Chapter 4
FLYNN
Flynn Cahill stood unfazed by the sea of prying eyes and unapologetic whispers. As an identical twin in one of the town’s most prominent families, he’d grown accustomed to unwanted attention. Unwanted attention that had only increased the day his brother, Kevin, died—one of the many reasons he hadn’t been back to Blessings Bay in years, despite it being the most beautiful, idyllic place on the planet. And thanks to his globe-trotting job with the family business, he’d traveled to enough countries to compare.
“Twenty-five thousand?” Herman uttered more as a question than a statement.
“Yep. Unless the other bidder would like to counter.” Flynn slipped one hand in the front pocket of his suit pants. He’d learned the trick watching his father handle business negotiations from as far back as his toddler years. You want to look casual and unconcerned , his dad had instructed while three-year-old Flynn had pretended to take notes on his fully functioning laptop. Like you couldn’t care less. Your apparent indifference will rattle your rivals, giving you the advantage .
Herman glanced at someone seated in the center of the crowd.
Flynn shifted his stance to peer around a tall gentleman blocking his view, then instantly regretted the move. The split-second glimpse of his competitor slashed a knife through his heart.
He hadn’t seen Sage Harper in almost ten years. Not since his brother’s funeral. He flinched at the painful memory threatening to bob to the surface.
Despite the decade-long lapse since their last interaction, he could still close his eyes and mentally trace each curve of her satin-soft tendrils. He could still breathe in her hair’s sweet, haunting scent of lavender and wildflower honey. A single whiff used to drive him crazy.
He shook away the unwelcome thought, mirroring Sage’s own shake of her head, announcing her defeat. At the motion, her curls bounced from side to side, taunting him.
But he’d won. He could check off another item on his brother’s bucket list—the bucket list he’d promised to complete, no matter the personal cost.
And yet, despite his victory, a heavy weight settled in his stomach like an anchor burdened with regret. Regret he’d never escape. Regret he deserved to carry for the rest of his life.
The room reverberated with hushed rumblings, and he could almost see the gossip column being written in real time.
After ruthlessly abandoning his longtime girlfriend without so much as a goodbye, Flynn Cahill is back in town to break her heart, yet again.
“And there we have it.” Herman lifted his gavel, yanking Flynn’s thoughts from his fictitious headline. “Twenty-five thousand, going once. Going twice.”
Flynn braced himself for the bang of the gavel—a sound that would now be bittersweet. Why did his competition have to be Sage, of all people? Didn’t they already have enough emotional baggage surrounding sailboats?
“And sol—” Herman’s hand froze midair when someone at the front of the room loudly cleared their throat.
Flynn couldn’t make out the person’s identity behind a wall of frilly oversize hats, but he secretly wanted to thank the interrupter for stalling. He needed more time to figure out his next move. Giving up the boat wasn’t an option. He owed it to his brother. But he didn’t want to hurt Sage. Not again.
What other choice did he have?
Herman stepped off the stage and stooped, his palm cupped to his ear, presumably to make out what this mysterious person was saying.
Herman’s eyes widened, then he nodded, bobbing his head of silver-streaked hair. With a dazed expression, he padded back to the stage.
Flynn’s pulse raced, picking up speed with each step Herman took.
Okay. Time’s up. What are you going to do?
How many times had he watched his dad make the tough calls, unflinching? How many times had his father chastised him for lacking the killer instinct? He’d spent his entire adult life trying to measure up—to fill his perfect brother’s shoes. He couldn’t wimp out now.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Herman said slowly, “we’ve had a rather unorthodox turn of events.”
A chair squeaked, and someone in the front row stood. What in the world? Flynn did a double take, dumbfounded. The man wore a three-piece suit, felt fedora, oversize sunglasses, and a long silk scarf wrapped around his neck, partially covering his face. The quirky dresser had to be Mackensie. The guy had a flair for the unusual.
More whispers and murmurs skittered through the air.
Flynn fixed his gaze on Herman, his teeth gritted. Come on. Let’s get this over with already .
“I’m afraid this concludes today’s auction.” Herman rapped his gavel on the podium. “Thank you for attending. Please see my assistant, Mabel, to collect your items.”
“Wait a minute,” Flynn called out as townspeople scrambled from their seats. “What about my sailboat?”
The second the words left his mouth, he felt Sage’s glare bore through him. Welp . If he had any doubts before, they were gone now. She definitely still hated him. Probably even more than before, now that he’d outbid her. Could he blame her?
He’d thought about calling her over the years, to try to explain, to apologize. But how could he tell her the truth? No way. He couldn’t cross that bridge. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
Even if it meant she’d loathe him forever, he couldn’t tell her what really happened that night.
The night his brother died.
It suddenly felt like a large stone had wedged in his throat. He tried to swallow, but strangely, had forgotten how.
Wait . Was Herman talking to him?
“If you and Miss Harper would please join me in the back office for a bit more privacy.”
“Me?” she asked, as if there was another woman named Sage Harper. As if there could ever be another woman in the world like her.
“Yes, mademoiselle.” Herman turned to him and added with the same ridiculous formality, “Monsieur, if you’d please follow me.”
