Curious.

Not something I usually think while watching a woman with curves like that walking away from me. I tilt my head and contemplate as she hurries down the dock, and the thought repeats itself.

Curious.

She stared up at the masts with this look on her face that was almost… fear. Like the sails were swirling ghosts or portents. Other than the fact that the rigging’s annoying the fuck out of me right now, I can’t fathom what frightened her.

I shrug it off. Probably misinterpreted her. Besides, the shrug-off allows me to focus on something else as she scales the steps up to town.

I’m also usually not much for ogling women, but this one is impossible to ignore. Wide eyes and a sleek, classic kind of beauty that curves down into an incredibly perky ass. All topped with a wild shock of dark-brown hair that makes me want to… smile. I’ll admit, it’s a strange reaction.

“What are you grinning at?” Dev steps next to me, following my stare to where she disappears between the empty huts along the Harborwalk. He throws his head back and laughs. “Out of your league, my friend.”

“What do you mean? I practically saved her life.” I gesture to the water that almost claimed her. “I’m a damn hero.”

“You mean that part where you almost scared her off the dock and then manhandled her? Right before she hurried off like she couldn’t get away fast enough?” Dev slaps me on the back, giving me one of his wide smiles. Everything about the guy is wide—from his shoulders to his stance. “I’m sure you left an impression. Next time you can set a line across the walk. Get her to trip and fall in.”

“That would be one way to get her attention.” She smelled sweet too. Like sugared candies or caramels. Maybe strawberries? And she had a brush of white across her cheek. Flour?

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Not everyone can be a man-god.” He swaggers—bravado so thick it pools on the dock. Even though we’ve been friends for ten years, I’m never sure where his bravado ends and cocky-assholery begins. I’m guessing it’s about 50% bravado and 50% cocky-assholery.

“Maybe she’s not looking for a man-god,” I say. Probably a touch too hopefully.

He shakes his head. “Every woman wants a man-god. And you can’t ignore these beasts.” He flexes an arm and puffs out his chest.

Okay, maybe 75% cocky-assholery.

Although, according to quite a few women, he might have something to be cocky about. He’s got this aw-shucks smile that must drip with honey. Add in his height and the fact that he’s studying to be a veterinarian who rescues cute little puppies, and he’s never had a problem picking up random women at the supermarket.

Although, half of the reason for that attention comes plodding down the walkway from the boat in the form of a black Labrador. Matty sways to the side with his uneven gait and stops halfway down the ramp. He looks at us with those big, brown, droopy eyes.

Some asshole—real asshole this time, not Dev-asshole—left him at a vet clinic Dev was interning at two years ago. Tied to a bench in the middle of the night. No water or food. Dev took Matty until an owner who could deal with his hip dysplasia could be located. He says he’s still looking, but two years later, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that he would give Matty up. Or that I would let him.

Matty makes it down the ramp and leans on Dev’s leg, big doggie-brown eyes staring up at him.

“What am I doing here anyway?” Dev says, half to the dog and half to me as he leans down to give him a head scratch. “I’ve got exams next week, man.”

He isn’t like me—a full-time, never-going-to-live-on-land sailor. Although his love of it was instilled by his mother, a Maine woman who captained Yale’s women’s sailing team the year they took nationals. But Dev’s followed more in his father’s path, driven to complete some hefty degree. His father came over from India at eighteen years old—one of those Ivy League imports with both family money and brains—who now owns a tech firm over in Augusta.

I nod toward the masts. “I need to get her ready and take her out before the season starts.” Other than the journey here, I haven’t sailed her in years. Don’t get me wrong—I can sail anything. A plank of wood with a Kleenex attached. But hauling around tourists makes me want to triple-check every batten and life preserver. It’s not exactly something I’m looking forward to. The sound of the wind against the sails isn’t as calming when there are tourists to look after.

My father used to have the same nerves. He’d have me out there with a flashlight and a magnifying glass, looking for hairline fractures in the stays. But if I missed something… Well, my father was never someone you wanted to disappoint. A fact both my brother and I suddenly learned when we were about nine years old and we started finding empty liquor bottles hidden in the corners of the galley. And a lesson that kept repeating until we were finally old enough to fight back. We both left at seventeen. Neither one of us with more of a plan than getting the fuck away.

Then the asshole got sick. And now I’m here—staring at the masts with a sense of foreboding like an old-time sailor staring at somber clouds. There is no part of me that gives a shit about that man. I’m here for a different reason.

