Chapter 8 #3
I wait until she steps away—until there’s just enough space—then I grab her arm.
“What was that?” I whisper.
She stops.
Turns.
Her eyes are cold.
Not angry. Not embarrassed.
Cold. Blue and flat, like polar ice caps under a cloudless sky.
“I told you that in confidence,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best effort. “Why would you say something like that?”
She looks at me for a long second.
Then she says, very quietly, “He should have told me.”
My chest tightens. “Sage—”
“I shouldn’t have had to hear it from you,” she continues, voice still calm, still deadly. “He put me in that position. Not you, Beth.”
I can’t find any words.
She holds my gaze another second, then turns away like the conversation never happened.
The shoreline is closer now. Plymouth coming into view.
My skin feels too tight. My thoughts too loud.
I retreat below deck under the excuse of grabbing bags, my heart pounding like I’ve done something unforgivable.
A minute later, footsteps sound on the stairs.
Ethan.
He ducks into the bathroom, then pauses when he sees me hovering by the counter.
“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
I swallow. “Ethan—wait. I need to say something.”
He frowns slightly, concern flickering across his face. “What’s up?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, words tumbling out now. “She cornered me earlier and it just—came out. I didn’t mean for it to. I swear.”
His brow furrows. “Came out… what?”
“She asked about Kate and Kristen.”
He groans instantly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus.”
“I told her about the drunk kiss,” I say quickly. “A lifetime ago. I told her it meant nothing.”
Another groan. This one heavier.
I wince. “I’m really sorry.”
He exhales slowly, then looks up at me, something like relief crossing his face.
“No—thank you for the warning,” he says. “That actually explains… a lot.”
“Explains what?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll deal with it.”
My eyes dropped noticing the nails marks on his forearm, angry and red welts marring his tan skin.
“Did, Sage do that?”
I move closer, concerned. My fingers brush his arm.
“It’s nothing. When the sail was jibing she got spooked and clutched me.”
I hesitated wanting to say more—but Sage’s head popped from the porthole above. “Ethan? All okay down there.” Her eyes cut between us standing close.
I’d be a liar for not suddenly seeing it—everything she sees in him. He reads it then—in my eyes.
I’m exposed.
Ethan really is the real deal.
A big catch.
And he was two cubicles down from me for over a year—while I was busy saving my drowning relationship—He met someone else.
But he’d never go for me right? Beth? The shy girl, next door. My clothes aren’t’ flashy. I don’t have anything Sage has… And yet— I swore for a split second I read it back in his eyes—regret. Recognition. But it was gone just as fast, as he turns and goes to her.
Sage.
His girlfriend.
Leaving me realizing I detonated my own bomb—how could I never had realized my budding crush on Ethan. And how can I escape Sage’s wrath?
I stay back a minute longer, grip the table in the galley while processing what the heck just happened in that silent moment between us.
Sage must never guess. If she does, I’ll just deny it.
And never act on a thing.
Maybe it was just proximity. He gave me the time and attention Sean hasn’t been. Plus, Ethan is older, sophisticated. Capable.
Maybe I just need to find someone with similar qualities.
Plymouth comes into view slowly, like it’s revealing itself on purpose.
Brick buildings and church steeples rise along the shoreline, sunlight glinting off windows and water alike. The harbor deepens in color as we approach the deep-water dock, the engine easing back, sails slackening as Tony takes her in clean and smooth.
Lines are thrown. Cleats creak. Artemis settles with a gentle bump, like she’s sighing.
We all look… rough.
Salt-streaked. Windblown. Sunscreen-smudged. The good kind of grimy—the kind that promises showers and cold drinks and the excuse of a long day earned.
Tony hops onto the dock and claps his hands. “Okay, change of venue. My uncle’s letting us use one of the houses. Plenty of room, real showers. Mark and—uh—Chris are already there with Dan and the rest of the crew.”
That’s right. Mark and Dan. More coworkers. More people. Less space to hide.
Kristen immediately perks up. “Dibs on first shower.”
Kate snorts. “Like hell. I called it an hour ago.”
They’re already halfway up the dock, laughing, bickering, easy with each other in a way I very much am not.
The guys unload coolers and grocery bags, talking about grilling, about burgers and early dinner before going out later. The smell of charcoal already seems to exist in my imagination.
Then Sage slips her arm through mine.
The gesture is casual. Possessive. Familiar in a way that makes my shoulders tense before I relax them.
“Come on,” she says brightly. “We’re not letting them steal all the hot water.”
She steers me away before I can protest, leaving Ethan with the guys. I glance back once—just once—and catch him watching us go, his expression unreadable.
