20. Definitely Not a Couple
Definitely Not a Couple
Josie
We leave Jib on the boat while we head back to the yacht club for showers and dinner.
The yacht club locker room is gorgeous and mostly empty, despite a group of women in tennis skirts who flounce through, laughing and drinking what I suspect is not water from their monogrammed Stanley cups.
I decide while enjoying the luxuriously wide shower that a group of tennis-playing women should be called a twi?e.
Turns out, I didn’t do a great job of applying my own sunscreen today after the fog burned off.
I’ve got a few places I missed completely on my neck, the backs of my arms, and my shoulders.
They’re red and tender. Otherwise, my skin feels fresh after washing off the salt and sweat.
There’s something about putting on a dress and a little makeup after spending the day on the water that makes me feel like a princess.
It also makes me feel nervous. Like I’m going on a date, not just having dinner with Wyatt the same way I have for the last three weeks.
That thought—plus the fear he might try again to have the conversation I don’t want to have—has me mildly panicking when I reach the yacht club dining room before Wyatt.
I start to sweat when I see the restaurant’s low lighting, with candles and flowers on every table. Not the vibe I want to have tonight.
So when an older couple I met earlier on the docks extends an invitation for us to join them, I’m all too eager to say yes without waiting for Wyatt.
And it’s a good thing because when Wyatt joins us a moment later, wearing khaki pants stretched tight over his muscular thighs and a polo shirt he’s been practically poured into, with shower-damp hair I want to run my fingers through, I know I would have weakened without a buffer.
He looks better than any appetizer could, and even Wanda gives an appreciative hum that makes her husband, Greg, chuckle.
There’s no way Wyatt can broach any big topics now. And though I’m still not sure what he was going to say, I don’t want to know. I can’t. Not today.
Whether it’s about feelings, which is probably not it, or who will take Jib, or even what the end of this trip will mean for the budding friendship I’ve grown really used to—I’m just not ready.
I don’t want to skip to the end.
I want to exist in the now and only the now for as long as possible—please and thank you very much. Even if this is the exact opposite of how I normally live. It’s what I need to survive this boat trip with Wyatt.
“So, where are you two from?” Wanda asks after we’ve given the waitress our drink orders.
Wanda has the kind of long white hair younger women like me can only aspire to one day.
It’s tied in a neat braid hanging over one shoulder with a pink ribbon tied around it.
Somehow, this feminine touch isn’t out of place, though she doesn’t have on a stitch of makeup and her clothes almost exactly match her husband’s—khaki pants, boat shoes, and a collared polo shirt. Hers is green and his is navy.
“I’m from Fredericksburg,” I say, then point to Wyatt. “He’s from Boston.”
“Oh,” she says, sitting back, clearly surprised. “You two aren’t a—”
“Nope,” I say quickly before she can finish. “We’re barely friends.”
That is not the best description or even a mildly accurate one, and I don’t miss the hurt flashing in Wyatt’s eyes. But I can’t apologize and make it better. I can’t tell him the truth— that he’s become much more than even a casual friend.
“Or, rather, we’re new friends,” I amend, wishing I could build a safety barrier that didn’t also include hurting Wyatt’s feelings. “But definitely not a couple.” The chuckle that escapes me sounds less humorous and more like the start of bronchitis.
Any second now, I could stop talking. Probably should stop talking if Wyatt’s expression is any indication.
“How did you end up sailing together?” Wanda asks. “That must be a story.”
Her husband chuckles and reaches over to pat her hand. His cheeks are rosy and his smile wide, giving him the look of a beardless Santa. “Don’t be so nosy.”
“I’m not being nosy. I’m being polite. It’s kind to be curious.”
“‘Kind to be curious,’” I repeat. “I like that.” When Wyatt doesn’t seem inclined to speak, I jump in. “The short story is that Wyatt is a friend of my brother’s and needed someone to go with him on this trip. I was sort of thrown into it.”
So many details are omitted from that explanation. So many gaps and important things glossed over. Hot shame licks at my chest, and I resist the urge to press a hand to my sternum.
“Incorrect,” Wyatt says. “She blackmailed me.”
Wanda gasps. “Blackmail?”
I gape at Wyatt, whose expression has gone from disappointed to distant and now to what I can only describe as dastardly. There’s a spark in his gray eyes. A challenge. And it makes something just as fiery rise in me along with a strange sense of gratitude.
