Chapter 6
ETHAN
After that night, we didn’t spend a single night apart.
Not one.
Which sounds insane now.
But back then it felt inevitable. Like gravity.
Like of course this is how it happens.
For a few days we did the normal thing.
Dinner at my place. Takeout cartons on the counter. Her perched on the edge of my couch in one of my T-shirts like she’d always lived there. Falling asleep halfway through movies we never finished.
Waking up tangled together like we hadn’t meant to stay.
But by midweek, even that felt like too much effort. Too much driving across the city. Too many elevators and lobbies and schedules.
One afternoon my BlackBerry buzzed during a meeting.
Her.
Subject: Change of plan?
I opened it under the table like a teenager hiding notes.
Can we just meet at the marina after work instead? Closer for me. Bring an overnight bag? Might be easier.
Might be easier.
Like she wasn’t suggesting we quietly move our whole relationship onto a boat.
I smiled so hard my face hurt.
Yeah, I wrote back. Yeah, let’s do that.
Technically, Artemis wasn’t even mine.
She was Tony’s.
But after all those nights fixing her up, she felt like mine anyway.
Tony barely used her.
So I did.
And now—
Now she felt like ours.
Down in Boston Harbor, the docks knocking and groaning, gulls crying overhead, ropes slapping lazily against fiberglass.
She’d walk down the pier toward me every evening like clockwork.
Dress. Flats. That oversized bag on her shoulder.
Every time I saw her, it hit me the same way.
There she is.
Like the day didn’t start until that moment.
We stopped pretending it was “happy hour” after the first night.
It became… life.
Some nights I brought takeout—greasy paper bags, warm containers fogging up the air inside the cabin.
Other nights she’d show up with little plastic tubs of food like she’d planned it all afternoon. Fruit cut perfect. Cheese. Pasta salad. Things that said I thought about you while you weren’t there.
We’d eat on the stern with our shoes kicked off, feet bumping under the tiny table. The sun melting behind the skyline. The water turning copper and glassy.
Then I’d untie the lines.
Ease her out.
Just far enough.
Far enough that the marina noise disappeared.
Far enough that it felt like we’d slipped off the map.
I’d moor out in the harbor where it was quiet and safe, the city lights distant and blurred, the boat rocking slow and steady.
Private.
Like we’d built our own little world and forgot to invite anyone else.
After dinner, every night, I grabbed the guitar.
Didn’t even think about it.
It just became routine.
Her curled up against the cabin wall with a blanket around her shoulders. Hair loose. Legs tucked under mine. Watching me like I was about to perform some magic trick.
The stars overhead.
The water black and endless.
My fingers finding the strings.
Soft songs. Old songs. Half-forgotten love ballads.
Stuff my mom used to play around the house when I was a kid.
Stuff that felt too honest to sing anywhere else.
Out there, it felt safe.
My voice low.
Just for her.
Sometimes she’d close her eyes and just listen.
Sometimes she’d stare at me like I was the only person on earth.
And that look—
That look was a head rush.
Like jumping off something high and not knowing if you’d land.
Someone like her shouldn’t want someone like me.
She was too sharp. Too beautiful. Too everything.
But every time I glanced up, she was already looking at me like she’d chosen me.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
By the time the last chord faded, she was always close.
Closer than before.
Her hand sliding up my arm. Fingers curling into my shirt. That quiet, hungry look in her eyes like the whole world had narrowed down to just us.
The guitar would end up forgotten on the bench.
My back against the cabin door.
Her laugh turning breathless when I pulled her in.
Kisses slow at first.
Then not.
Hands learning each other like we had all the time in the world.
The little cabin filling with heat and tangled sheets and whispered my-names and don’t-stop laughs that turned soft and desperate.
And then—
Darkness.
The boat rocking gentle and steady.
Her skin warm against mine.
Legs tangled.
Heartbeats slowing together.
Like the harbor itself was cradling us to sleep.
Every night the same.
Every night better.
Like we were building something no one else could touch.
I’d lie there afterward with her head on my chest, tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder while the hull knocked softly against the water, thinking—
This is it.
This is what people mean when they say home.
The gang finally cornered me at lunch.
Newbury Street.
Outdoor café.
White umbrellas. Sunglasses. Sun blasting off storefront windows so hard it made everything look like a postcard.
Beth picking at a salad like she always did when she was stressed.
Chris demolishing a burger with both hands.
Mark already halfway through a beer even though it wasn’t even noon yet.
And Tony—
Tony leaning back in his chair like he owned the sidewalk, aviators on, sleeves rolled, looking like some trust-fund yacht ad.
They all stopped talking the second I sat down.
Four heads turned.
Same expression.
Intervention energy.
“Oh no,” I said, dropping into the chair. “What.”
