Chapter 55
The Second Departure
They left the marina under a sky bruised purple at the edges.
No sunset this time. The sun had already gone, leaving only a line of ember light low on the horizon. The water took the yacht in slow black folds, and the city behind them became a scatter of gold points trembling in the wake.
Marissa stood at the rail with her coat open now.
The green dress moved against the wind.
Nathan stood beside her rather than behind her. That mattered. He could feel the difference in the angle of his body, in the way his gaze went from water to wife to captain and back again without shamefully pretending not to look.
Dane guided them out past the breakwater, one hand on the wheel, eyes forward. He had not commented on the dress. He had not needed to. His restraint gave the silence a pulse.
"He saw," Marissa murmured.
Nathan kept his eyes on the water.
"Yes."
"Are you all right?"
He almost gave the automatic answer.
Then he remembered the notebook.
"I felt it," he said.
"Felt what?"
"The way he noticed you. The way you noticed him noticing."
Her breath warmed in the cold air.
"And?"
Nathan looked at her.
The marina lights behind them made her eyes dark and reflective. She looked nervous and luminous, a woman stepping carefully into her own power because she was not yet sure it would be welcomed home.
"And I wanted to look too."
Her lips parted.
Before she could answer, Dane's voice carried from the helm.
"Blanket's for both of you. The wind turns colder once we clear the point."
Marissa glanced back.
"Thank you."
Dane nodded without turning.
Nathan took the blanket and unfolded it. Instead of draping it over Marissa alone, he wrapped it around both their shoulders. The gesture drew them together, hip to hip, the wool rough outside, warmth beginning beneath.
Marissa leaned into him.
"This feels almost wholesome," she said.
"Dangerously wholesome."
"A scandalous blanket."
He smiled.
The laughter helped. It let the pressure breathe. Desire did not vanish when they laughed; it became more bearable, more human.
For several minutes they watched the coast slide away.
Dane reduced speed once they reached open water.
The yacht shifted from departure to glide.
Nathan had learned enough from the first trip to recognize the captain's quiet efficiency: the checks, the touch to a gauge, the glance at the GPS, the way his body knew the vessel the way another man might know a lover's breathing.
Marissa noticed too.
"He's different out here," she said.
"Different how?"
"Less like he's performing. More like this is where he stops having to."
Nathan watched Dane adjust the heading.
"You like that."
Marissa turned her face toward him quickly.
He shook his head before she could apologize.
"I am not accusing you. I'm noticing."
The relief in her eyes hurt him.
"Yes," she said. "I like it. Competence is..."
"Annoyingly attractive?"
"Very annoyingly."
Nathan exhaled through a laugh, then felt the jealousy arrive, not as a blow this time but as heat.
"I like watching you admit that."
Marissa stared at him.
"Nathan."
His name sounded different in her mouth now. Not warning. Discovery.
He held her gaze.
"I don't know what to do with that yet," he admitted. "But I like it."
The yacht cut through the dark water. Wind pressed the blanket around them. Somewhere ahead, cliffs waited. Somewhere beyond those cliffs, perhaps the same hidden cove, perhaps another place Dane had not yet named.
The captain stepped away from the helm briefly, letting the autopilot hold their course. He came down to the deck carrying three cups instead of champagne flutes.
"Coffee," he said. "Too cold for bubbles."
Marissa accepted hers with both hands.
"You are ruining the fantasy with practical hospitality."
Dane's eyes moved over her face, then down just far enough to acknowledge the green dress before returning respectfully to her eyes.
"The best fantasies survive coffee," he said.
Nathan took his cup.
"Is that another captain rule?"
"Experience."
The three of them stood beneath the moving night, coffee steaming, the blanket around Nathan and Marissa like a shared secret.
The shore receded until it became only evidence that another life existed somewhere behind them.
Nathan drank, felt the warmth hit his chest, and knew they had departed twice.
Once from the marina.
Once from pretending they could go back unchanged.