Chapter Fourteen
WE ARE NOT GOING TO NEED A BIGGER BOAT.
It’s not flashy, just really nice. It’s a sleek center console, the kind that cuts through chop without rattling your teeth. It’s a soft Bahama blue, the decks sun-bleached white, long bench seats along the sides, and there’s a shaded T-top overhead casting cool relief from the sun.
Noah stands barefoot near the helm, looking adorable in his backwards cap pulled low over his hair, and one hand wrapped around a water bottle. There’s a basket of clean striped towels tucked beside a built-in cooler packed with lime-spiked sparkling water and local Kalik beers.
He smiles when he sees me. “Hey Briland.”
“Nashville,” I reply, taking his offered hand and stepping aboard carefully in my mini wrap skirt.
There are six other people onboard, including a couple music industry people I’m beginning to recognize. I clock Jacob right away, gold chain glinting against his collarbone. He looks like a pop star. Noah said that the album they’ve been writing together is one of his favorites yet.
Up front, wide cushioned loungers are scattered with navy throw pillows, and a small teak table sits on polished hardware between them, already set with a plate of cut mango and chips.
A speaker tucked discreetly near the console plays reggae with just enough bass to feel like it belongs on the water.
I settle near the back, legs tucked beneath me, sunglasses on, content to observe, as the boat cuts cleanly through the water, skimming past sprawling vacation homes with private docks.
Jacob is mid-story, something about a chaotic music video shoot in Mexico involving a broken drone and a goat that refused to leave the frame.
I don’t catch every word. What I notice instead is Noah laughing beside me, low and unguarded, his shoulder pressed against mine.
Every time we hit a wave, our hips bump, close enough that I can feel it echo through me.
“You good?” he says under his breath, turning toward me ever slightly.
“Yeah,” I say with a light smile. “I’m just soaking it in.” His arm drapes lightly over my shoulders.
His thumb grazes my arm once, absentmindedly. A few minutes pass like that before someone shares a container of pineapple soaked in what tastes like rosé. It’s delicious, and I have to stop myself from grabbing a fourth piece.
When we anchor off Sand Dollar Beach, the pineapple is long gone and a couple of the guys are getting the grill set up on the beach.
Noah tugs me to the back conspiratorially before he and I drop into the water together and let ourselves drift a little way from the boat.
The water is impossibly clear, the kind that turns your skin into a shimmer.
I lean back and let it hold me, toes barely kicking, hair fanning out around my shoulders as the voices behind us grow smaller.
“So,” Noah says, turning to face me more fully. “Tell me, how’s Bahamas Lucy different from Charleston Lucy?”
I tilt my head, “What makes you think they’re different?”
He shrugs, still floating. “You here versus somewhere else. Nothing changes?”
I think about it. “Hmmm…I drink rum at lunch. I go on boats with strangers. I leave my phone in the bottom of the beach bag for hours without checking it.”
He smiles. “That explains the text delays.”
“I sometimes forget I own shoes and regularly make my outfit choices based on my tan lines.”
“I like your tan lines,” he says as he draws a finger lightly along my shoulder, making me shiver.
“What about you?” I ask, dipping the back of my head in the water. “What makes Bahamas Noah different from Nashville Noah?”
He floats a little closer, enough that I feel the current his kicks make underwater.
“I sleep,” he sighs. “Like, actually sleep for longer than five hours. And I wake up without a hundred notifications, or if I do, I don’t worry about them like I do back home. I get in the water at least twice a day. I write things that I don’t show anyone.”
I file that last part away.
“I also,” Noah adds, “swim with pretty girls who say things like ‘I’m just soaking it in,’ when really she’s calculating the exact vibe of everyone on the boat.”
I laugh. “I wasn’t calculating. I was…observing.”
“Exactly.” He floats even closer now. “I think Bahamas Lucy’s dangerous.”
“Little old me?” I ask, amused, raising my sunglasses and fluttering my eyelashes at him.
He nods slowly. “Yup, little old you.”
A slow thrum coils in my stomach. We’re drifting together now, his hand brushing mine, and neither of us pulls back.
