Chapter 10
Lo
My eyes get lost in the whorls, tracing Aidan’s toned arms. Celtic knotwork envelops the sinewy muscle, a bold black-and-white take on a traditional motif.
Something without beginning or end. It’s especially jarring to see what he’s added to his tattoo sleeve, tucked into his inner biceps: a pair of gleaming scissors hovers above the intact string.
So realistic that I’m almost convinced it would cut me if I reached out to touch it.
A threat to sever something meant to be eternal.
The art is beautiful, but so jaded. I wear cynicism like couture, but it doesn’t suit Aidan. He was an idealist when we met.
What am I supposed to make of that? Is it about us? No. Of course it isn’t. I’d be even more of a fool to think I’d made that kind of impression on him.
I’d been overwhelmed by a tsunami of memories when I noticed the diving tower.
Aidan’s hand in mine as we climbed the slippery steps and thundered down the diving platform.
Momentary weightlessness before plummeting into the frigid water.
His laugh as I shrieked. How he’d rubbed my arms to warm me up after we were back ashore.
Then he’d slipped his fingers into my bikini bottoms. Aidan’s touch was always irresistible, no matter where we were.
His wide palm had clamped over my mouth to quiet my cries as I came undone there on the beach.
I can practically feel those talented hands on me now…
see a glimpse of the man I used to know.
The soft nostalgia in Aidan’s expression becomes something hotter. It’s like he can sniff out my every hormonal thought. But then his face morphs from seduction to surprise as the captain pushes him out of the way and tugs on the sail.
“I said turn it!” the captain shouts.
I snap back into the moment.
“What do I do?” I say, embarrassed that I’d zoned out thanks to a little mental trip to my spank bank. Lark and Callum look alarmed; he’s holding on to her like he’s bracing for impact.
“Son of a b—” the captain mutters while Anvi yells, “Hold on!”
The sailboat lurches to a stop, flinging me forward until Aidan’s arm hooks around me. I make an inelegant oof sound and our life jackets chafe together. He steadies us by gripping the rope.
Lark spits out a mouthful of blonde hair. “Y’all okay?”
Callum has her in his arms.
Aidan’s arm remains protectively around me and I feel my pulse race. Our bare legs touch. Did he really need to wear those shorts?
“What happened?” he asks.
Admit that we crashed into a sandbar because I thought he might’ve gotten a tattoo inspired by me? I’d rather dive into chummed waters.
“Is anyone hurt?” Rory asks, adjusting their grip on a rope.
We glance at one another, confirming the group is rattled but unscathed.
“We’ve run aground!” The captain wags his finger at me.
I crashed the boat thanks to Aidan distracting me with his indecent exposure. Huffing in embarrassment, I extract myself from his very warm, very toned arms.
“Did you not hear me holler to move the tiller!” the captain shouts at me.
Oh, I cannot wait to eviscerate this business on Yelp.
Aidan steps forward. “Hey. It was an accident.”
The captain scowls, but the rest of the group stares him down.
“If this area’s that treacherous,” Aidan continues, “you shouldn’t have let her sail. Considering you neglected to give her any direction until a sudden turn was the difference between crashing or not.”
Him coming to my defense is perhaps sexier than his arms. Jesus, I’ve just ruined my cousin’s bachelorette party and I still can’t stop thinking about Aidan’s biceps.
“Lark, I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.”
Lark looks out over the side of the marooned sailboat. “Don’t worry about it. We’re all safe.”
I stride toward the red-faced captain, putting on my sweet bedside-manner voice. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Captain McGrath crosses his arms. “You can get comfortable. We’ll have to wait for the tide to come back in.”
“I— When is that?”
“About five.”
“Oh god.”
My days are scheduled down to the hour, even on the weekends.
Laundry in the morning, meal prep for the week at eleven, this bachelor/bachelorette excursion at one, study group at five.
Dinner at seven-thirty. Early to bed so I’m ready for my six o’clock shift tomorrow.
I’d come to terms with sharing the small vessel with my ex for a couple hours.
I hadn’t anticipated being stranded together on a sandbar.
I pace the short length of the boat, anxiety rising. “There’s a tugboat, right? They’ll pull us out.”
“No.”
“Harbor rescue?”
Captain McGrath stares at me blankly.
I snap my fingers as the solution dawns on me. “Can we call the coast guard?”
“We wait for mid-tide.”
For real?
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” I pull out my phone, only to find that you can’t get cell service out on the water, though we’re only a few miles offshore. “Don’t you have a satellite phone?”
