Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Josie
I’m working inside the restaurant, waiting for the bartender to give me the Hildebrand sisters’ drinks, when Ian slides up next to me.
“Hi.” I flush with pleasure that he’s sought me out again.
We definitely had a moment out on the dock the other day, and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
For a second, I thought about leaning over and kissing him.
I can’t believe he’s going to Stanford this fall, while I’ll be at Berkeley.
My friends are scattering all over the country, and I’ll bet most of his classmates are going to end up at East Coast Ivies.
What are the chances that he and I would meet right before we’re supposed to go away to college—a situation that would normally be completely doomed—except it turns out our colleges will only be an hour apart?
“Sorry to bother you while you’re working.
” Ian glances around nervously like he’s looking out for my boss, and I want to laugh.
He’s Christopher Langley’s son. He can talk to me whenever he wants.
But one of the things I like about him is that he doesn’t seem to have that sense of entitlement like the guys out on the patio making messes that the servers have to clean up.
“It’s okay,” I say. “The lunch rush is over. I’m just waiting to deliver these drinks. I can talk for a minute.”
Ian shoves his hands into the pockets of his sailing uniform and looks down at his sneakers.
“I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out sometime.” His lips curve upward.
“I mean sometime when you’re not on your fifteen-minute break.
That way…” His gaze rises to meet mine. “…when I’m about to kiss you, we won’t be interrupted by your timeclock. ”
My pulse stutters. He was going to kiss me out there on the dock.
“I would love that,” I say as calmly as I can.
“Which part?”
“The part where you want to hang out.” I tilt my head. “And the part where you want to kiss me.”
A grin slowly spreads across his face. “What time are you done working?”
I glance at the clock on the computer. “I’m finishing up the lunch shift, so I’ll be done in about an hour.”
“How do you feel about boats? Specifically sailboats?” he asks. “Can I take you out on the water?”
Growing up on Sandy Harbor Island, I’ve been out on a few boats on the bay—a speedboat that belonged to my mom’s friend, a birthday party on a pontoon boat. But sailing was never an interest of mine. My gaze slides over Ian’s slightly windblown hair. Until now.
As soon as my shift is over, I change out of my uniform and into the T-shirt and shorts that I wore to work this morning.
I told Ian I’d be outside in about an hour, but the Hildebrand sisters took forever to pay their bill, so I don’t even have time to put on my jewelry or check my hair and lipstick in the break-room mirror.
The sea breeze hits me as soon as I step outside, whipping my hair in all directions, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
And Ian has never seen me in anything other than my horrible server uniform, so my denim shorts and green tank top have got to be an improvement.
He shows his appreciation as soon as I run down the dock toward him, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “You look great in that color. It matches your eyes,” he says, and in that moment, I know it’s just a matter of time before he kisses me.
A gust of wind blows in, and Ian turns to grab a rope attached to a sailboat anchored on the dock.
I step back to take in the shiny blue paneling on the sides and small cutout in the center where I assume Ian and I will sit.
The mast looms overhead, probably twenty feet or more, and the sail is neatly tied to the boom.
“Is this what you use in your sailing competitions?” I ask.
“No, we use the club’s 420s, and they’re a little smaller than this.” He waves a hand at the sailboat in front of us. “This is called a Flying Scot. I thought it would be more comfortable for you.”
I take a closer look. Though it’s not a yacht by any means, it’s obviously an expensive boat, and well-maintained. “Your parents don’t mind us taking it?”
Ian’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink. “No. It’s… uh.” He looks down at his feet. “It’s mine.”
“This is your boat?”
Ian has his own boat. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been working at the sailing club for long enough to see how truly wealthy the people are. But dating someone with that sort of money is a whole different experience than what I’m used to.
“It was a gift.” He waves his hand like he thinks it’s silly. “My dad likes to show off a little and remind me what I can have if I go into business with him.”
“And you named your boat The Flying Scot?” I ask.
“No, that’s the type of sailboat.”
“But you do name them, right?” Next to us is a boat with the words Felicity’s Fury painted on the back in blue cursive. “I assume Felicity is probably the owner’s wife, and she was mad that he bought a boat?”
Ian laughs. “Most likely.”
“So, what is this one called?”
