Chapter 2
Captain Dane Mercer
Dane moved through the boat with the kind of ease that made everything around him seem to belong to him.
He gave the safety briefing in a low, practical tone, pointing out the life jackets, the radio, the first-aid kit, the narrow companionway below deck.
He explained what to hold when the boat moved and what not to touch unless he invited them to.
Nothing about him felt hurried. He spoke as if the evening had already been decided and the only thing left was for Nathan and Marissa to catch up.
Marissa listened closely.
Nathan noticed because he was trying not to notice.
She stood beside the helm, one hand wrapped around the chrome rail, the breeze lifting the ends of her hair.
Dane faced them with the marina behind him, the sunset burning copper along his shoulders.
Every now and then his gaze shifted to her to make sure she understood some small instruction.
Every time it did, Nathan felt the same hot pinch beneath his ribs.
"Any trouble with motion sickness?" Dane asked.
"Not usually," Marissa said.
"Good. We'll keep it smooth. Water's calm tonight. Moon's coming up full."
"That sounds perfect," she said.
Nathan forced himself to smile. "I told you I ordered the good weather."
Dane looked between them, amused. "Then I owe you a discount. Most husbands try to take credit for the sunset too."
"I'll take what I can get," Nathan said.
Marissa touched his arm, a light affectionate brush. "He did good."
That should have satisfied him. It did, for a second. Then Dane stepped past them to untie the stern line, and Marissa's eyes followed him.
Nathan could not blame her. That was the worst part.
Dane was not flashy. He was not young in the obvious, hungry way of men who still expected the world to make room for them.
He was perhaps forty-five, maybe older, with the unbothered confidence of someone who had survived bad weather and worse women.
He did not try to dominate the space. He simply occupied it fully.
A young deckhand appeared briefly from the dock office to help cast off, but once the ropes were free, Dane waved him away.
"Just us tonight," Dane said. "I don't bring crew on anniversary charters. Couples deserve privacy."
Nathan heard the word privacy and felt his wife hear it too.
"How did you know it was our anniversary?" Marissa asked.
"Your husband mentioned it when he booked." Dane glanced at Nathan. "Eleven years, right?"
"Eleven," Nathan said.
"That's a serious voyage." Dane eased the throttles forward. The boat stirred underfoot, water blooming white behind the stern. "Most people don't understand the work it takes to keep choosing the same person."
Marissa looked at him. "Are you married?"
Nathan almost answered for him with a joke. Dane did not.
"Was," the captain said. "Long time ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Some storms teach you better navigation."
Marissa smiled at that, not flirtatious exactly, but receptive. Open.
Nathan leaned back against the cushioned bench and tried to relax as the marina slipped behind them.
He had expected the first part of the evening to feel ceremonial.
Champagne. Compliments. The practiced gratitude of a wife receiving a thoughtful gift.
Instead, he felt as if he had invited another man's gravity aboard.
Dane steered them down the channel toward open water. The city gathered behind them in warm stacks of lights. Ahead, the ocean widened, dark and silver, all surface and secret.
"Champagne is in the cooler beside you," Dane said. "Glasses are in the cabinet. Help yourselves."
Nathan stood too quickly, grateful for a task. "I'll get it."
The bottle popped with a satisfying sound. He poured two glasses, then hesitated over the third.
Dane noticed without turning from the helm. "I'm working. But thank you."
"Water, then?" Marissa asked.
"Later."
She lifted her glass. "To eleven years."
Nathan clinked his glass gently against hers. "To us."
Her eyes softened. "To finding our way back."
The words landed harder than he expected.
Dane kept his gaze on the channel, giving them the courtesy of pretending not to hear.
Nathan sipped. The champagne was cold, bright, expensive. He had ordered the premium package because he wanted Marissa to feel cherished. He watched a bead of champagne cling to her lower lip before she caught it with the tip of her tongue.
Dane saw it in the reflection of the windshield.
Nathan saw Dane see it.
The captain said nothing.
That silence did more than a compliment would have.
Marissa turned toward the bow as the boat cleared the last marker. The engine deepened. The hull rose. Wind pressed her dress against her body, outlining what Nathan knew too well and somehow had forgotten to appreciate properly.
"Come here," Dane said.
Nathan stiffened, but the captain was looking at both of them.
"Best view is forward as we leave the harbor. Hold the rail. It gets addictive."
Marissa went first.
Nathan followed a step behind, carrying both glasses, while the boat slid into open water and the city surrendered its claim.