Page 39 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

The next morning, Silas is back in my room and I’m doing my best to ignore the tightness in my chest from just having him in here.

Something unexpected switched in my head last night. And while he didn’t end our dance on the sidewalk with a kiss, there was a moment when I certainly thought he might.

And with it came a moment in which I certainly wanted him to try.

I have no idea how.

I’m sure the drinks we’d had earlier with the crew made our decision-making capabilities a bit hazy, but I can’t say I regret any of it.

“What do you mean we’ll still sail in weather like this?” I ask. He can’t be serious. After waking up to rain pounding at the window, I thought for sure the sail we had planned this morning would be postponed until tomorrow when it’s dry and sunny again.

“I’m sure it’ll clear up by the time we get down to the water.”

Silas is standing in the sitting room of my suite with his hands on his hips. He’s in full athletic attire, including a white backward baseball hat that looks far too attractive on him in this exact moment.

His eyes are shining at me like a kid on Christmas morning.

After our moment on the sidewalk last night, Si had dropped some bills into the guitar case, then we’d raced back to the hotel, arm in arm, when the sky began pouring out of nowhere.

When I opened the door to my suite, our hair dripping down our necks, I hadn’t known what to say anymore.

It had suddenly felt too quiet, the space too intimate, and we’d sheepishly parted ways, tucking ourselves back into our separate rooms, muttering things about hot showers and needing to get sleep before the big morning sail.

I’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to think of all the reasons other than he was Grant’s friend in order to stay away from him.

The list was short.

He’d kissed me on the cheek before leaving, and I’m pretty sure that if I’d had the courage to ask, he’d have probably done more.

I couldn’t actually be sure.

Did he always end the night by kissing girls on the cheek? Especially if they were just friends? Or was that the drinks at play?

Does he feel some loyalty to Grant? One that would never allow him to cross the invisible line between us? In the light of day, I don’t even know if I want him to.

I was already a ball of nerves this morning after hardly sleeping, and that was before I saw the pounding rain outside.

“Get your gear on, Jules,” he says, pulling me out of my head.

“My gear?”

“You might not be partaking in the actual work of sailing, but you’ll still need a hat, a polo, tennis shoes with good tread . . . It was all in the clothing options on that list from Katie.”

“I was thinking a sundress and thongs?”

He bursts into laughter, seemingly unbothered and unchanged by what unfolded last night. He seems as carefree as he always does.

I watch him squeeze sunblock onto his hands, even though the sky is gray, and he rubs it up and down both forearms, pulling up his sleeves to slather it onto his shoulders, tendons rippling each time he moves his fist up and down.

I look away, biting my bottom lip.

What the hell has gotten into me?

“You can do bare feet on the deck. I’d prefer that you didn’t trip over flip-flops when the boat tips,” he says, not bothering to look up.

“Tips?”

He stops what he’s doing to stare at me. His nose and forehead are still painted white.

“You missed a spot.” I point, scrunching my face at him while I wave my hand around. “Okay, you missed a lot of spots.”

He doesn’t move. It’s like he hasn’t heard me.

“What?” I ask.

“How much sailing have you seen?”

“I’ve watched sailing,” I say, defiantly. “Like, from the shore. And once on TV.”

“But you didn’t know the boat tips?” he asks, looking concerned.

Now he has me worried. But, in true Silas form, he manages to crack a smile and continues rubbing in the sunscreen, now looking like a cat that ate the canary. Like I’m in for some type of secret reveal later on.

“I really just plan to sit there and enjoy the view,” I assure him. “Do you think there will be dolphins?”

I toss aside the sandals I’d been planning to wear and start searching for a pair of sneakers with good tread.

“Dolphins?” he repeats.

“Kidding?” I answer, weakly.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I wasn’t. But I think I am now?”

“We’re going to need to give you a crash course in what to expect while you’re on the deck so you’re not hit off the side by the boom. Or worse.”

“What’s worse than getting hit off the side by a boom? And what’s a boom ?”

“What’s a boom?” he repeats, looking absolutely gutted that I didn’t take one single minute of time to prepare for our little sailing adventure.

In all fairness, I really just pictured myself sprawled out across the front of the bow in a cute swimsuit, hanging on to a rope or something.

“Do you mean I’ll hit the water with a boom .” I clap loudly, like something’s just hit me off the front of a boat. “Or . . . ?”

“It’s the long log thing that swings back and forth and knocks people off. Anchors the sails.” He smacks one hand into the other, like one is knocking the other over. “Boom!”

“Oh, God.” I swallow. “Named appropriately then.”

He glances at his watch.

“We should go. I’ll explain on the way.”

Silas steers me toward the marina from behind while I walk and watch a few quick sailing lesson videos on my phone the whole way there.

Thankfully, the rain has cleared up and the sun is peeking out of a strip of white puffy clouds.

Turns out, there’s a lot more to know about sailing than how to look pretty on the front while admiring the view, and by the time we arrive at the marina, I’m feeling a bit more prepared.

“You’ll be fine,” Silas assures me. “I’ve got you.”

“What type of boat did Monica rent for us?” I ask, looking around the huge array of sailboats and yachts lined up. There’s every type of vessel you can imagine.

“Monica didn’t rent us a boat,” he says, walking with a purpose, like he knows exactly where to go.

“Should we go find a counter to rent one then?” I ask, looking around for someone who might work here.

Silas walks right toward two men wearing matching white-and-blue striped polos with white hats, stepping off the most beautiful boat in the harbor. It reminds me of his plane, all polished wood with sleek, masculine lines.

“Good morning, sir,” one says.

“She’s ready for you,” the other adds, stepping onto the dock.

She?

“Thanks, guys,” Silas says, swapping places with them.

“Safe travels, Miss Hart, Mr. Davenport,” they say in unison as they walk past us toward the parking lot.

“Thank you?” I mumble like it’s a question.

“This is it!” Silas says, turning to hold a hand out to me. I let him help me step on.

“This?” I ask, looking down the long exterior of the ship. “Are they coming back to help? Where are they going?” The two men continue to walk down the dock away from us. This boat has to be at least thirty feet long. Maybe forty.

“I always sail her alone,” Si tells me while starting to inspect whatever roping system those two men just finished tying up.

“Right,” I say, sinking down into a cushy captain’s chair, right next to a giant pronged steering wheel, feeling intimidated. “What were they doing out here on the boat then?”

“Getting her ready. It’s been a few months since I was here, so I had them freshen things up a bit. Make sure she was in top shape to sail today.”

“You’ve already been here?”

He nods.

“Alone?” I press, trying to imagine Silas coming all the way to Spain by himself to sail a boat out of this very harbor.

He nods again, this time with a grin, before going back to testing various ropes around the boat’s perimeter.

“So, you flew those two guys out just to prep the boat?” I guess.

“Just like the mechanic you flew out to Switzerland for the plane check?” Instead of annoyed, I feel touched by his attention to safety and detail regarding everything we’ve done so far.

Admittedly, it’s a different feeling than I first felt when he’d let me in on his safety scope.

He pulls a coil of rope off the deck and starts untying us from the dock.

“I don’t take any unnecessary chances. Not anymore,” he says, looking focused as he kneels down to untie another long rope. The cuff of his white sleeves tighten around his biceps as he expertly works the thick coils between his hands.

I blink, unsure of what to expect with just Silas and me out on open water. But we’re already drifting backward, out into the sea, as he mans the small outboard motor at the back of the ship to get us out of dock. And just like that, for better or for worse, we’re sailing.