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I sit quietly, scrolling through my phone, until Jaime lets out a triumphant, "Done!" He turns from his desk, clutching the paper behind his back, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Close your eyes," Jaime says, his voice full of anticipation.
I smile and close my eyes tightly, playing along. I hear the paper rustling as he brings it closer.
"Open!" he announces.
I open my eyes to see a simple but heartfelt drawing on the white paper. Two larger stick figures, clearly adults, stand on either side of a smaller one in the middle—Jaime, with Buddy at his side. I look closer, noticing the names written beneath each figure in his adorable six-year-old handwriting. To my surprise, the woman isn't Claire, but me. "Nicole" is scrawled under the figure with green eyes, a detail that makes my heart flutter.
I glance at the man in the picture and see Shane's name written beneath his stick figure. The sight of it makes me pause. I want to ask Jaime why he didn't draw his parents, but something tells me to let it be.
"It's wonderful, Jaime," I say softly, my voice thick with emotion. "I love how beautifully you've drawn me."
As I hold the picture, a rush of unexpected emotion floods over me. This simple drawing feels like a confirmation of something I've been struggling to define. We are a family; not in the traditional sense, but in our own unique and special way. The thought of having a real relationship with Shane has been on my mind daily, tangled up with doubts and fears. But Jaime's picture brings clarity—it is possible, and each of us feels it.
Later, Shane and I walk down the docks, arm in arm, dressed casually for our second yacht date. I'm wearing a light sundress, perfect for the warm evening breeze, while Shane is in a comfortable yet stylish outfit, a step down from the formal attire we wore the first time. Shane's midsize yacht awaits us at the end of the dock, where his small crew of two stands ready.
Captain Clifton steps off the boat, greeting us with a warm smile. "Mr. Matthews, Ms. Nicole," he begins formally, then catches himself. "Oh, right. Nicole," he corrects, earning a grin from both of us.
"We have an amazing evening planned for you," Clifton continues. "First, we'll start with drinks and hors d'oeuvres as we cruise out a few miles to a spot where you'll have a perfect view of the full moon and stars. Then, we'll serve dinner—an exquisite Surf and Turf featuring Maine lobster, Argentinian prawns, and grass-fed filet mignon aged to perfection. We'll pair that with truffle mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and a bottle of Château Margaux."
Shane and I exchange a glance, both of us already anticipating the night ahead.
"Next, we'll stop near the northern docks in Trenton Bay, where a small surprise has been set up for you," Clifton hints, a twinkle in his eye. "I hope you've brought your dancing shoes. Finally, we'll cruise back out to the bay for some late-night dessert, and our final surprise."
I squeeze Shane's arm, excitement bubbling up inside me. "This sounds perfect," I say, my voice almost a whisper.
Shane looks down at me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the setting sun. "I'm glad you think so," he murmurs. "I wanted tonight to be special."
And as we step aboard, the yacht gently swaying beneath our feet, I can't help but feel that tonight will be exactly that—special in every way that matters.
On board, I immediately notice the changes to the yacht's interior.
"Anything different?" Shane asks, a sly smile playing on his lips.
"Wow, Shane, you've really gone all out," I say, admiring the space. The plain white walls and boring tan leather seats are gone. Now, the walls are painted in soothing shades of light and deep green, perfectly complementing the sea aesthetic. Beautiful pieces of art, which look fairly expensive, adorn the walls.
"I love the artwork," I say, running my fingers along the edge of a frame. "They really bring this place to life."
"I picked them up from a gallery," Shane says, leaning in closer. "Mostly local artists, some of them still students."
"This is really a step up from last time," I note, genuinely impressed.
"Well, I took some notes from you," he admits, his eyes twinkling.
"Wait, did you do all this to impress me?" I tease.
"I'm always trying to impress you," he replies with a wink.
Dinner is delicious, and I barely manage to finish my meal. Afterward, we pull up next to a dock for our first surprise—a live band consisting of a violinist, a cellist, a pianist, and a flutist. Their music is played through the yacht's surround sound system. Shane and I stand near the railing on the bow, watching as the musicians perform their symphony. Shane takes my hand and pulls me close, the lights on the deck dimming as we dance under the light of the full moon. It feels like heaven.
Our next surprise is a fireworks display out on the bay, but by then, we can barely keep our eyes or hands off each other. We leave just a few minutes into the show. Shane leads me down to his private cabin below deck. The bursts of fireworks are still audible in the background as Shane kisses my neck from behind. He unzips the back of my dress, sliding the sleeves off my shoulders until the fabric falls to the floor. His mouth moves from my neck to my upper back, his hands gliding across my skin to my bra strap. He gently undoes it, sliding the laces over my shoulders and down my arms.
He caresses my breasts, and though I yearn to kiss him, I stand still, letting him take the lead. It feels incredible to be wanted, to be guided by his touch. All that's left are my panties. His lips trail down my now-bare back while his hands trace the curves of mysides, stopping just at the panty line. I feel him grasp the fabric on either side and slide it down my thighs until it pools at my feet. I shiver as his lips kiss their way down to my buttocks.
"Bend over," he instructs, his voice low and commanding. "Put your palms on the bed."
I'm surprised by his boldness and a bit embarrassed, but I'm turned on more than anything. I do as he asks, feeling his lips touch my lower ones. A wave of heat rushes through me as his tongue and lips move, teasing me until I'm on the edge. I moan in pleasure, gripping the sheets, my head resting on the bed. Suddenly, he stops. I hear the rustle of fabric as he removes his pants.