Page 30 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)
Chapter thirty
Cam
T he morning sun is already high by the time I make it down to the pier, the air warm enough that I tug at the collar of my light shirt.
The water glitters hard and bright, each wavelet catching the light like cut glass.
Somewhere out beyond the harbor, gulls wheel and call, their cries sharp over the steady lap of waves against the pilings.
Halfway down the pier, I spot them.
Three tall, broad silhouettes against the pale wood and blue water, the kind of image that makes your brain say yep, those are definitely alphas.
Dane, Theo, and Jamie are moving easily around a sleek, deep-hulled boat, ropes looped in strong hands, voices carrying low and warm over the hum of the dock.
Jamie’s the first to see me, grinning wide enough that I can’t help but grin back. “There’s our adventurer,” he calls, lifting a hand in greeting. “Right on time.”
“I think I’m early,” I point out, stepping from sun to shadow as the dock creaks under my sneakers. The faint smell of salt and engine oil mixes with the faint sweetness of cinnamon—the scent curling off Jamie in particular today, warm and spicy, like he’s been leaning over a bakery counter.
“Then we were earlier,” Theo says with a smirk, tightening a cleat hitch like it personally insulted him.
“Overachievers,” I mutter, though my smile lingers.
Dane straightens from where he’s been checking a cooler, the sun lighting a sharp line along his jaw.
He’s wearing a faded navy cap low over his eyes, and when he tips his head toward me, there’s no mistaking the authority in his voice.
“Welcome aboard, Vale. You’re on my ship now, so you follow my rules. ”
I arch a brow. “Oh? And what are these rules, Captain?”
Jamie jumps in before Dane can answer. “Rule one—don’t listen to Dane. Rule two—always bring snacks for Jamie. Rule three—”
“Rule three,” Dane interrupts, “is ignore Jamie.”
Theo snorts. “Rule four is don’t let Jamie near the helm unless you like spinning in circles.”
“Rule five is stop ganging up on me,” Jamie says, mock-offended. “And for the record, I only spun us in circles that one time because the wind—”
“—was fine and you were daydreaming about cinnamon buns,” Theo cuts in smoothly.
Jamie throws up his hands. “I can’t help it if I have an appreciation for fine pastries and finer company.” He flashes me a grin. “Speaking of—come on, Crewwoman Cam, let me give you the tour before these two sink us with their egos.”
Inside, the galley smells faintly of last night’s coffee and lemon cleaner.
Jamie ducks through a narrow doorway, talking the whole time—pointing out the little table where we’ll eat, the built-in bunks down the hall, the compact bathroom with a door that slides instead of swings.
I have to sidestep past him in the hall at one point, my shoulder brushing his chest. The contact is brief but sends an entirely unnecessary shiver down my spine.
Cinnamon again—warm and sweet and a little dangerous.
Back outside, Dane is at the wheel, adjusting it like a man who’s been steering ships since birth. “We shove off in ten,” he calls without looking up. “Theo, check the weather again. Jamie, untie the stern.”
“Yes, Captain,” they both say, mock-saluting.
“You’re really leaning into this captain thing,” I tell him, climbing back up to the deck.
Dane’s mouth curves, just a fraction. “If I’m in charge, we’ll actually make it to the island instead of detouring to every island where Jamie smells someone’s cooking from two miles away.”
Jamie cups his hands to his mouth. “One time! And that cinnamon loaf was worth it!”
Theo rolls his eyes but his lips twitch. “Worth it to you maybe. I’m the one who had to navigate us through the reef in the dark afterward.”
Their bickering is easy, practiced—like this is just another day in their long string of shared days. It pulls me in without asking permission, makes me feel like I’ve been here before.
Theo tilts his head toward the horizon. “It’s about a half day to the island. Wind’s good today, though.”
“And hot,” I add, tugging my hair off my neck.
There’s a heaviness in the air, the kind that sticks to your skin.
A drop of sweat rolls between my shoulder blades, and I’m suddenly too aware of the faint ache low in my belly.
It’s been a while since I’ve thought about my cycle, and now the thought lingers in the back of my mind like a spark you’re not sure you want to fan.
Jamie leans against the rail beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. “Hot means clear skies. Perfect for an adventure.”
“Perfect for heatstroke,” Dane mutters from the helm, though his mouth quirks in a way that makes it less of a complaint and more of an observation.
Theo steps past us to check the mooring, and I catch the faint brush of his scent—cool, clean, a little like rain on stone. My pulse skips for reasons I don’t have time to unpack.
Dane’s voice cuts in, firm and low. “Alright, crew. Let’s get her moving.”
Jamie winks at me. “You heard the captain.”
I nod, tightening my grip on the railing. The sun, the salt, the teasing—it’s all a little dizzying, like the moment before you jump into cold water.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s not just the weather making me warm.