Silently, he rummages through a storage tub. Relief fills me that he’s come to his senses—until he pulls out a fishing rod and tackle box. Saoirse and I exchange an incredulous look. Rory plops down and asks Deirdre if she’s got anything stronger than lemonade. She doesn’t.
Drawing in a deep breath, I dump a packet of Splenda into my voice. “If you’re worried about how it might look for your…” The captain impales a writhing worm with a fishhook. I wince. “…reputation as a sailor, just let them know it was me.”
Captain McGrath props the rod over the edge of the boat and returns to his novel.
I force myself to sit before I lose it. Gazing out at the slate-colored waves licking the hull of our stranded boat, I fantasize about garroting him with that fishing line.
Unfortunately, we’ll need him to sail us back to shore.
The lack of movement and progress—any semblance of control—makes my skin feel too small. I’m a fixer; I can’t calmly wait in the middle of the bay for the tide to come.
Unbothered, Deirdre sips on her lemonade while Rory and Anvi joke about throwing a life preserver overboard and making a break for the shore.
Aidan takes a seat on the bench next to me while Saoirse, Lark, and Callum point out the Ferris wheel on the shore. Aidan’s body heat still lingers on my skin, a map of where he steadied me earlier, so I scratch at the spot, as if that will cancel it out.
“Things could be worse,” he starts.
I hold up a hand before he can jinx us with a sudden downpour. “Do not speak a word about the weather.”
“I was gonna say at least you’re not the one footing the bill for this maritime disaster. I’m paying by the hour.”
“That does make me feel better, actually.” My smile flickers then flattens. “But I ruined Lark and Callum’s party.”
Aidan watches them, heads bent toward each other as they smile and point out landmarks along the promenade. “They don’t look too broken up about it.”
“Lark’s just too sweet to say anything. No one wants to spend an afternoon marooned.” I drop my shoulders in defeat. “I really wanted this to be perfect for her. For both of them.”
“Sometimes perfect is more about who you’re with than the circumstances you find yourself in.”
My gaze returns to Callum and Lark, whispering into each other’s ears. Our sailing adventure was upended thanks to my inappropriate thoughts, but they seem content, even when forced to a standstill. They are so sure about their commitment to each other that they’re ready to promise forever.
The last time I truly felt content…My eyes drift back to Aidan.
“Your response time was a bit slow earlier,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m mortified.”
“It was an accident. So you’re no Grace O’Malley,” Aidan says. Of course not. I’m a sheltered girl from Austin, not an Irish pirate queen. But I do envy her access to cannons and swords. “And that’s okay. I’m no Blackbeard.”
“Although you made a real effort with that facial hair.”
Afternoon light illuminates the ginger threads in his beard as Aidan swipes a hand across his jaw. “My manager says it makes me look virile.”
“Blech. Something about that word just rubs me the wrong way.”
Aidan grins. The perfect teeth peeking out from his new beard still throw me off, but it’s a great smile. “I remember.”
A splash rouses my attention. A thin slice of silver cuts through the waves gently sloshing against the hull and a porpoise breeches the surface.
“Lark! Look.”
She squeals and clamps on to Callum’s arm as the porpoise circles our stranded hooker. A second fin and sleek back cuts through the surface. Briefly, a rainbow forms in the misty exhalation through its blowhole. The rest of the group shuffles across the deck to watch.
“There’s another one,” Aidan says. Soft laugh lines frame his eyes when they meet mine.
I grab the rail to lean closer for a better look. My fingertips brush the familiar warmth of Aidan’s knuckles curled around the same piece of wood. Electricity shoots up my arm.
And…I don’t pull away. I let my pinkie and ring finger rest atop his hand.
There’s a certain magic in sharing an experience with him.
He knows how to be in the moment more than anyone else I’ve ever met.
We used to lie on his couch and play old records in the dark, basking in the sonic landscape.
He’d trace his fingers along my scalp as we listened.
Holding each other, letting the music wash over us, every sensation heightened and my heart rate slowed because there was nowhere else I needed or wanted to be.
These few seconds while we watch the porpoises surface, feel the gentle breeze, and hear the lapping waves are the closest I’ve gotten to that feeling in two years.
For so long, I’ve been working relentlessly toward the future, playing the role of the perfect daughter.
Aidan always gave me permission to live in a moment that was perfectly imperfect.
When we’re together, he’s so present that I almost forget the past.