment, until we both fell silent, the waves slapping against the sides of the boat the only sound.
“Shall we go back to the pier and get you into some dry clothes? I assume you don’t want to do any actual yachting now.”
Suddenly aware I was sitting in not much more than a couple of towels, alone with a man who had just told me he liked me (liked or liked , I wondered?), I shifted in my seat, tightening the towel around my chest. “That would be great.”
“Okay. Good.” Josh stood up and started to rearrange things in the hull.
“Hey, Josh?”
He looked over at me, a towel in his hand. “Yup?”
“Thanks for . . . everything.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll flick the engine back on to take us back in. You just sit there and . . . dry out.”
I opened my mouth to respond but he had already started climbing the steps back up to the deck. After only a short moment, Josh called out to me from the deck. “Paige? Can I get you up here to help out?”
“Up in a second.” I slipped on my lifejacket—there was no freakin’ way I was going up there without it after what had happened—tightened my towel around me, and climbed the steps.
Josh asked me to help him dock the boat, which we did together, in silence but for his clipped instructions. Once we’d collected our things and Josh had secured his yacht in its mooring, we walked along the pier together, my wet clothes in a bag, slung over my shoulder.
We reached my car, and I threw my wet clothes in the trunk. I turned to Josh and smiled at him, ignoring the strange feeling spreading across my chest. “Thanks a lot for taking me out there today.”
He returned my smile. “My pleasure. Not that we got to do any actual yachting.”
“No.” I shuddered as I recalled how it felt to be in the water. “See you for my final run before the big one on Saturday?”
He grinned at me. “Sure. Same bat time—”
“Same bat channel,” I finished for him.
He nodded and began to walk away. I turned and opened my door, exhausted, and more than happy to be heading home.
“Hey, Paige?”
I looked over at Josh, standing in the parking lot. “For the record, if you’d asked me on that Last First Date of yours, I’d have definitely gone.”
I looked over at him, that strange feeling in my chest intensifying. “Thanks,” I replied, but he’d already turned and walked away.