I hear that reason the loudest when it’s quiet. A soft creak of her wood, and the lap of water against her hull. But when I look up, all I see is the fucking rigging.

Dev’s going to be pissed when I tell him why he’s here. And that I can’t pay his agreed-upon salary for the first part of summer.

“Her rigging needs to be replaced.” I point toward the top of the mast, where cracked spreaders and worn sheaves hide.

He straightens. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s gotta be done.”

His mouth drops open a little. “You don’t have the lines.”

“Lines are in the ticket hut.” Which was where I hid them so Dev wouldn’t run as soon as he saw them sitting on deck.

“That’s a lot of fucking work.” He scratches Matty absently, staring up at the rigging. He’s never liked the mechanical side of sailing—not like I do—spending time lost in the minutiae of canvas and nylon. “Where the fuck is your brother? Isn’t Sebastian supposed to be here?”

I shrug. “He had some sort of climbing trip planned. He’ll be here.”

Mostly because I don’t have another choice. Sebastian is as unpredictable as always, but he assured me he’d show up for the summer. Although, when I told him I’d be doing the tourist runs, there was a long stretch of silence on the phone. A really long stretch of silence. One more conversation I’m not looking forward to.

I could attempt to change her rigging myself, but on a boat this size, it’s nearly impossible. And would end with her being out of commission for a few days. I don’t want that. A miracle might happen, and someone will charter her before the season starts.

Dev sighs. “It’ll require beer. Lots and lots of beer.”

That I’d already planned for. “It’s in the cooler.”

“Fuck. Then I want double pay for this week too.” But he starts walking towards the ticket huts, tugging lightly on Matty’s leash. The dog careens to the side—dangerously close to the edge of the ramp. But he pulls himself toward the middle, and we amble up to the huts that line the shore. The one designated for the Heroine is a pale blue with rotting wood along the bottom edge. The door doesn’t latch. More shit to get done in the next month. I have no idea how my father handled all this on his own. Especially since he was always drunk an hour after dusk.

Matty pauses halfway up the walkway. Despite the limp, he always has a big doggie smile. Although I wonder how much that grin covers. Even dogs give smiles that cover the truth.

“He’s getting worse.” My voice is low, heavy with words I don’t want to say.

Dev holds the leash patiently. “I’ve got him on a few homeopathic remedies.”

My eyebrows go up at this. “You? Homeopathic?”

“Some of them are working, and that’s all I fucking care about.” He steps aside as Matty starts up the walkway again, his brown eyes eager on the planks before him. “The acupuncture is doing him good. But it’s not cheap. That reminds me, I need to get an advance on my pay. I’m getting low on cash. You know, end of semester.”

I stroll along next to him, trying to keep my shoulders loose. I was hoping to have this conversation after the rigging and the lots and lots of beer. I could go into how much the lines cost. Or how I need three gallons of paint for the ticket hut. Or how half the fishing rods needed new reels. How my father’s monthly bill at the assisted living facility is ridiculous. How far the man let things slide over the last few years as his dementia deepened.

But none of that matters because if Matty needs acupuncture to feel better, then we’ve got to do it. And Dev deserves what I promised him. Even if the promise will be late.

I let out a long sigh. “Pay advance will have to wait.”

We cross the line from dock to cement and then stop at the door of the ticket hut. I breathe out a second sigh, this one of relief, to see the lines through the square window. There’s not a lot of activity around the harbor this time of year, but I was still worried they might have walked off in the middle of the night. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. If anything goes wrong. One lesson in sailing is that, at some point, something goes wrong.

“What does ‘wait’ mean?” Dev stops behind me.

I unlock the door and step into the small room to grab a bucket of fasteners. “I’ll give you all the profits from the first charters, I promise. Everything, man.”

Dev’s glare slips into something more needling. “You don’t have the cash.”

I shake my head. “Spent the last on the beer. Which probably wasn’t the best decision.” Although it was the only decision if I wanted Dev’s help with the rigging.

Matty thumps his tail against the cement, and Dev turns to look out toward the rest of the slips. “Where’s the Neverland?” he asks after a minute.

Fuck, this is what happens when I keep secrets from Dev. I rub my neck. “I sold her.” I have to bite it out—today is made up of shit I don’t want to say. One thing after the other. I stare down at the Heroine, her masts tipped with red at the top. She’s gotta be worth it, right?

She’s stunning. A boat I would stop and stare at for hours if I happened across her. She brings a damn smile to my face every time I see her. She’s the whole reason I’m here.

But now I’m starting to wonder if it’s the same type of smile Matty has—the one that hides the truth.