“Hey.” I stood on the dock next to the boat, and Grant offered a hand so I could board using the stairs he’d set out. “Well, these certainly make it easier. Especially in these wedges.”
Grant didn’t let go of my hand once I was safely onboard. “Had to dust off those stairs. Never use ’em.”
“I could have climbed on like we did the other night. You didn’t have to dig them out. Sorry if I’m a little early. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to get here, and I wanted to stop and pick this up.” I handed him the bottle of wine.
“Thank you. I was wondering how long you were going to sit in the car and watch me.”
My eyes widened. Shit. He’d seen me. “I wasn’t checking you out, if that’s what you think. I was just really early and didn’t want to impose.”
He pushed his sunglasses down on his nose so I could see his eyes. “That’s too bad. You’re welcome to check me out whenever you want. It would only be fair since I won’t be able to stop looking at you in that dress.”
I’d changed three times and settled on a spaghetti strap white and navy sundress with a V-neck. It showed off more cleavage than I normally put on display, but my roommate had talked me into wearing it. Now I was glad I’d listened.
“Come on. I’ll give you the tour and open the wine.”
I followed Grant into the cabin. We’d stayed outside the other night with his grandfather, so it was the first time I was seeing the inside and where he lived. The room we entered was a big living room. It had a wraparound couch, two matching chairs, a long credenza, and a big-screen television. The living room I shared with Mia was probably the same size.
“It’s easy to forget you’re on a boat in here, isn’t it?”
He pointed to the wall-to-wall windows. “There are two different shades that come down. One blocks out some of the sun and keeps it cool, but you can still see outside through them, and the other totally blacks out the outside. You can’t tell if it’s day or night when those are down, much less where you are.”
I followed Grant into the kitchen and was surprised to find it was almost as big as the living room. “I don’t know why, but I expected a small galley kitchen, not something like this.”
“It was smaller originally. There used to be a bedroom up here, but I took out the wall and opened it up. I like to cook.”
I raised a brow. “You cook?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I guess it just seems so domestic. I took you more for the type that went to restaurants and grabbed takeout.”
“My mom was Italian and cooked a big meal every night. The kitchen was the center of the house growing up. We had foster kids coming and going, and she used cooking to get us all together at least once a day.”
I smiled. “That’s really nice.”
“I did pick up food tonight on my way home, but not because I can’t cook. I was running late, and you didn’t want a date, so I figured that meant I shouldn’t sneak in a full meal.”
Grant showed me the rest of the boat: a small bedroom downstairs that he’d turned into an office, a guest bedroom, two bathrooms, and then he opened the door to a giant master bedroom.
“This is huge.”
“That’s the kind of thing I like to hear in here.” He winked.
I took a few steps in and looked around. The room had dark wood and a king-size bed with plush navy linens. One of the walls was covered in black and white photos of boats sailing on the water with matte black frames. I walked over and looked at some of them.
“These are beautiful. Did you take them?”
“No. They’re all the different models my grandfather built over the years. The photos are all of the prototypes taking their first sail.”
I pointed to the one in the center. “Is this this boat?”
Grant stood close behind me, close enough that I felt the heat emanating from his body. “It is. That was taken in 1965.”
“Crazy. I can’t get over how old this boat is. If you told me it was a year old, I’d believe it.”
“That’s what people loved about his models. They have a timeless quality about them.”
I looked closer at the photo. “There’s no name on the back yet.”
“The showroom samples and prototypes were never named. It’s bad luck to change a boat’s name. So it was up to the first owner to name her.”
I turned around, and suddenly the big room seemed much smaller. Grant didn’t back up. “Her? Is a boat always a her?”
He nodded. “Pops would say sailors of the past were almost always men and often dedicated their ships to goddesses who would protect their vessel in rough seas.” Grant brushed a hair from my shoulder. “But I think they’re women because they’re high maintenance.”
“High maintenance, huh? Well, you live on a boat, so you must not mind high maintenance, then?”
His eyes dropped to my lips, and he smirked. “Apparently high maintenance is my type. Easy is boring.”
I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me, and in the moment, I would have let him, but instead his eyes caught my gaze. “Come on. I promised you a drink and a sunset.”
We went out to the front of the boat, and Grant set up a tray of all different finger foods he’d bought at the Italian market. It was enough food for three meals.
“Do you always buy enough for ten people? I’m sensing a pattern here between lunch the other day and all of this.”
“The pattern is wanting to make sure you’re taken care of, not being wasteful.”
I smiled. “Are you always this accommodating to your dates?”
“Considering you’re the first woman sitting on my boat for a sunset, I’d have to say no.”
I tilted my head. “What’s your story? You said the other day you haven’t had a relationship in seven years. Is it because you work a lot?”
Grant seemed to consider his words. “Partly. I do work a lot. Contrary to your initial opinion of me—where you assumed I was a spoiled silver spoon who didn’t work—I put in a ten- to twelve-hour day at the office most weekdays and a half day on Saturday.”
“I’m never going to live that email down, am I?”
He shook his head. “Not likely.”
I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Workaholic. So let’s back up. I asked if you hadn’t had a relationship in seven years because you’re busy, and your answer was partly. What’s the other part? For some reason, I feel like you’re leaving out an important piece of the story.”
Grant’s eyes settled on mine for a few heartbeats, but then he looked away to pick up his wine. “I was married. Been divorced for seven years.”
“You must’ve been married young. Or are you older than you look?”
He nodded.
A few minutes ago, he’d seemed relaxed, but his composure totally changed now. His jaw tightened, he avoided eye contact, and his movements were rigid, as if all the muscles in his body had contracted at once.
“I’m twenty-nine. Got married at twenty-one.”
Even though he looked completely uncomfortable discussing the subject, I pushed a bit more. “So you were only married for a year, then?”