Sage scrunched her eyes shut and yanked the covers over her head, blocking out the early morning sunlight. And the even more upsetting reality that she’d rather be anywhere else than stuck on this sailboat—with Flynn.
She would need a miracle to make it through the next few days. What made her think she could handle being this close to him again? She groaned as the gentle pressure along her temples increased to a dull percussion.
Great. A headache. Just what she needed after lying awake all night, tortured by bitter memories.
She ran a finger below her lash line and winced. Her skin felt puffy and tender to the touch, courtesy of her countless tears. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. She’d worked through these emotions years ago.
Except, the second she closed her eyes last night, and her body relaxed with the soothing sway of the sailboat, her thoughts betrayed her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Kevin, Flynn, and their three-week postgraduation sailing adventure. The trip they’d spent months planning. It was supposed to be a last hurrah before she and Kevin went to college and Flynn joined the professional regatta team. Then Kevin died, and the trip became a memorial voyage in his honor. At least, that had been her hope. Flynn had agreed, at first. But something changed. The day they were supposed to set sail, he never showed. To this day, she didn’t know why.
“Go away, go away, go away!” she pleaded under her breath, shooing the plaguing thoughts from her mind.
Dwelling on the past wouldn’t get her anywhere. Unless it propelled her off the boat and away from Flynn, which wasn’t an option. She needed to find the diary, and after her failed efforts yesterday, she had only two days left.
Focus, Sage. You can’t afford a distraction if you want to—oof!
A heavy weight landed on her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs.
She jerked the covers off her head, coming face-to-drooling-face with Flynn’s dog.
The excited bundle of energy wiggled his backside, pawing her arm for attention.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” She chuckled and sat up to scratch behind his ears.
The contented pup flopped across her lap, soaking up the affection.
“Sorry about that. Cap took off before I could stop him.” Flynn ducked through the doorway, cradling two mugs of coffee.
Sage’s free hand shot to her hair. She could only imagine the tangled mess of unkempt curls. Thank goodness she’d opted to bring her matching pajama set, not her ratty T-shirt. Wait. Why did she care how she looked?
“Peace offering on behalf of this scalawag?” Flynn—who’d already dressed for the day in nautical board shorts and a white tee—offered her the mug. Aromatic steam filled the room with the familiar flavor notes of chocolate and nutmeg.
Her mouth watered. “Is that from CeCe’s?”
“As if I’d drink any other coffee while I’m in town.”
Sage rubbed Cap’s neck while she contemplated Flynn’s offer. The caffeine would probably help her headache. And make her feel more human. But maybe she should keep her distance and make her own?
“Take it before it gets cold.” Flynn strode toward the bed and set the mug on the narrow built-in nightstand. “Don’t worry. I won’t get the wrong idea. Accepting the peace offering doesn’t change the fact that you still hate my guts.”
His eyes held a mischievous glint, and she couldn’t help a smile, although she hid it behind a sip of coffee. Strong with a splash of cream. He remembered. She cleared her throat. “Good. As long as that’s clear.”
“Crystal.” He saluted her like a naval officer. “And speaking of crystal, how would you like the fanciest breakfast of your life? I found a way to use all that date-night dinner food Edwin left us. I’m making avocado toast sprinkled with caviar, an oyster omelet with chopped scallions and chili sauce, and sauteed spinach on the side so we get our daily dose of leafy greens.”
He grinned, and Sage’s stomach growled. Traitor.
Flynn had always been gifted in the kitchen, unlike her inability to fry an egg without scorching the pan beyond recognition. But eating breakfast together? That would be a step too far. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with coffee. Oysters upset my stomach.”
“Are you talking about that time in sixth grade?” Flynn flashed an impish smile, and Sage blushed. Why had she mentioned the oysters? Ugh. So embarrassing.
She sipped her coffee instead of answering. Maybe he’d drop the subject if she ignored him.
No such luck.
“You only threw up because you had five fried oyster tacos then rode the merry-go-round six times in a row.” He chuckled, his features softening as if he’d traveled back in time to happier days.
The sound of his laughter tugged on her heartstrings, pulling her along with him. She could almost feel the warm sun on her face and hear the cheerful music flooding the pier. “I can’t believe I barfed all over Kevin’s brand-new Prada loafers. He was so proud of those shoes.” Her own laughter bubbled to the surface, spilling out of her unrestrained, cleansing last night’s tears.
For a moment, she forgot their feud. Flynn’s gaze held hers, open and unwavering—inviting. Something shifted between them, like a protective barrier lifting, and she didn’t fight against it.
“I thought he was going to faint from horror,” she admitted, sinking deeper into the memory before it slipped away. “Until you told him that in some cultures, oysters are a sign of good fortune.”
“Then he went back to the taco stand and bought three more!”
They laughed together until tears trickled down their faces. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember the last time thoughts of Kevin had evoked anything other than pain. It actually felt good to laugh… with Flynn. She’d give anything to go back to the days before Kevin died. Before everything fell apart.
Their eyes locked again, and Sage’s heart lurched. His gaze was too deep, too intimate. Heat blazed through her, setting every nerve ending on edge.
Look away. Look away now.
Her brain screamed at her, but her body wouldn’t listen.
She felt herself falling, spiraling, losing control. She wanted to forget what he’d done, who he’d become. But her heart squeezed, snapping her back to the present. To the real world.
“Humorous as it was,” she said, glancing away, “I’ll pass on the breakfast offer. I don’t think I can ever trust oysters again.”
“Fair enough.” His clipped tone carried all the coldness of his hurt and disappointment, as if he knew she wasn’t talking about the oysters.
In an instant, the invisible door closed, slamming shut with a deafening clang.
Hopefully, for the very last time.