When I walk into my office this morning, Clara is waiting for me with my new phone. I am always impressed by her ability to get things done far faster than should be possible. I didn’t even know stores would be open early enough, but she managed it.

“It still needs to restore your settings and data from the backup on the cloud, so it won’t be ready for another hour or so,” she cautions.

“No problem, there is nothing that can’t wait. I just can’t believe I was such an idiot. I know better than to keep my phone in a jacket pocket when I’m climbing around a boat.”

Clara gives me a sympathetic smile. She wasn’t here last night when I got called back to the marina, but she knows the story.

“Too bad you missed your date, were you able to reschedule?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure it will be fine. Trevor explained the situation to her and I sent flowers this morning, so I think I’m ok.”

Clara arches an eyebrow at me. She and I have never dated and never will. She is like a little sister to me. And she knows me too well. As my assistant, she has had the dubious honor of standing by my side through numerous messy break-ups and angry one-night stands that wanted something more. She is my shield, soothing hurt feelings or shutting down over-blown tantrums so that I don’t have to deal with it.

She knows that I had a date last night, but not how I met Emma. She doesn’t need to know about that. Hopefully, Trevor won’t go blabbering about it, either. I know he signed the non-disclosure agreement like everyone else, but he has made a habit of skating through life like there are no consequences and he can be frustratingly cavalier about the ramifications of his actions.

“Everything ok with the boat?” Clara asks.

“Yes, it is fine now. But I am going to need you to speak to the harbormaster and get video logs of everyone who was on board her in the last two days.”

Clara nods and walks back to her desk. I walk through the glass door into my office and lean back into my chair. Last night, as I was getting ready to go to the restaurant, I got a call that my new project, the boat I just completed for Ted Gordon, was taking on water. I raced over to the marina to check on her and fix the leak. But as I clambered aboard, my phone dropped out of my jacket and straight to the bottom of the marina, taking my only record of Emma’s phone number with it. By happenstance, I noticed that Trevor was partying on a nearby yacht and asked him to go to the restaurant to let Emma know I wasn’t going to make it and why.

After spending an hour elbow deep in cold, dirty water, I found the source of the leak. Someone, maybe one of the guests that Ted had brought aboard to show off his new prize, had fiddled with one of the seacocks in the head. No doubt they were unfamiliar with the working of a marine toilet, and maybe they were more than a little drunk. Thankfully, the leak was tiny. On a boat that size, with that much weight, a one-inch hole below the waterline can see salt water shooting in like a fire hose. If that had been the case, she would have been sitting on the marina bottom within minutes. But I was able to get her sealed up before any real damage could occur. I also learned a valuable lesson in ensuring that all my systems are even more idiot-proof than I had thought necessary.

When my phone finally finishes its cloud restore, I decide to send a text to Emma. Opening my recent messages as if my phone had never fallen into the water, I apologize again for last night and ask her if she liked the flowers. After a few minutes, I see that she has read the message, but she hasn’t written back. No matter. She is probably at work and doesn’t have time to text. I put my phone aside and start working on some sketches for a preventative solution to the leak I discovered last night. By the time I begin building the new system in my 3D modeling software, I notice that Emma still hasn’t written back.

I don’t understand. Could she be mad at me for missing dinner? I had a perfectly reasonable explanation and I sent flowers with an apology first thing in the morning. I know it is annoying to postpone a date and that it would have been a bit embarrassing for her at the restaurant, but I don’t know what more I could have done. I would hope that she would be a little more understanding of the situation I was in.

I start to type another text, but delete it.

“Clara, I’m going out for the day. Feel free to go home early.”

The lull between jobs is not the best time because it is boring, but it does allow for my assistant to have a better work/life balance. During crunch time in a design cycle, I can be a bit of a tyrant. If I work long hours, Clara does as well, so on days when I don’t have much going on, I don’t make her stay at the office for no reason.

“By the way, Blake, a guy called while you were working. Said he is interested in doing a full reno of an old J-class that he has, wants to turn it into a luxury cruiser.”

I smile with excitement. J-class are classic racing sailboats. Think of the old America’s Cup racers. They are extraordinary boats with a massively upswept bow and stern. The lines are pure grace. Most luxury cruisers these days are much wider aft with a swim step and tons of deck space at the back end of the boat. Whoever wants to cruise in the J-class is clearly a real sailor.

“Where is it?”

“Aegean, near Mykonos.”

Perfect, I could fly out to Greece and get a chance to sail my own, private boat.

“Ok, make the arrangements before you leave. I’d like to head out there Friday.”

Clara nods and I walk out of the office into the warm mid-afternoon sun. I am going to see Emma. I don’t want to start a conversation over text. There are too many aspects of communication that get lost, too much chance for misinterpretation. It is better to talk face-to-face. Besides, I missed seeing her last night. I want her in front of me again.