The guy wasn’t French. Or British, for that matter. But at this moment, Flynn didn’t care. Herman could speak to him in Pig Latin as long as the words translated to Here’s the title to your new boat . He had to get out of there—and away from Sage—as soon as possible. The longer he stayed in her presence, the more disoriented he felt. He’d actually forgotten how to swallow . He couldn’t get more pathetic than that.
Flynn gestured for Sage to go first, and gave her a wide berth, following several steps behind, averting his gaze. But not before he noticed she still wore the braided friendship bracelet around her ankle. The one she’d made for each of them—him, Kev, and herself—the summer before his brother died.
The sight of the faded blue and white thread tied his stomach tighter than a bowline knot.
Focus, Flynn. Don’t be weak. He heard his father’s voice in his ears and straightened his shoulders.
Herman led them into a cramped shared office space with an antique desk, filing cabinets, and matching brocade armchairs. He motioned for them to sit, but they both declined.
Let’s hurry this along .
Sage stood against the far wall, arms crossed, with the expression of a feral cat surrounded by slowly rising water. One wrong move and she might claw his eyes out, which he admittedly deserved.
He tried not to notice the way sunlight streamed from the small window, outlining her perfect figure with an amber glow.
Get a grip , buddy . Even bathed in anger and apprehension, his ex had never looked more beautiful. Way more beautiful than would be wise to admit, even to himself.
He swallowed against the uncomfortable roughness coating his throat, trying his hardest to concentrate. “What’s going on, Herman? I won the bid, fair and square.”
“I understand, monsieur. But the boat’s owner, Edwin Mackensie, has pulled it from the auction.”
“What?” Sage cried. “Why?”
“He’d like to make you both a proposition,” Herman explained.
“I don’t understand.” Sage said what he was thinking. “What exactly is going on here?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Herman shifted his feet, visibly uneasy. “You know how Mr. Mackensie is.”
“A few sails short of seaworthy?” Flynn teased, then winced. His father’s voice broke through his thoughts again, ever the critical conscience. No jokes. No wisecracks. It’s time to grow up or no one will take you seriously. “No disrespect. I only meant he has some oddities.”
“He’s a bit eccentric, yes,” Herman agreed. “But it may be to your advantage this time. At least, for one of you,” he said with a melodramatic flourish. “He’d like you to locate something on board the sailboat. Something he’d given up hope of ever finding.”
Flynn cast a quick glance at Sage, but she didn’t appear to have a clue, either.
“It’s his late wife’s diary,” Herman explained. “She wrote in it religiously whenever she set sail but kept it hidden from the crew. Mr. Mackensie has hired countless people to locate it, since he won’t board the boat himself, but all attempts have failed.”
“What makes him think we’ll have more success than everyone else?” Sage asked.
“He wants you to live aboard the boat for three days—safely docked at the marina, of course—fully immersing yourselves in every nook and cranny. Whoever finds the diary can keep the boat for the impossibly low price of five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand dollars?” Sage breathed, her eyes sparkling. Her entire posture had shifted from closed off to adorably eager.
Flynn couldn’t look away. This was the Sage he remembered. Vibrant. Hopeful. Earnest. For one irrational moment, he actually relished the possibility of being trapped together—to recapture even one second of what they’d lost. But he couldn’t step foot on a sailboat. And definitely not with Sage. Not after—he forcibly shoved the thought aside with a sharp breath.
Don’t even go there .
“That’s correct,” Herman confirmed, assuaging Sage’s disbelief. “If you agree to the terms, I’ll draw up a quick contract. You have forty-eight hours to prepare yourself for boarding the—”
“Hold on,” Flynn interjected. “This doesn’t sound nuts to anyone else? Why three days? Why us? Why now?”
“I’ve learned not to question Mr. Mackensie’s idiosyncrasies,” Herman admitted. “His actions may not make sense at first, but there’s always a method to his madness.”
Madness being the operative word, Flynn thought. “And what if I find the diary on day one?”
“What if you find it?” Sage wore her glare again. Good grief . Even irritated, with her face all scrunched up, she looked gorgeous.
Focus, Flynn. “Or if you do,” he said, getting back on track. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. My question is hypothetical. If one of us finds the diary on the first day, do we have to fulfill the full seventy-two hours on board?”
“Yes, that would be the arrangement.”
“Wait a minute,” Sage said slowly, as if a crucial piece of the puzzle had just clicked into place. “Three days. On board the sailboat. Together? ”
“That is accurate, yes.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it.” From the look of horror on her face, you’d think he’d proposed sharing a prison cell with a psychopath.
“I understand, mademoiselle. And if you’d like the boat to go to Mr. Cahill by default—”
“Wait.” Sage closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath before opening them again, her expression resigned. “Fine. I’ll do it. Under one condition.”
“And what might that be?” Herman asked.
“The boat is forty-five feet long. And I expect Mr. Cahill to stay as far away from me as possible.”
Her words stung like salt water slapping a wound, but he nodded. “Works for me.”
Putting distance between them would be in his best interest, too.
In fact, it may be the only way he’d survive.