The house is classic coastal New England—gray shingles, white trim, wide porch already scattered with shoes and coolers. Inside smells like lemon cleaner and ocean air. Towels are stacked neatly in the bathroom. Music hums softly from someone’s speaker.
When it’s my turn to shower, I’m quick. Thinking about conserving the hot water for everyone else.
I clutch the shower curtain and shriek.
“Sage?!”
She’s grinning, waiting for me inside the bathroom, perched on the counter reading Glamour. Her hot pink nails, skimming along a glossy page.
“Just give me five to get dressed and the showers yours.”
She replies by taking my neatly folded pile of clothes, opens the window and they go flying out.
“Oopsie.”
My brow lifts.
I’m fucked.
She’s up to something now.
I grab a towel before that also goes out the window and wrap it around myself.
“Don’t worry , Beth. You won’t be needing that tired, sad outfit—I’ve seen you in every weekend. Tonight, we are going to make Sean regret not being here. With you.” She eyes me, appraising. “Okay. Sit.”
“I can get ready myself,” I say weakly.
She ignores that completely. “You can. But you won’t.”
She blow-dries my hair first, fingers skilled and confident, lifting at the roots like she’s done this a thousand times. She curls it next, loose waves that somehow make my whole face look different. Better. More intentional.
She rummages through her bag. “You’re borrowing this.”
She holds up a dress.
It’s short. Not scandalous, but definitely not mine.
“Sage—”
“Trust me.”
Then comes bronzer, warm and light. Lip gloss that smells faintly like vanilla. Mascara, eyeliner, her hands steady as she tilts my chin up.
I barely recognize myself in the mirror by the time she’s done.
“Oh my God,” she says, pleased. “Look at you.”
I look.
I look like… Sage. Or at least Sage-adjacent. Like I could pass for her cousin if someone squinted.
“This feels weird,” I say, tugging at the hem of the dress.
She swats my hand away. “No, it doesn’t. Look at those legs. And you’ve been hiding that tan—criminal, honestly. Here.” She presses a bottle into my hand. “My lotion. Just a little.”
The scent blooms warm and expensive. Familiar—hers.
I swallow hard.
Every inch of me feels borrowed.
When we step back outside, the grill is going, smoke curling lazily into the late afternoon air. Laughter spills across the yard. Someone hands me a drink I didn’t ask for.
Then Ethan looks up.
His eyes widen.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Just long enough.
My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with the boat.
And suddenly I understand—really understand—that I’m attracted to him.
It hits me all at once, sharp and unwelcome, like a truth I didn’t consent to discovering. The way he stands, easy and solid. The way his gaze lingers before he catches himself.
Sage’s hand slides to the small of my back.
I feel it.
I feel everything.
I look away, heart pounding, because now I’m terrified he might be seeing me too.
And Sage is right there.
Smiling. Watching. Owning the moment.
I take a sip of my drink, wishing it would steady me.
This weekend was supposed to distract me from being stood up.
Instead, it’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize.
And I have a terrible feeling I’m only just getting started.
I don’t really drink beer.
I’m holding one anyway.
It’s sweating in my hand, cold and bitter and wrong, but it gives me something to do besides stand there feeling like my skin doesn’t fit right.
The backyard glows gold in the late afternoon sun. Smoke curls up from the grill. Someone’s playlist crackles through a tinny Bluetooth speaker—throwback pop and early 2000s hits we all pretend we don’t still know every word to.
Everyone’s loose.
Laughing.
Happy.
Normal.
Which makes me feel even more out of place.
Sage doesn’t leave my side.
At first I think it’s strategic. Territorial.
But then… it isn’t.
She drags me into a ping-pong game on the folding table out back, trash-talks Tony with a grin, high-fives me when I accidentally score. She lets me pick the next three songs. We line up paper plates and cutlery together like we’re hosting Thanksgiving.
It’s easy.
Too easy.
She bumps my hip with hers. “You’re actually fun, you know.”
“Thanks… I think?”
“No, seriously. Why don’t we hang out more?”
I don’t know how to answer that.
Because you’ve never wanted to?
Because you always looked at me like I was Ethan’s annoying intern?
Because I never knew if you liked me or tolerated me?
Instead, I just smile.
Guard still up.
Always up.
Later, when we sneak inside to refill drinks, the house is cooler, quieter. The hum of the party muffled behind the door.
Sage leans against the counter while pouring vodka into a glass.
“You know,” she says casually, like she’s talking about the weather, “it’s kinda hard being Ethan’s girlfriend sometimes.”
I glance up.