“Did you say Mermaid Cove? Why are we stopping?”
A flicker of apprehension flashed in her eyes, and it cut him to his core. He was going to hunt down whoever had hurt her and tear him to shreds.
“Yes, and I promised you dinner. You can’t eat and steer at the same time. Don’t worry, Cait. I promised you I wouldn’t try any funny stuff, and I always keep my promises.”
“I’m sorry. I know everyone trusts you,” she said regretfully. “I’m just weird.”
“You’re cautious, and that’s good, but hopefully one day you’ll learn that I’m a man of my word and that you can trust me, too.”
She cut the engine. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have come on your boat.”
“Good point. Then hopefully one day you’ll fully trust me and realize I’m not the kind of guy who would ever hurt anyone unless they were hurting someone I cared about.”
He felt her studying him again as he anchored outside the cove. “I’m just going belowdecks to get our dinner. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Cait picked up Scrappy, and she seemed more relaxed.
When he came back up with place settings and the insulated bag from Rock Bottom Bar and Grill, she was gazing out at the cove with a peaceful expression.
“I can’t get over how pretty it is here. I love the way the blue lights on the boat reflect off the water, and the moonlight hitting the rocks around the cove gives it an ethereal feel,” she said as he set everything on the table. “I wish I could sketch it.”
“There’s no better sight.” At least that’s what he’d always thought, but the look on Cait’s face surpassed even his favorite cove. He opened the storage compartment where he’d put her bags and said, “I’m sure you have a sketchbook in there somewhere. Go for it.” He took Scrappy from her.
Her eyes widened. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind? Life is meant to be enjoyed, not missed. You can sketch and eat or sketch, then eat.”
She snagged her backpack, and when she unzipped it, he spied at least four sketchbooks inside. She fingered through them and plucked one out, sending an envelope sailing down to the deck.
He picked it up and saw her name written across the front. “An unopened letter. Very mysterious. Secret admirer?”
“Hardly.” She snagged the envelope and put it in her backpack.
He was curious about the letter, but her tight-lipped expression had him holding his tongue as he set out the containers for their dinner.
“What is all that?” she asked in a less annoyed tone.
“Chips, guacamole, and the makings for shrimp tacos on pita bread. I worried it might get soggy if they put it together. I figured we could assemble them ourselves. Is that okay? You ordered this the night we met, when we had dinner with Abby and Aiden and everyone else.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief again. “You remembered what I ordered three months ago?”
“I remember everything about that night, including the moment I first saw you across the room, when everything else failed to exist. You wore a peach sweater, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you during dinner. I wondered all night about the tattoos on your neck, which disappeared beneath your collar. And you kept sneaking glances at me and then looking away.”
She bit her lip and looked down, absently touching her neck.
“You did that a lot, too.” He gently lifted her chin, heat billowing between them. “What I felt that night has only gotten stronger, but I don’t have to tell you that any more than you have to tell me you feel it, too.”
She swallowed hard. He fought the urge to press his lips to hers and reluctantly lowered his hand, putting space between them.
“I know talking like this makes you nervous. For that reason, we’re going to pretend that whatever this is between us doesn’t exist and get on with our evening.” He waved to the seats. “Get comfy, and sketch your little heart out.”
Get comfy? How the heck was Cait supposed to get comfortable when he’d just recounted their initial meeting with pinpoint accuracy? She’d been captivated by him, and Abby had caught her staring as he’d approached the table. It was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the jitters she felt now.
Except that they were at Mermaid Cove.
It was like he knew all her secrets, which was impossible. This was just a coincidence, wasn’t it? She was bound to overthink that unless she could turn her thoughts off. She knew how to close herself off from the rest of the world. She had become a master at it out of necessity when she was just a little girl. So why was it impossible to do around Brant?
“You okay?” he asked.
“Mm-hm.” She sat on the cushions with her sketchbook and focused on the cove, hoping the beauty of the sight before her would work its magic. She studied the angles of the rocks, the motion of the water, and the reflection of the moon, welcoming the serenity of each sight, letting them lull her in. Before long, she was lost in them. Her pencil moved swiftly across the paper, adding depth and texture, until she was one with the drawing, her movements as fluid as water, her thoughts as clear as the night sky.
A tap on her shoulder startled her. She looked up at Brant standing beside her holding Scrappy, and it took a moment for her brain to function enough to remember she was on his boat.
“Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been at it for a little more than an hour, and I thought you might be hungry. I made you a taco.” He lifted a plate into view.
An hour? “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can stop. I sometimes get lost when I’m sketching.”
“You don’t have to stop. I love watching you draw, and look at that picture.” He shook his head. “I can feel the water moving around the rocks. I thought the mural you painted at the Bistro was phenomenal, but this drawing is even better. You’re incredibly talented. Your work should be shown in galleries and sold in stores.”
She scoffed, uncomfortable with such high praise, and glanced at the sketchbook, feeling she was seeing the drawing for the first time. That happened often when she was in the zone. She quickly closed it and set it aside to take the plate from him. “Thank you. I’m sorry to screw up your schedule.”
“I have nothing on my schedule but getting you safely to the Cape tonight.” He sat with Scrappy on his lap as she ate. “Where did you learn to draw?”
“I’ve been drawing since I was a kid. I’ve read up on techniques, but I’ve never taken classes or anything. When I first came to the Cape, we found some old sketches Ava had done when she was young. I guess I inherited her artistic genes.” She held up her taco. “This is really good. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. That’s where I’m going to teach you to swim, in the cove.”
“I don’t plan on going in the water anytime soon, so you don’t need to teach me.”
“You didn’t plan on saving Scrappy, either. You can’t live on an island and not know how to swim. It’s too dangerous. Mark my words—you’re swimming in Mermaid Cove.”
She knew he was right about needing to learn to swim, but the thought of his hands on her as he gave her lessons set off those butterflies she was constantly trying to squash. “Why in this cove?” she asked, curious about their mermaid connection.