Chapter 8 #2
“Oh.” The word lands carefully. Like glass being set down instead of dropped.
Tony is coiling rope nearby. He straightens, mouth opening—
Ethan catches his eye and gives the slightest shake of his head.
Tony closes his mouth again. Nods once. Goes back to the rope like it suddenly requires his full concentration.
I pretend I don’t see any of it.
Sage stands near the stern, sunglasses on, arms crossed, posture immaculate even in the cold. She watches me the way you watch weather roll in—quiet, measuring. Her lips press together, then flatten.
No greeting. No question.
Just assessment.
The breeze kicks up again, fluttering a loose line near my ankle. The boat shifts, impatient. Everything feels like it’s moving except me.
“Everyone else is driving down,” Ethan says, clearing his throat. “Just us for the sail.”
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile. “Perfect.”
The word tastes a little bitter.
Laughter drifts down the dock—bright, breezy, unburdened.
Two girls appear like they’ve stepped out of a catalog shoot, sundresses swaying with each confident step, coffee cups cradled in manicured hands. The rising sun catches their hair, turns it gold and glossy. They move like they know they’re being watched—and like they expect to be enjoyed.
Tony lights up instantly. “Kristen, Katie—there you are.”
They step aboard with easy balance, barely reacting to the boat’s sway.
“This is Sage,” Tony says, gesturing.
Katie’s eyes land on Sage’s sunglasses and widen. “Oh my god—are those the new Ray-Bans? I just saw them in Cosmo.”
Sage turns her head slowly.
Really looks at her.
Then she smiles.
“Oh,” she says, voice dripping sweet—and the Southern twang comes out thick and unmistakable. “Bless your heart for noticing.”
It’s perfectly delivered. Polite. Lethal.
Kristen bites her lip like she’s trying not to laugh. Kate blinks, recalibrates, then smiles again—brighter this time, a touch defensive.
The wind snaps a loose corner of canvas overhead.
Tony claps his hands. “All right! Let’s get settled.”
As the girls move toward the bow, Sage straightens abruptly, tracking them over the top of her sunglasses. Her jaw tightens. Then she leans toward me, close enough that I can smell her coffee.
“Who are they?” she murmurs.
“Tony’s friends,” I say. “We went skiing together last winter.”
Her eyes flick forward again. “Do they ever.”
Then, without looking at me, “Where’s Sean?”
The gulls cry again, louder now. The sun inches higher, spilling gold across the water.
“Working,” I say.
“Night shift?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
She hums softly. Noncommittal. Pulls her sunglasses down just enough to really look at my face—my eyes, my mouth, the way I’m holding myself together.
The wind cuts again. Cold this time.
“Catch,” Tony calls.
A hoodie arcs through the air. Sage snags it easily, shrugs into it, then surprises me by leaning into my side with a laugh.
“Oh my God, it’s freezing,” she says. “You’re warm. Don’t move.”
I stiffen for half a second—then let it happen.
We sit together on the stern, coffee steaming between our hands. The marina slips away inch by inch as Ethan frees the last line and hops aboard. The engine hums low, steady. Tony takes the helm.
Once we clear the harbor, sails go up—canvas snapping sharp and clean, lines singing as they catch the wind. The sound fills my chest, lifts something heavy just enough that I can breathe.
Sage presses closer when the breeze cuts again, giggling now, sunglasses back on like armor.
“So,” she says lightly. “You excited for Plymouth?”
“I was,” I admit.
She tilts her head. “Past tense.”
I sigh. The sound escapes before I can stop it.
She waits. Lets the silence stretch. The boat glides forward, water hissing softly along the hull.
“I asked him to take the day off,” I say. “He said yes. Then… didn’t.”
“That’s rough,” she says immediately. No judgment. No sympathy performance.
Up front, Kate and Kristen lounge, already forming their own little constellation.
Sage watches them, then nods toward the cabin. “Come below. It’s warmer. And quieter.”
Down below, the motion softens. Music hums low. The smell of wood, salt, and coffee wraps around us. We sit close, knees almost touching.
“You okay?” she asks.
I laugh once, short and sharp. “I’m pissed. Hurt. And honestly? Embarrassed.”
“At the firehouse?” she guesses.
I look at her.
She nods. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
I stare at the table, then back up. “I keep telling myself it’s just schedules.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then: “Maybe. Or maybe he’s being an idiot.”
That earns a real smile from me. The first all morning.
She bumps my knee with hers. “Either way—don’t worry about it tonight. We’re gonna get you some extra cute clothes, a little makeup—”
“I’m not—”
“Oh hush,” she says, grinning. “You’re gonna kill it on the dance floor. Purely recreational.”
The boat rocks gently beneath us, steady and sure, carrying us toward Plymouth and whatever this weekend is going to become.
