Sailing at Sunset Page 2

  “You set sail this Monday.”

  Too many clashing thoughts shrieked through her brain at once, leading to a traffic jam that had her mouth stumbling over her words. “The…Monday that’s after this weekend? As in four days from now?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  While she adored her boss and his big ideas, he tended to dive headfirst before checking if the pool was eleven or three feet deep.

  More protests crowded to the tip of her tongue about giving people—especially those with spouses and children—more of a warning and a chance to prepare, but Mr. Barton was up and out of his seat. “Let’s go tell the rest of the team!”

  Like a kid racing to see what Santa had left under the tree, he rushed out of the office, the hip he complained about on cold days not slowing him down one bit.

  Guess I’d better get to planning.

  Danae glanced at the list and worried her lower lip with her teeth.

  I’m going to need more stickers.

  Chapter Two

  Regardless of the fact that Josh had been doing chartered tours for two years, every time he stood at the helm of his boat, salt water misting his skin, it hit him how amazing his job was.

  No more cubicle, countless emails, or never-ending calls. No faster, harder, bigger, more, more, more.

  Mr. and Mrs. Rivera, his current passengers, inhaled the fresh ocean air and basked in the glorious sunshine. Josh did the same as he gripped the weathered wooden handles of the antique steering wheel.

  “It gives your boat a nice, rustic touch,” Mr. Rivera said. Josh had found the wheel at a junkyard. To get his ship in shape, he had spent hours sanding and painting, but the discarded wheel he’d installed was still his favorite piece.

  Sturdy and a bit cranky, the metal barrel and spindle always took a second or two of grinding before clicking into place. The muscles in Josh’s arms burned as he turned, fighting the push of the water to aim the bow toward home.

  “The entire boat is gorgeous. I still can’t believe you did all the work yourself.” Mrs. Rivera ran a hand over the wooden trim he’d added to the seats that no one would’ve wanted to sit on when he’d first bought the ship. Then she scooted closer to her husband and wrapped an arm around his waist. “This trip went by way too quickly. It’s been so lovely; I almost don’t want it to end.”

  The Riveras were on the last day of their week-long honeymoon cruise, a tour that had included stops at Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and Padanaram. While both of them had been married and divorced before, they’d found each other in their late fifties.

  “You’ve been such a great guide, Josh,” Mrs. Rivera said. “We’ll absolutely be referring our family and friends—they were all so jealous of our trip.”

  Josh gave the couple a genuine smile. He’d had a lot of fussy clients in his day. The Riveras were a pleasure to have onboard. They kissed and hugged like teenagers, but that had given Josh plenty of time to stare out at the open water and be alone with his thoughts.

  “This last week and a half has been perfect.” Mr. Rivera lifted his wife’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “From the moment the preacher declared this beautiful woman mine, to have and to hold, to frolic on the sandy shores with—that’s right.” Mr. Rivera’s grin widened. “I said frolic.”

  Mrs. Rivera giggled, and a blush pinkened her cheeks. During the trip, they’d gone on and on about how this time around everything was so different, so much better. They knew who they were and what they wanted, and that was to spend every day with one another.

  Nice to see, but Josh had been down the aisle before. After his divorce had been finalized almost three years ago, he’d vowed never again, and he planned on sticking to that.

  The Atlantic Ocean was his beloved, and he had devoted himself to her for the rest of his life. Nothing hammered in that commitment like quitting his high-paying, stress-inducing job and selling his house and most of his belongings to buy a 1970s fixer-upper sailboat.

  Now, at the ripe old age of forty, he got to set his own schedule and actually live his life, and that was worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears. He pushed his tousled chestnut hair off his forehead and rubbed his stubbled cheeks. It was nice not having to shave every day, but he kept himself in good shape—a solitary life at the helm of a somewhat creaky boat made sure of that.

  After sinking his savings into restoring this sailboat to full glory, he’d bestowed the name Solitude on her. He set the wheel, silently praising his mighty ship for how well she glided through the Atlantic. She looked dang good doing it, too.

  Maybe that made Solitude—the boat and the term—his soulmate, and the ocean their blissful path. His life finally belonged to him. He never had to wear a suit and tie again, he set his own routine, and if the mood hit him, he could sail to Florida or Puerto Rico on a whim. His backyard could change every day.

  His phone chimed, and he fished it out of his pocket. The Riveras were canoodling, and he wanted to give them as much privacy as possible. Although they’d seemed to forget anyone else existed, anyway.

  Before Josh even opened his inbox, he suspected it would be Danae Danvers, Chief Marketing Officer at Barton Boats.

  She’d been sending emails since last Thursday.

  The first had led him to believe she had some personal vendetta against knots. She’d told him “The knot workshop is unnecessary and should be replaced with a brainstorming session.”

  Slightly bored one night as he’d been waiting for his clients to return from dinner, Josh had typed a reply: “Don’t worry. It’s knot as hard as it looks.”

  The joke had clearly flown over her head, as the next morning she’d replied with, “I assure you, I have all the knot knowledge I need.”