Ian’s cheeks turn a slightly brighter shade of pink. “You know, I’m really trying to downplay my family’s wealth, and you’re not making it easy.”
“It was too late for that when you invited me on your boat, Rich Boy.” I give him a playful shove on the shoulder. “Out with it.”
He sighs. “Just to be clear, my dad named it. It’s called Liquid Asset.”
I snort. “That’s very… punny.”
“Puns are popular.”
“Well, yacht-a know,” I say.
He grins. “We have a catamaran that I wanted to name Grumpy Cat, but my dad wouldn’t go for it.”
I shake my head slowly. “It’s a shame. You could have gotten two and named the other one Sloop Dogg.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re about to convince me to work in the family business just so I can own a sailboat named Sloop Dogg. My dad would love you.”
I picture Christopher’s gaze following me across the dining room, and the huge tips scrawled on his bills. I hope Ian’s dad likes me and wants me to be with his son because my feelings for Ian are growing stronger every day.
“Okay,” Ian says when we finally get our laughter under control. “Are you ready?”
He hands me a red life preserver, and I slip my arms in.
As I zip it up, he reaches over to help me tighten it, gently tugging me closer to him as he pulls the straps firmly around my waist. He’s looking down at the device, but if he lifted his head, his mouth would be inches from mine.
I take a shaky breath in as he steps back to secure his own life preserver.
He holds out a hand to help me into the sailboat, and then climbs in beside me. I sit on a shallow rectangular bench carved into the boat deck, while Ian reaches over to untie the rope from the dock and then gently pushes us out into the water.
Once we’re bobbing a few feet from the dock, he unties the sails and raises them on the mast. A breeze blows in, and the sailboat glides out into the bay.
“Can I help?” I ask.
Ian nods toward a thin wooden board that bisects the deck from where I’m sitting to the other end of the boat. “That’s called the tiller. You can use it to steer. Just pull it in whatever direction you want to go.”
I look out across the bay. To my left I see rows of houses lined up on the mainland. To my right, the open sea. “What am I aiming for?” I ask.
“This is your ride, you get to decide.”
I pull the tiller so the boat gently banks to the right, and we glide toward the open water.
“Good choice,” Ian says with a grin. We ride in silence for a while, as the land slowly drifts farther away.
I look up through the crosshatch of ropes and sails at the perfect blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, and I know I’ll try to recreate the beauty of it all in my sketchpad later.
I feel Ian drop down on the seat beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“What are you going to use to draw it?” he asks.
I look up in surprise. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?” I ask.
“With talent like yours, I assume that’s always what you’re thinking.”
“Oil pastels,” I say. “Cerulean, to capture the color of the water, and the sky.” I turn to look at him, his face only inches from mine. And his eyes.
Those eyes seem to darken. “I can’t wait to see whatever you come up with,” he murmurs, his face drawing closer. “I seem to have turned into a real Josie Sullivan fan.”
“It’s funny,” I say, trying to keep my voice light over my heart sliding into my throat. “I seem to be especially inspired by something lately.” I pause and then whisper, “Or someone…”
He closes the distance between us, snaking his arm around my back and slanting his mouth across mine.
It’s gentle at first, and then he pulls away, his eyes questioning if I’m okay with this.
I respond by grabbing a handful of his T-shirt and pulling him against me.
Our lips collide, mouths opening and tongues entangling.
He smells like summer—the faint hint of coconut sunscreen and warm scent of sunshine—and I can taste the sea spray on his lips.
The fiberglass seat digs into my shoulder, and he shifts his weight to pull me onto his lap.
His mouth explores my jaw, my neck, the sensitive spot behind my ear, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I’ve kissed boys before, but never like this.
My whole body feels consumed by Ian, and even though I’m pressed against his hard chest, and his arms are wrapped around my back, I feel like I can’t get close enough.
A gust of warm wind blows in, and the sailboat bobs. Ian pulls away from me with a strained laugh. “Damn. I’m supposed to be keeping a hand on the main sheet.” He makes a grab for the rope.
I give him a satisfied smile. “Sorry to distract you.”
“I’m not.” With one hand solidly holding the sail, he runs the other across my cheek. “Believe me, I don’t want to stop.” His face stretches into a wide grin. “But we have all the time in the world to continue this on solid ground.”