I sit on one of the heavily cushioned seats and watch as Blake goes about getting the boat ready to sail. He moves with the quick yet unhurried motions of an expert. When he told me he designed boats for a living, I assumed that he must also be a sailor, but watching him prepare the boat, the casual yet precise placement of the lines and the deft, subtle motions as he backs the boat out of its slip and into the waterway, is impressive

It occurs to me that I can’t hear any engine, yet we are moving along smoothly without a scrap of sail.

“I designed this boat to be fully electric. It actually makes it easier to handle at slow speeds, and you can recharge the batteries when you are sailing,” he says. I don’t know if he inferred my question or if he is just talking up his craft.

Soon, we are out in the bay and Blake cranks the winch to raise the main sail. I get to sit back and relax, taking in the enjoyable sights of the little islands as well as Blake’s arms straining at the winch. Once the sail is up and trimmed, the boat lurches forward, hissing through the water and cutting deftly through the little wind-driven waves.

“Here, come take the wheel.” Blake motions to me.

I stand up, steadying myself on the seat. I hadn’t realized that we were moving as much as we were. The easy roll is pleasant enough when sitting, but I don’t have my sea legs yet. Blake, of course, walks about with hardly a stumble and guides my hands to the large steering wheel.

“Just like a car, ok? Left to go left, right to go right. Now, she’s a pretty big boat, so it takes a while to turn. Small movements and patience.” He places his hands atop of mine, gently, and gives them a little squeeze against the wheel. “Ok, just keep her steady at one-hundred and twenty degrees and be on the lookout for other vessels. If you see something ahead of us…shout.”

“Wait, where are you going?” I ask, suddenly feeling very uneasy about having my hands on the wheel. The boat seems very large and is moving very fast all of a sudden.

“I’ll be right back, just doing something below,” he says with a wink.

And with that, he scampers into the salon below. It is dark there and even though the sun is behind me, the reflection off the water makes it nearly impossible to see anything. I nervously scan the horizon, looking for any other vessels, rocks, or islands that I am sure I am about to slam into. But in a few moments, Blake is back. I am about to release the wheel when he plops himself down on the seat. I look over at him, mouth agape, voicelessly asking what he is doing.

“You are doing great.” He smiles. On cue, music starts up. There must be speakers all over the cockpit area, but they are very well hidden. “Do you want to try tacking?”

“Umm, I guess,” I say, just as confident as I feel. “What do I do?”

“Basically, you just turn the boat so that the wind is hitting us from the other side. You feel how it is on your left right now? Ok, now remember, you don’t have to yank the wheel hard over, just enough to get her moving. Whenever you are ready, just say ‘coming about.’”

I swallow. I am nervous about doing anything other than keeping the wheel straight, but Blake’s confidence in me makes me feel more assured. Besides, he is right there in case something goes wrong.

“Ok, coming about.”

“Coming about, aye, captain!” Blake says with a laugh as he hops up.

I turn the wheel a little to the left, then a little more. The boat still doesn’t seem to be moving very much, so I turn it a little more. Then, it lurches left. The sail goes slack for a moment and then it swings wildly across the boat and snaps against the ropes holding it in place. The boat keeps turning. The breeze, which before had felt so gentle, now feels like a howling gale as the boat rolls heavily to the left side. I start to lose my balance, holding onto the wheel for dear life.

Suddenly, Blake is beside me. His hands grip me under my arms and lift me back onto my feet. He calmly takes hold of the wheel and turns back toward the wind. The boat comes back to level and the wind slackens. Once I am securely on my feet, and the boat is moving along steadily again, Blake takes hold of some of the ropes, tightening some and loosening others. Finally, everything is back to normal. I sink down onto the seat behind the wheel, my breath still short.

“Are you ok?” Blake asks, his face filled with a mixture of concern and bemusement.

“I, uh, I think so. Blake, I’m so sorry I almost sank the boat. I know I steered too far over. I’m so sorry.”

He laughs. I immediately go from feeling apologetic to angry. We almost die and he is laughing at me?

“Emma,” he says smiling, “we barely rolled. A few degrees. This boat is stable past ninety degrees. It can bury the top of the mast in the water and pop back up. You couldn’t capsize the boat in this weather if you tried.” He reaches over and takes hold of both of my shoulders. “Are you ok?”

I nod. Even if I realize I’ve overreacted, I still am shaken by the experience.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a bit of hair in his hand and hooking it back behind my ear. “I shouldn’t have let that happen. Do you want to go below and lie down for a minute?”

His solicitousness snaps me out of my fragility. I take a deep breath and shake my head, exhaling all of my anxiety and fear.

“No, I’m good. I won’t forget that lesson, that’s for sure.” I smile up at him and place my hand on top of his. “Can I have another shot?”

He does a good job of masking his surprise, but I see it there for a moment. It is quickly replaced with a broad smile. So, he didn’t think I could bounce back? Well, he is about to learn a thing or two about me.

We sail the rest of the afternoon and I quickly get the hang of handling the boat. Blake guides us to an anchorage near the Wye River. We drop anchor as the sun is setting amidst a chorus of water birds. The air quickly cools as the sun drips below the western horizon and Blake hands me a sweater. It is cashmere and fits perfectly. There is virtually no swell, so the boat’s movement is almost imperceptible. Also, after a few hours under sail I have gotten used to the motion.

“Are you hungry?” Blake asks.

“A bit,” I lie. I am starving. I hadn’t expected how much work it would be to sail, even keeping my balance all afternoon had required effort.

“Come on below,” he beckons me to follow him. The salon is dark, but Blake hits a switch and the space is flooded with a warm, yellow light. I hadn’t yet had a chance to check out the interior, but now that I see it I am floored. It feels like a luxury hotel room. Clean, modernist design, all the surfaces are fine, light wood or rich, creamy textiles and carpets. The kitchen, or galley as Blake called it, has marble countertops and all the appliances you need. I take a seat on the couch as Blake begins to poke around in the kitchen.

“It will just be a few minutes,” he says over his shoulder.

I watch as he applies the same swift, sure, practiced movements he demonstrated when handling the boat to making dinner. Soon, the smells begin to waft over from the stovetop and my stomach begins to rumble loudly.

“So, why did you decide not to go to grad school?” Blake asks out of the blue.

“I just didn’t see a future in it, I guess. I mean, one of my professors had to bounce around to four different schools before she got a tenure track position. And I know recent Ph.Ds who haven’t been able to find work at all or who are stuck as adjuncts making next to nothing. It just seemed like a lot of work without any kind of payoff.”

“But you were interested in it, right? I mean, the subject matter. Isn’t it worth it just to learn?”

I am about to snap at him, tell him that only someone who doesn’t have to think about money, who has inherited a fortune, could afford to think that way, but he beats me to the punch.

“I guess that is a bit impractical, sorry. I’m sure you made the right decision.”

“Thanks,” I say with not a little sarcasm. “But honestly, I’m not entirely sure I did. I mean, I haven’t exactly gotten very far going the other direction.”

Blake lets that hang for a few minutes as he puts the final touches on dinner. He brings two plates over, steam and the smell of sautéed mushrooms rising from them, and sits next to me.

“You studied Ancient Greek, right? Have you ever been there?”

“No, I’ve always wanted to, though.”

Blake smiles broadly.

“What are you doing this weekend?”