  Since Josh couldn’t help himself, he’d asked, “What about your team? How aware are you of their knot-itude?”

  “NOT enough to have a whole class on it. I’m more worried about keeping the trip positive and productive.” Danae had then asked for his credentials and experience, even though the owner of the company had booked his services without requesting his life story.

  So she’d sorta kinda replied to his joke, but then she’d immediately switched back to professional mode. Then again, her email signature was pink and included an inspirational quote that changed each day. A bit of a conundrum, to say the least.

  Or maybe he’d had too much spare time to kill, studying her signature and searching for some insight.

  After he responded with the information she’d asked for, Danae had sent him revised itinerary items Friday and yesterday evenings. A strange mixture of unease and curiosity coiled in his gut as he thought about meeting the woman in person. If Danae Danvers could nitpick this much over email, how much more would she attempt to call the shots once she got onboard?

  The subject line of her latest email proclaimed it “The Final FINAL Itinerary.”

  Josh tapped on it and read the paragraph she’d written.

  Josh,

  Thank you for answering my questions and providing your credentials. I’m very much looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.

  I’ve highlighted a few of the items I never received complete answers to in yellow and require your feedback. As I mentioned, it’s more important to have sufficient strategy sessions as opposed to the more frivolous activities (i.e., the sailor knot workshop, mental scavenger hunt, and “Use What You Have” challenge.) Although fun, I hardly think those will help us finalize the marketing plan that needs to be established by the time we return to Newport at the end of the trip.

  For instance, we can simply use what we have—our computers.

  Please peruse the suggested changes and let me know your thoughts.

  Best,

  Danae Danvers

  Chief Marketing Officer, Barton Boating Company

  When it came down to it, a paycheck
was a paycheck. However, one of the main reasons Josh had left his financial advisor position was so he could go with the flow and throw schedules and strict deadlines out the window. He’d do the job and do it well, sure, but life was so much easier once you let go of filling every single minute.

  Since this was his chosen profession, as well as how he paid for his slot at the marina, he tapped the attached document. Then he glanced up at the Riveras to see how they were faring.

  Mrs. Rivera lifted a bottle of wine they’d picked up at their last stop. “We’re toasting to the end of our trip and the start of our new life together. Would you like a glass?”

  “You two go on ahead,” Josh said. “The Newport shoreline will be in view before we know it.”

  After a good minute or so of trying to open Danae’s email attachment, the download timed out. WiFi was spotty at best out on the water, and if it hadn’t loaded by now, it never would. He could glance at it later, once he returned to his dock sweet dock, where he had just enough modern comforts, like a strong internet connection. Which he primarily used for the occasional TV show.

  I wonder if George and Nancy DVR’d our show, because I forgot to. They lived a couple of slips down and occasionally showed up in the morning bearing coffee, donuts, and hot gossip from around the marina.

  In return, Josh brought them fresh fish and tales of his adventures on the high seas, since they didn’t head out as often as they used to. They also watched crime dramas together and had a running contest going to see who could figure out the mystery first.

  Thanks to a strong headwind that hinted at an oncoming cool front, he delivered the Riveras to the dock about forty-five minutes later than expected, which was why he didn’t give out exact times, but ranges. Not that the newlyweds cared or thought twice about it. They thanked him profusely, took up their belongings, and skipped off into the sunset.

  Josh visited the pump-out station, refueled, and gave his boat a thorough cleaning.

  A quick glance at his watch revealed he only had twenty minutes to shower and rush into town. He’d scheduled a catch-up dinner with his little sister and her husband, neither of whom he’d seen in way too long.

  From the sounds of the emails he’d received from the bossy CMO of Barton Boating Company, he’d better enjoy the break. The next eight days with the woman who couldn’t stop changing the itinerary would surely try his patience and remind him why he’d left the corporate world in the first place.

  Chapter Three

  When Danae stepped inside her mom’s house, her sister Selene was standing in the hallway, using the round mirror to take a selfie.

  Selene glanced at her phone screen. “You’re late.”

  “What? No, I’m not.” Danae whipped her own phone out of her pocket, and sure enough, she was right on time.

  Selene cackled. “Got you.”

  “Ha ha.” Danae hung her purse on the set of hooks she’d installed in the hallway so that her family wouldn’t dump their stuff in the main pathway. It hadn’t kept her younger brother and sister from tossing their coats on the floor when they were growing up. They also liked to kick off their shoes the instant they stepped inside, so she used to trip her way in more often than not. “I don’t plan out every single thing, you know.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Selene gave her a hug. “Your plans have plans.”

  “Oh, is that Danae?” Mom’s voice drifted from the vicinity of the kitchen, so Danae headed that way. Selene followed her into the room and headed straight for the fridge.

  Danae snagged a carrot from the veggie tray on the counter. “Did you apply for college yet?” Selene was twenty and had taken a couple years off after graduating from high school—something that had caused Danae’s blood pressure to rise, while Mom had made a comment about everyone being on a different path—but had finally declared she was ready to continue her education. She intended to major in art history, and while Danae had wanted to ask if she had a backup, she’d managed to hold back. For now.