“You forgot to mention that Bahamas Lucy is also an excellent kisser.”
My breath catches. “And Charleston Lucy isn’t?”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t know. I only know this one.”
I watch him for one heartbeat. Two. And then I lean in and kiss him.
Pushing away any thought of Jack, because I’ve made no promises.
Noah meets me halfway, unhurried. His hand slides to my waist beneath the water, pulling me toward him, his fingers warm and slippery.
His lips are sun-warmed and citrus sweet, but it’s the faint scrape of his scruff that sends chills down my spine.
When we join the others on the beach, the lobster is crackling over the small grill, and Jacob is melting butter in an aluminum foil vessel over the grill grates.
Noah’s pulled into a conversation with one of the guys with a camera slung around his neck, so I drift over to the low picnic table where two girls are cutting watermelon. The one wearing a white crochet bikini looks up and smiles as I grab a drink.
“I love your necklace,” she says. “Is it Hart?”
“It is,” I say, automatically reaching for the gold charms.
She nods approvingly. “Very cute, I love her line.”
“How do you know Hart?”
“My ex used to live in Charleston,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Dated him for two years, broke up with him on the sidewalk while waiting for a table at 167 Raw. Very public. Very good decision.”
“That’s very specific,” I laugh. “I live downtown, just a few blocks from there.”
She leans back, taking me in. “I could totally see that. Charleston girls have a look, in a good way,” she assures me. “I miss the shopping there. I used to spend hours on King Street in all the boutiques.”
“My art studio is really close,” I say, grinning. “I spend more time on King than I should.”
Our conversation segues into a discussion about Charleston real estate prices, winding through favorite brunch spots and Bravo gossip. Everyone has a take on the Southern Charm cast. The conversation is easy even though we’re just meeting today.
Everyone’s quieter in that mellow, sun-dazed way once we’re back on the boat. I settle into the back corner cushion again, my damp hair twisted into a knot at the base of my neck. Noah sinks down beside me without a word, one arm slung behind me, fingers grazing my faintly sunburned shoulder.
I can still feel that kiss between us, soft and electric, hanging there like it’s waiting to happen again.
“New mix,” Jacob announces as he taps at his phone and nods at the speaker.
A soft guitar trickles out, the kind of stripped-down melody that doesn’t ask for my attention so much as claim it.
Jacob’s voice comes first, rich and smoky.
Then another joins, and my breath catches before I can stop it.
Noah. He doesn’t look at me, just sits there, legs stretched long, gaze fixed on the horizon like it’s any other song on any other afternoon.
The lyrics are simple at first, circling the weight of a glance, the way someone walks into a space and doesn’t leave it the same. The tension, the not quite knowing but aching to, pulled through the melody like a thread. She moves like I’ve heard this song before but forgot the words.
Goosebumps prickle along my arms. I shift, stealing a glance at Noah. He’s still gazing out over the water, but his hand drifts against the bench, thumb brushing the bare skin at my hip. Around us, the boat speeds forward, cutting through the turquoise water, the wind tangling my hair.
The final chord fades, swallowed by the sound of waves against the hull. Jacob looks back. “Still rough, but it’s getting there.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice smaller than I intend.
Noah finally looks over, and his cheeks are the faintest pink. “I didn’t know he was going to play that,” he murmurs, almost embarrassed.
“I’m glad he did,” I reply, and the words feel loaded.
When we dock, everyone’s gathering their things, and Noah’s helping Jacob clean up the boat and gather his stuff while I hover near the edge of the dock, stalling.
I could just say goodbye. I could let this day be enough. But I don’t want it to be over yet. Not with Noah. And even though Jack’s smile pops into my head, I push the vision aside and cross the dock slowly, pretending to adjust the strap of my bag. Noah glances up as I reach the boat.
“Hey,” I say, “What are you doing later?”
“Not sure. I’d like to run home for a shower. You?”
I nod and clear my throat. “Do you want to come over?”
His brows lift, just a little.
I keep going before I lose my nerve. “After your shower…if you want.”
