“I’m hungover.”
“Oh. I know.”
“I’m sure we’re all hungover.”
“It was a good party. I just hope you won’t be falling overboard any time soon. I don’t want to be the person to fish you out of the ocean and put you to bed, like a repeat of last night.”
“I fell in the ocean?” I ask, horrified.
You put me to bed?
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “No, but you did want to go skinny dipping really badly. I had to fight to keep my clothes on.”
“What?”
Suddenly a few images filter through my brain like dust.
Oh my god. I don’t think he’s joking. I remember my hands on his shirt, trying to undo his buttons, him laughing and prying my hands off of him.
“Shit,” I swear, pressing my hand into my forehead.
I’m blushing. Tomato Zone Three, all hands on deck.
“Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says, but there’s a mocking tone to his voice.
Oh, lord.
“I know you’ve been having a rough time,” he goes on. “That Chris guy sounded like a real wanker.”
“Oh my god, I was talking about Chris?”
“More like you were crying about Chris. Then you did some shots and passed out and I carried you to bed.”
I feel like I’m going to faint.
“Don’t worry, I was the perfect gentleman.”
“My shirt was on backwards!”
“I handed you the shirt and left the room. I don’t know what you did with it.” He walks past me to the front door, nodding his chin at the couch. “I slept there last night, and don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch on the boat, too. I have my manners.”
He opens the door and steps out. “You better go and start packing,” he calls out as he walks to his truck. I’m trying not to stare at his ass. “The south seas await.”
Fuck.
What the hell have I got myself into?
Six
Daisy
This was a big mistake.
I’m standing on Tai’s private dock, surrounded by Lacey, Richard, and mounds of bags, luggage, supplies and food, staring at the boat we’re supposed to do an ocean passage in, the Atarangi.
It’s small.
I know Tai said it was forty-two feet or something but for some reason it looks a lot smaller and older than I had imagined. My ex-boyfriend’s yacht had to have been at least twice the size, and new. Then again, it belonged to his money-bags father who made a fortune in Apple stock.
“How quaint,” my mother comments from behind me. “It’s…vintage.”
We have a small crowd sending us off this early morning. There’re my parents, Richard’s mom Edith (a carbon copy of him down to the glasses), and the Wakefields are here too, which surprises me considering this is something that Tai must do quite often.
“Don’t be fooled by her age,” Tai shouts at my mother from the cockpit. “She’s perfect for blue water sailing. You don’t get many ocean-worthy boats like this these days.”
Well, that’s a little reassuring.
And at least it’s a calm, clear morning, no red sky in sight (or however that sailor’s proverb goes). It’s just after dawn and the sun is slowly rising up over Tai’s place behind us, a small three-room house that he’s referred to a few times as a bach from the 50’s, whatever that means. All I know is that it’s just as retro chic as the boat, and has a stunning location on a private bay, surrounded by deep brush.
We woke up this morning when it was still dark out and I got a ride in the Wakefield’s car with Edith, while my parents took the newlyweds. I managed to get my new flight sorted out last night, with only a minor change fee.
Of course, my travel gear was never meant to go anywhere other than the trunk of a car or the belly of an airplane.
And Tai has decided this morning’s scorn isn’t devoted to the fact that there are four people’s worth of supplies to haul aboard, but is instead focused on my two shiny suitcases.
“Well, shit,” he grumbles, giving me a dirty look. “You couldn’t have given one of those suitcases to your parents to bring back for you?”
“I need my stuff!” I protest, already feeling vulnerable.
“We offered,” my father says, hands raised in a mea culpa.
It’s true. My parents offered to take the big suitcase back to the US, and I’m sure it would have been smart of me to send it off with them. But there’s stuff in there I need, like snacks I brought from home, bottles of wine, New Zealand kiwi chocolate (so good), and clothes of all sorts. I mean, who knows what kind of weather we’ll have out there.
Lacey does one of her patented eye rolls. “Great. Now the boat will probably sink from the extra weight.”
I glare back at her. “Doesn’t matter. The suitcases are waterproof. My stuff will stay dry even if we do sink.”
“Ah, perhaps this isn’t the best talk before we say goodbye,” Mrs. Wakefield says nervously.
I turn and give her a quick smile. “Sorry. I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’re in your son’s capable hands.”
The last part wasn’t sarcastic, but even so, I can hear Tai scoff.
And so the goodbyes commence.
I have to admit, I’m tearing up as I say goodbye to my parents. It’s not that I don’t think I’ll see them again, of course I will, but I haven’t had this much quality time with them since…well, ever. Even when I’ve come home for Christmas and Easter, it feels like a formality. Like something I’m supposed to do, and I’ve always gotten the impression that they’ve felt the same way. Like God is ordering them to have me over, rather than me being someone they want to see.
And these last few days have been about getting to know these new versions of my parents, as an adult, the versions that they become when they aren’t at home, surrounded by a million damn apples.
Then it’s time for us to set sail.
The cockpit is rather small but there’s enough space for all of us, with Tai behind the wheel. The lines are tossed, Richard running around and putting them all in their proper places, and the motor is turned on to a hearty purr, and then we’re pulling away from the dock.
The small crowd of our loved ones on the dock wave at us and we wave back as the boat makes its way out of the small bay and into the harbor.
It’s bittersweet and exciting all at the same time. There’s something so invigorating about being on the water in the early morning hours, the breeze in your hair, setting sail for a far-off land.
“Should I do anything?” I ask no one in particular as the boat sloshes through the water.
“Stay out of the way,” Tai says.
I put my hand on my hip and give him a look.
Okay, so there’s no denying that this view of him is making my ovaries explode. I never knew I could be attracted to sailors, especially since they tend to be preppy types.
But Tai is the opposite of preppy. He’s more pirate than anything.
Sure, he’s in worn jeans and a grey t-shirt with a grease stain on it, what seems to be his standard uniform, and he’s got a ball cap on and a pair of aviator sunglasses hooked on the collar of his shirt. But it’s the way his big, roughed-up hands handle the steering wheel, the commanding stance he’s taking, the way his eyes are raking over the water in front of us, all of it equals some new level of kink I never knew was in me. First it was him eating an apple, now it’s him being a big boss pirate daddy commandeering a ship.