We end up in the galley without really deciding to.
Sage pulls out a cutting board. I grab a bag of grapes and a loaf of bread. The boat sways gently beneath us, not enough to knock anything over, just enough that we have to brace a hip against the counter now and then. The hum of the water against the hull is steady, hypnotic.
It feels domestic in a way that surprises me.
“Hand me that knife?” she asks.
I pass it over. Our fingers brush. She doesn’t comment on it.
We work side by side—quiet, efficient. Cheese unwrapped. Crackers poured into a bowl. The music from above filters down faintly, muffled by wood and motion.
For a few minutes, it’s just that. Normal. Easy.
Then Sage pauses.
Not abruptly. Just enough that I notice.
She sets the knife down carefully, wipes her hands on a paper towel, and looks at me—not directly, not at first. At the counter. At the grapes. Anywhere but my face.
“I hate to ask you this,” she says.
My stomach tightens.
She finally meets my eyes. Her expression is almost apologetic. Almost.
“But if I were in your shoes,” she continues, “I think I’d want to know.”
I don’t answer. I wait.
“Has Ethan,” she says lightly, like she’s asking about the weather, “ever… hooked up with Kate or Kristen?”
The boat creaks softly, like it’s listening.
“You mentioned the ski house,” she adds. “And they’re very cute.”
I bite my lip.
Hard.
Girl code presses in on both sides of my ribs. Ethan’s voice in my head. The look he gave Tony earlier. The way he trusts me. But also—putting myself in her place. Sitting on a boat with your boyfriend and two women you don’t fully know, wondering if there’s history you’re the last to hear about.
I stall, reaching for the grapes, even though they’re already washed.
“I don’t want to betray Ethan,” I say finally.
Sage lifts one shoulder. “I get that.”
“But,” I add, quieter, “I’d feel weird if it were me. If there was something and no one told me.”
She doesn’t rush me. That’s what gets me.
“I think,” I say slowly, choosing my words like they might break, “maybe Ethan kissed Kate once. Like… a lifetime ago.”
Sage’s eyebrows lift just a fraction.
“They were both drunk,” I rush to add. “It meant nothing. Truly. It was before anything serious. And it never came up again.”
The words slip out faster than I mean them to, tumbling over each other now that they’re loose.
Sage studies my face for half a beat.
Then she laughs.
Not sharp. Not offended. Just… amused.
“Well, if she tries anything with him this weekend—” The knife cuts more bread on the board with a steady slice. “She will regret it.”
I widened my eyes at the hint of steel in her voice. Sage was not a woman anyone would want to mess with.
“I doubt she will.” I plopped a grape in my mouth and helped her carry the trays to the deck.
By the time we’re halfway to Plymouth, the sun is fully up and the air has warmed just enough to take the edge off the cold.
The sails are full now, canvas taut and bright against the sky.
The boat cuts cleanly through the water, steady and sure, like it knows exactly where it’s going.
Gulls wheel overhead, crying sharply, then scatter as we pass beneath them.
The breeze lifts loose strands of hair, snaps at jackets, tugs at anything not tied down.
Everyone’s in a good mood.
Which makes it worse.
Sage hasn’t spoken to Kate or Kristen once since we came back up from below. Not a glance. Not a smile. Nothing.
Instead, she’s been glued to Ethan.
At first it’s subtle—her hand on his arm, leaning in when he speaks. Then it’s not subtle at all.
Ethan laughs and gestures toward the helm. “You want to try?”
Sage’s face lights up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Come on.”
He steps behind her, guiding her hands to the wheel. Her fingers curl around it, tentative at first, then more confident as the boat responds. Ethan’s hands come up over hers, adjusting her grip, his chest close to her back.
Kate lets out a low whistle from the bench. “Wow. Very Titanic of you.”
Kristen snickers. “I was waiting for ‘I’m flying.’”
Sage laughs—but there’s no humor in it.
She steps away from the wheel slowly, deliberately, brushing past them as if by accident. As she passes, she leans in just enough that only they can hear her.
I’m close enough to catch it.
“Really?” she hisses, the word sharp and venomous, carried on the wind. “You’re just jealous because you couldn’t bag him. You got a drunk hookup. I got the relationship.”
The words slither out of her mouth, low and precise.
Kate stiffens.
Kristen’s smile vanishes.
Neither of them says anything—but I inhale sharply, the sound ripping out of me before I can stop it.
Ethan and Tony don’t hear a thing. The wind steals it, whips it away.
My stomach drops.
Oh God.
I stare at Sage like I don’t recognize her. Like I’ve just watched a mask slip and hit the deck.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
She turns back toward Ethan, all smiles again, sliding seamlessly into place like nothing happened.