He’s saving me from myself and my stupid mouth. And returning us to the plane of existence where we really shine: the one where we’re sniping at each other with our words. The pinch in my chest turns into warmth.
I scoff. “I did not blackmail you! It was a bargain.”
“You say bargain. I say blackmail.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t a compliment,” I say. “I’ll add that you’re stubborn and infuriating.”
“My, my,” Wanda says, and when I glance over at the other two people at the table I’d momentarily forgotten about, she’s fanning herself with a menu, a knowing smile on her face. “Barely friends, indeed.”
I’m saved by the arrival of the waitress, but I don’t miss Wyatt’s little smirk before he hides it behind his menu.
After we order, the conversation moves to safer topics: our respective travels, our final destinations, and our boats.
I don’t try shoving my whole foot in my mouth again, but Wyatt and I can’t go more than a few minutes without verbally sparring.
We spend a good five minutes arguing about Jib’s wardrobe.
The funniest part? Wyatt’s argument wasn’t about the existence of a full wardrobe but the kinds of clothes I packed. I’m not even sure he realized this, but I’m very much looking forward to pointing it out at just the right time.
As the four of us walk to the marina together after dinner, Wanda and I hang back while Greg and Wyatt have a serious discussion about college basketball. I had no idea Wyatt liked sports other than hockey, much less had such strong opinions about them.
“Can I offer up a word of advice?” Wanda asks, and when I nod, she smiles and bumps me with her shoulder. “Better started than perfect. Better tried than unknown.”
She looks at me expectantly, then laughs at what I’m sure is a very blank expression. Her words sound like AI’s attempt to write a fortune cookie.
“I’m afraid you might need to be more basic,” I tell her. “Say it again, but like I’m five years old?”
She laughs, tucking an arm around me. Greg, hearing the sound, glances back, and she waves, but it’s more like she’s shooing him away.
I try to imagine Wanda and Greg around my age.
She said they met when they were both nineteen, got married just a week after they met, and have been together ever since. It’s kind of adorable.
I lean into her, smelling a soft lemon scent. I’m suddenly very homesick for my mom for the second time this summer. Turns out my parents have been in South Dakota, not South Carolina, and have had spotty reception.
We talked two weeks ago, and I filled them in on what Jacob did—Mom only tsk ed—and then somehow didn’t tell them that I’d stayed on with Wyatt. I’m not sure why, though I strongly suspect both of my parents would have been delighted by this news.
They’ve always loved Wyatt—even after the kitchen incident the first time Jacob brought him home.
Without ever hearing the full story involving Grocery Store Girl, Mom and Dad thought the whole thing was an indication that Wyatt had a crush on me.
They quickly stopped teasing me about it when I threatened to stop coming home, but telling my parents I’m sailing with Wyatt would have been like throwing fresh kindling and some gasoline on the embers of a fire.
So I just...omitted that part of the story.
Easy to do when they wanted to tell me about their trip.
I was relieved when they drove into a dead zone and the phone cut out.
Right now, though, with Wanda’s arm around my shoulders, I wish for five minutes with my mom. I’d confess everything and maybe even ask for advice.
Wanda squeezes my shoulder. “What I mean is, it’s better to try now than to wait until the timing or circumstances feel exactly right. If you wait until things are perfect, you’ll be waiting your whole life. And if you never take the risk, you won’t ever know.”
“Do you mean with Wyatt?”
She laughs again. “Yes, I mean with Wyatt. There’s something brewing there.”
“Brewing like a storm, maybe,” I mutter, kicking at a warped board on the dock. I glance up at the man in question, who towers almost comically over Greg. Not for the first time, I consider how strange it is not to be intimidated by a man Wyatt’s size.
But then...I’ve been touching him, getting sometimes comically close to him since the day I arrived in Kilmarnock. Not once do I remember feeling nervous or uncomfortable, the way I usually do around men. Especially big men. Most especially athletes.
I swallow, my head swimming a little as I consider this. And Wanda’s words. And Wyatt’s attempts to talk earlier.
Nope. Still not ready to think about this.
“Brewing like the very best kind of storm,” Wanda says with a wink.
But I don’t believe her. It’s brewing like a hurricane, gaining strength off the coast, ready to wash away my safe little town.