Chapter 12
Optimism spurred me to sign up for a CPR certification course at the YMCA later that week. I figured it would help me get a nannying or babysitting job, if anyone ever reached out.
And because the universe works in mysterious ways, I got a text from an unknown number as I was walking to my car after the class.
I smiled at my phone in the parking lot, a sense of relief washing over me.
I didn’t know why I felt so concerned about having some supplemental income.
I guess I just wanted the possibility of not going back to New York, to Peters & Dowling.
If I had some money coming in, low expenses, maybe I could somehow justify pursuing my current flight of fancy: writing. At least for a while longer.
A voice in the back of my mind kept telling me it was silly, that I’ll probably go back at the end of the medical leave anyway. What else would I do? And why would I throw away years of education and hard work to struggle?
Still, I responded to the message, and we set an interview for Monday.
“You look stunning, as usual,” Max said when I walked up to where he was waiting for me on the dock by the entrance to the yacht club. I was back at the café behind the bookstore earlier today, working on my insider trading short story when he’d asked how I’d feel about a sunset boat ride.
I glanced down at my outfit—white jeans, white sneakers, and a breezy blue and white striped button-down shirt, all from my favorite boutique in town.
I shrugged and flashed him a smile. “You don’t look bad yourself.
” I can do this flirting thing. He was sporting an expensive-looking pair of sunglasses that were shaped perfectly for his clean-shaven face.
He wrapped an arm around me and kissed my cheek. I wasn’t used to it, didn’t feel like I deserved it. The compliments. The affection. So unfamiliar it was almost jarring. What’s the catch? I wanted to ask. Instead, I leaned into him.
We turned, pushed open the hip-height wooden gates, and walked out onto the dock. Max greeted the boat launch driver like an old friend, shaking his hand and clapping his back. Even though it was still bright out, most people were walking toward the dining room as opposed to the boat launch.
I liked our plan better.
We took seats at the back of the boat, and Max draped an arm around my shoulders. The wind whipped over us as we cruised out to the southern part of the harbor, the occasional splash of a wave misting water droplets into our faces. I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt.
The boat slowed and then idled alongside a pristine speedboat with three engines, plush seats, and dark wood sides, named After Sunset—the title of Edward Phelps’s first novel.
Max hopped from one boat to the other in a single, fluid motion and then turned back to offer me his hand.
After we put down our things, Max produced a bottle of champagne out of a cooler he brought with him that was more expensive than I would have ever bought for myself, even with my senior associate salary.
“Spoiling me with fancy champagne?” I smirked in a way I hoped was flirtatious.
“Of course,” he said with a wink before popping the cork into a towel effortlessly. He poured two glasses into flutes he’d retrieved from below deck and held his glass up to mine. “To the beautiful woman who keeps agreeing to go on dates with me.”
I fought my grin and tapped my glass against his, unsure what to say to that.
“Shall we eat and sip these for a bit and then take her out for a spin before sundown?” he asked.
I glanced at the three engines attached to the back of the boat. “Sounds perfect. I’m kinda dying to know what three engines can do.”
“Speed.” A childlike excitement danced across his features.
We nibbled on a fancy charcuterie board full of cheese, meats, nuts, and dried fruits and chatted about the new client Max was excited he landed at work and the movie Mimi and I saw earlier that week.
I gazed out at the passing boats full of sailors returning from an afternoon on the water, and the weathered-shingle mansions that lined Edgartown Harbor, as our conversation meandered from our weeks to our favorite spots in Manhattan.
I had embarrassingly few favorite spots in that city, but I did a decent job faking it, I hoped.
I didn’t mention that I spent most of my free time writing this week. I wasn’t sure why.
Just before sunset, he untied the boat from its mooring, navigated us out of the harbor, and then cranked up the speed.
“Hang on!” he yelled, a devilish grin on his boyishly handsome face.
I braced myself, holding on to a handle on the side of the boat as we took off.
At moments, it felt like we were flying, barely skimming the surface of the water.
I was grinning like a complete dork, water splashing onto my face, into my mouth, my hair, all over my clothes.
“Sorry!” Max called after a big splash crested over the side.
I shook my head emphatically. “It’s awesome!” He cranked the engines even more, and I screamed, holding on for dear life.
A few minutes later the boat spun in a U-turn and started back toward the harbor at a slower pace.
Eventually, he cut the engine so he could sit next to me to watch the last flashes of the sun.
He pulled me under his arm, kissing my temple, and when I turned to look at him, my eyebrows slightly raised, he lowered his mouth to mine.
We both missed the sunset.
Back on dry land, when we got into Max’s car, he asked if I wanted to go back to his apartment. The possibility should have occurred to me, but it hadn’t. I declined in the flirtiest way I could think of on the spot: I turned in the passenger seat to face him and asked, “Next time?”
“I can live with that.” He smiled at me, and to his credit, he didn’t look overly disappointed.
For some reason, I never mentioned the babysitting interview.