Chris pointed a fry at me like it was evidence in court.
“We don’t see you anymore.”
“I was literally here yesterday.”
“You were physically present,” Mark said. “Spiritually? Gone. Empty shell. Body snatched. Replaced by some lovesick pod person.”
Beth smiled into her iced tea. “You do disappear a lot lately.”
“I have a life,” I said.
Mark barked a laugh. “Yeah. Her. Getting love-bombed.”
He waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously.
“Sage,” Chris said dramatically, like narrating a documentary. “The myth. The legend. Who shows up like cat woman all high heels and mini dresses than disappears like smoke.”
Beth snorted.
“No seriously,” Chris went on, counting on his fingers. “She’s either married, works for the CIA as a honeypot, or using you as her summer plaything before she moves back to Monaco.”
“Monaco?” Mark said.
“No one would honeypot, Ethan? For what— marketing secrets?” Chris snorted.
Tony finally took his sunglasses off and pointed at me with them.
“Also,” he said, “it’s my boat.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’ve basically moved in,” he continued. “Using it to seduce her. At this point I’m charging rent. Slip fees. Utilities. Emotional support tax.”
Mark nodded solemnly. “Yeah dude. You’re gonna start owing him money.”
“I rebuilt that boat,” I said.
Tony grinned. “Cool. You can write me a check.”
Chris laughed. “He’s not joking either.”
“I am absolutely not joking,” Tony said. “You’ve spent more nights on Artemis than I have this month. I show up and there’s like scented candles and designer body soap. It’s suspiciously romantic down there.”
Beth choked on her drink.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
Tony smirked. “Just saying. You’re treating my boat like a honeymoon suite.”
My ears burned.
Because… not inaccurate.
Then Mark leaned forward.
“Alright,” he said. “Real question.”
Here it comes.
“Have you been to her place yet? Met her coworkers? A best friend?”
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Chris blinked. “Wait.”
Tony’s eyebrows went up. “No way.”
Beth slowly lowered her fork. “Ethan…”
“Her roommates been sick. She’s a grad student at Harvard always studying. I own my own place it makes more sense.”
“She always comes to you?” Mark asked.
“Yeah.”
“You always go back to the boat or your place?”
“…yeah.”
Tony tilted his head. “Does she exist outside of nighttime hours?”
“The firm is stacked with cases. She is in court sometimes,” I said.
“That wasn’t the question.”
Beth asked gently, “Does she have friends?”
I stopped.
Actually thought about it.
And came up empty.
I’d never seen her with anyone.
Not once.
No girls’ nights.
No coworkers.
No random friend dropping by.
Nothing.
Just… her.
Showing up like she stepped out of thin air.
Chris leaned back. “Bro.”
Mark shook his head. “That’s suspicious as hell.”
Beth kicked him. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not! I’m observant!”
“She might just be private,” Beth offered.
“Or married,” Mark added.
“Shut up.”
Tony studied me longer than the rest.
Less joking now.
More calculating.
“Just don’t get blindsided,” he said quietly. “Mystery girls are fun until they’re not.”
That one landed.
Harder than the others.
I laughed it off.
Chris squinted at me like he’d just thought of something important.
“Alright,” he said. “Real basic question.”
I braced myself.
“What’s her full name, bro?”
Tony leaned in too, suddenly interested.
Beth looked up from her salad.
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t want it to look like I had to think.
“Sage Colette Comeaux.”
There was a beat.
Then—
“OHHH,” Mark said, grinning. “That’s fancy.”
“Sounds rich,” Chris added.
Tony whistled low. “That is not a girl who grew up eating Dunkaroos.”
“She’s from Louisiana,” I said. “Cajun. French Cajun.”
Beth’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
Tony immediately launched into awful, exaggerated French.
“Ooh la la, mon petit amour,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Très sexy.”
“Voulez-vous coucher—”
“Stop,” I said. “Please stop.”
Chris laughed. “Man, you’re dating a whole vibe.”
Beth tilted her head. “What does she do?”
I took a sip of my drink.
“She works at Hagen & Kane.”
That landed.
Forks paused.
Mark blinked. “Wait. Hagen & Kane?”
Chris let out a low whistle. “Jesus. That’s not just a law firm. That’s the law firm.”
Beth stared at me. “So… she’s a lawyer?”
I didn’t answer.
Just took another sip.
Let the silence do the work.
Tony watched me over the rim of his glass.
A look I knew well.
The you’re omitting something look.
But no one pressed.
And I didn’t correct them.
Didn’t say paralegal.
Didn’t say admin.
Didn’t say support staff.
Because it didn’t matter.
She was smart.
Sharp.
Successful in her own way.
And if they thought she was exactly on our level?