For a second, time seems to stall as I fumble, before his face breaks out in a beaming smile. “Yeah. That sounds good. Give me like, 45 minutes?”
The heat in my chest spreads just a little. “Okay,” I say, suddenly shy. “So, I’ll see you in a bit.”
As I turn to walk away, I can feel him watching me, and for once, I’m glad I didn’t try to play it cool.
I can’t decide what to wear. Everything feels either too boring or too obvious. I dig out a pair of soft cotton shorts and a fitted grey tank top. Hopefully I look like I didn’t try at all, even though I’ve changed outfits three times.
I light a candle in the kitchen. And another one in the living room. Then I overthink it and blow out the second one. But now the room smells like a blown-out candle. It’s not giving casual.
Was I being impulsive inviting him over?
No, that’s not fair. The way I felt floating next to Noah, the way he sang those words, that didn’t feel like nothing.
There is chemistry here. I lean my head back and think about our kiss.
The way his lips moved over mine. The way he touched me like he’d wanted to for days but was letting me lead.
The way his hand slid beneath the water, fingers finding the curve of my waist like it was already his favorite place.
I almost don’t hear the knock. When I open it, he’s there, freshly shaved, a clean navy T-shirt clinging to his shoulders.
“Hi,” I say.
I hear him say hello, but all I can see is the way his chest rises and falls against his shirt.
“Come in,” I say, stepping back to disguise my blush.
He walks through the door, and the house feels instantly smaller.
“I lit too many candles and then panicked,” I blurt out as he looks around. “That’s why it smells like I’m hosting a séance.”
He laughs, following me into the living room and dropping onto the edge of the couch. I settle beside him, close but not quite touching.
He looks at me and grins. “Is this the part where you pull out a Ouija board?”
I snort. “If only I had one.”
“Sorry, bad joke. I might be a little nervous,” he says, grinning.
“Why are you nervous?”
He shrugs softly. “You’re kind of intimidating.”
That makes me laugh again, harder this time. “Me? I lit a candle and second-guessed my outfit five times.”
“Yeah? That makes me feel better,” he smiles and slowly runs his eyes over me. “I like this, by the way.”
I hop up from the couch, jittery. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Wine? I think there may be a beer or two that a friend left behind.”
He follows me into the kitchen and leans against the counter as I open the fridge.
“Or I could make you a cocktail?” I ask again.
“Are you trying to ply me with alcohol?”
“I’m trying to stay busy so I don’t combust,” I say over my shoulder.
“Noted,” he says. “But just for the record, combusting with you wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
I give him a look as I jump up to sit on the island, my legs swinging slightly as I get settled. “Are you always this smooth, Noah?”
“No,” he laughs. “I’m usually much smoother.”
He moves over to stand in front of me. “Like I said, you intimidate me. And I like you.”
His eyes flick down to where my knees are brushing his shorts and then dart back up to hold my gaze. He slowly places his hands on the island beside me, just enough to frame me without closing in. My breath catches, but I don’t move.
“Can I kiss you again,” he asks, voice rumbling, “or are we still debating my delivery?”
I swallow, heat spreading up my neck. “I think we’ve covered it.”
He watches me as he steps closer. I can feel the change before anything happens, the heat between us, the shift in the air, the part of me that knows exactly what’s coming next and doesn’t want to rush it.
“Lucy,” he says, voice low, a slight question in his tone.
I tilt my chin up, the quietest yes. “Noah.”
He leans in slowly, painstakingly stretching the tension until it aches. I lean forward to meet him, just barely, until our lips skim. Not kissing. Not quite.
We hover like that, this soft, fluttering, almost kiss.
I gently press my forehead to his as I draw in a shaky inhale.
The wooden countertop is cool beneath my legs while every other part of me is on fire.
Noah’s hands slide to the backs of my thighs as he steps forward into me, and I wrap my legs tightly around him.
Then the kiss grows deep and hungry. His fingers dig into my thighs as I melt into him. He easily lifts me off the counter without breaking our kiss, my fingers winding up the back of his neck and into his hair as he carries me through the house like he already knows where the bedroom is.
And he definitely does now.