  Her question was met with silence, which meant no. Her sister had been a baby when Dad died. She hadn’t seen how hard Danae had worked to earn enough in scholarships to put herself through college, at the same time when Mom was also going back for a teaching degree.

  Although she’d told her sister the story often. Enough times that it now earned her an epic sigh whenever she whipped it out.

  The utensil drawer opened with a squeal, and Danae found the spare peeler and helped Mom with the potatoes. Sunday dinners were their time to catch up, and Danae had only missed a handful in her life—most of them back when she and Mark were splitting time between their families. “So, I wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to make dinner next Sunday.”

  Mom lowered the half-peeled potato in her hands and blinked at her. Okay, so maybe Danae had become predictable. She rarely canceled and showed up when people expected her to. After having the rug yanked out from underneath her way too many times, she delighted in predictability. She had her cozy hundred-year-old cottage to return to at night, her set schedule, and—as of three days ago—the job title she’d been after.

  Now she simply had to keep it. Danae’s heartbeat accelerated as she explained how she’d gotten the promotion on what boiled down to a trial basis.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get things all hammered out.” Mom wiped her hand on the dish towel hanging from the stove and then sandwiched Danae’s hand between both of hers. “You’re so good at getting people to agree to your plans.”

  Nice, but not totally true. Danae’s gaze drifted to the dry-erase board she’d hung on the wall of the kitchen. Organization had never been Mom’s strong suit. Understandably, she’d been a wreck after Dad passed, so at seventeen years old, Danae had taken over a lot of the planning. Their lives had required intense management in order to get four people where they needed to be using only one semi-functional car.

  Danae had organized their entire life on that board—well, technically it was their second, since at one point the countless lines of dry erase marker refused to fully erase. She’d helped them get through the rough patch, and the skills she’d learned had come in handy, even if she wished Mom and Selene had done a better job at picking them up.

  With the potatoes on to boil, Danae circled to the other side of the counter, lifted her phone, and checked her email. Frustration bubbled up. They were taking off tomorrow morning for the eight-day chartered cruise, and Josh Wheeler still hadn’t replied to her itinerary changes.

  Sure, she’d been mildly amused at his jokes about knots, but it drove her a bit batty when people only answered a couple of the several questions she’d posed. She wasn’t a fan of waiting for a response with a deadline looming, either.

  She gnawed on her thumbnail, a habit she was trying to break. How could she get her team to agree on a marketing plan when she couldn’t even coordinate with the sailor chartering the trip?

  Vaguely, she noticed footsteps, but it didn’t hit her that they were heavier than Mom’s or Selene’s until strong arms circled her around the middle and she found herself a foot or so off the ground, her breath squished out of her.

  “’Sup, big sister?” Leo asked, returning her feet to the floor.

  She spun around to face him. Sometimes it was crazy to think that the tall guy in front of her was the little brother she used to cart to and from school. “Dude, I thought you were spending all your time working to pay off your student loans, not pumping iron.”

  Mostly she was kidding, but she also longed to hear he was taking care of things. Sometimes her family had told her to kindly mind her business, but they were her business.

  “Legal files are heavy.” Leo flopped onto the nearest stool and flashed Mom the winning grin that had gotten him out of way too much trouble growing up. “Hey, Mom.” He nodded at their youngest sibling. “Selene.”

  Mom leaned across the co
unter to pat Leo’s hand. “Yes, work is important, but are you taking time to go out and meet people? The offer to set you up with Principal Taylor’s granddaughter still stands.”

  “I have a perfectly healthy social life, Mom. Why don’t you give Danae the third degree?” Leo gave her shoulder a light shove. “She’s older than me.”

  Danae shoved him right back. “‘Older than I.’ Anyway, I’ve had a relationship in this past year. You haven’t.”

  “Oh sure, rub it in.” His smirk made it clear he was far from hurt. Usually Mom took turns nudging them about setups and their dating lives. There had also been hints for grandkids.

  When it came to priorities, solidifying her promotion currently held the number one spot. After the last company she’d worked for downsized—something that had definitely not been in her plans—she’d been out of a job for months. It had been right after she’d cosigned on Leo’s student loan so he could get through law school, and she’d tossed and turned at night, worrying what would happen.

  Once she sat across from Mr. Barton and saw the passion he had for his family’s legacy and his employees, she was sure she’d found the optimal job for her skill set. Fortunately, he’d hired her on the spot.

  Which was why she couldn’t let him down, either. A weight pressed against her chest. Everything was riding on this upcoming trip.

  When Mom turned to check on the potatoes, Leo leaned in. “You okay?”

  “I’ve just got a lot going at work, but it’ll be okay.” It had to be. On a teacher’s salary, it was hard enough for Mom to make it as it was, and once Selene started school, finances would get even tighter.

  As soon as Selene was accepted at a college, Danae would help fill out financial aid and scholarship forms. Then the three of them would sit down and work out a budget—one she fully intended to contribute to. Her family counted on her, and she hadn’t come this far only to lose the progress she’d made in her career.

  Least of all because some sailor couldn’t manage to return an email the night before they set sail.