Flynn flipped the filleted halibut on the small propane grill secured to the safety railing. The lightly seasoned skin sizzled, sending the mouthwatering aroma of seared fish into the air. Dark clouds accumulated over the mountains in the distance, but cocooned in the bay, the cool evening air blew gently, and soothing waves lapped against the boat’s hull.
He stole a glance at Sage, still settled on the deck chair, a book propped open on her lap. She stroked Cap’s fur with one hand and flipped the pages with the other. The setting sun bathed the idyllic scene with soft sepia tones, lending a dreamlike quality.
Is this what his life could’ve been like?
At the thought, regret roiled in his stomach. He’d lost a decade of happiness. Had it all been worth it?
He took a swig of cream soda, barely noticing the sweet notes of vanilla bean or the damp droplets of condensation clinging to the glass bottle. His mind reeled with what-ifs.
What if he’d never abandoned the woman he loved? The woman who amplified each sliver of life by her mere existence. He’d tried to forget her over the years. He’d implemented every distraction, exerted every effort. There were times the agony of missing her waned ever so slightly, making the memories almost bearable. Almost.
Then there were days like today. Days when the realization of what he’d done—what he’d given up—crushed him with so much force, he couldn’t breathe.
After her fall, he’d wanted to keep an eye on her, so he’d dragged a deck chair beside hers, insisting this side of the boat had the best fishing conditions. While he wasn’t convinced she’d bought his ruse entirely, she hadn’t protested, either. They’d nibbled on crackers and caviar, sitting in companionable silence while he caught their dinner and Sage read her book.
He’d half expected her to decline when he placed her worn copy of The Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepper on her lap. A glint of surprise had flashed in her eyes, but then she’d smiled and opened the book to the first page, which she probably had memorized by now.
While she read, she occasionally broke concentration for a snack or soda break, and he’d steal the opportunity to insert a casual remark, hoping to spark some conversation. To his delight, she took the bait, and they chatted about random topics, off and on, as if their truce had somehow transcended the treasure hunt.
As if, at least temporarily, she’d forgiven him.
For those few precious hours, being together came easily, without angst or tension. He’d sunk into her presence like a dip in a healing hot spring, savoring each second, knowing it wouldn’t last.
But oh, how he wished it would.
And from the way Cap soaked up her attention, he did, too.
The wind fluttered the pages of her novel, and Sage paused from petting Cap to find her spot.
“How many times have you read that book?” he asked, knowing it had to be in the double digits, at least.
“About a hundred,” she confessed with a sheepish smile. “But it never gets old.”
“Speaking of old.” He flipped another fillet, then gestured toward the book with the spatula. “You know you can pay someone to re-cover that, right?”
“I know.” She placed her finger in the spine and gingerly closed the book to admire the faded title page. “I like it this way. There’s something special about an unbound book. As if the story isn’t confined by a clear beginning and end. Like it exists in a universe with infinite possibilities. Even when you think it’s over, it never really is. It reminds me that a good story lives forever, in our hearts and minds.”
Despite the fish sizzling and blackening on the grill, he couldn’t tear his gaze from Sage’s face. As she spoke, her features softened, and her pale-green eyes sparkled. He’d glimpsed a similar dreamy expression the first time she went below deck, as if Mira and her love of literature stirred something deep and profound in her soul. As if books and this boat evoked the same sense of awe and wonder that sailing sparked in his heart.
The sudden undeniable, overwhelming urge to kiss her consumed his thoughts. His pulse quickened, and his skin prickled, itching to be near her, to feel the curve of her cheek against his palm.
He wanted to share in her passions. Her hopes. Her dreams. In every aspect of her life. But he’d given up that right. He’d thrown it away, as if it meant nothing to him. As if the decision didn’t tear his heart in two, every second of every day.
He cleared his throat. “That’s a cool way to look at it.”
Even when you think it’s over, it never really is.
Her words echoed in his mind. Oh, how he wished she were talking about the two of them, not a work of fiction.
He scooped the crispy halibut off the grill and slid them onto a plate to cool. Cap scampered over to him and sat on his haunches, gazing up at him with round, pleading eyes, oblivious to his internal torment.
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to beg.” Flynn tore off a generous chunk, blew on it a few times and checked for bones, then tossed it to Cap.
The happy pup eagerly gobbled up the treat.
Flynn caught Sage observing the exchange with a curious expression. “What?” he asked. “Do you think I spoil him? Because if that’s what you’re thinking, you’re right.”
“It’s not that. It’s just a little strange watching you two together. I never thought of you as a dog person.”
“So, you’ve thought about me, huh?” he teased.
“If I’ve thought about you”—she matched his playful tone—“which I’m neither confirming nor denying, there’s a high probability it wasn’t fondly.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest as if he’d been wounded, hamming up the humor while his gut knotted with regret. “But fair,” he added with a wry grin, trying to be a good sport. He deserved every jab she threw, in jest or otherwise. “And you’re right, by the way. I wasn’t a dog person before Cap. I didn’t have time for a dog. Or a goldfish. Or a cactus.”
“What changed?” She closed the book and let it rest in her lap, not bothering to save her spot.
“It’s a long story.” He tossed Cap another hunk of halibut.
“Well, I’m clearly not going anywhere.” She gestured to her ankle and smiled.
“True.” She’d given him a free pass to share something personal, to open a window into his life. He’d be a fool not to take the opportunity. “Five years ago, I was in a business meeting in Dallas. A big merger. The guy leading the negotiation for the other side came into the conference room with this little yellow furball tucked under one arm.” Flynn sank into a squat and ruffled the scruff at Cap’s neck.
“He brought a puppy to a business meeting?”
“Believe me. I was as surprised as you are. He said he got the dog for his kids, but this troublemaker”—he scratched Cap behind the ears—“developed a taste for designer heels.”
“Oh, no!” Sage laughed.
“The guy’s wife wasn’t too keen on having her Christian Louboutins turned into chew toys, so Cap had to go. She wouldn’t let him back in the house, even while her husband was negotiating a multimillion-dollar merger.”
“Poor Cap.” At her sweet, sympathetic tone, Cap trotted back to her side, happy to double up on the affection.
Flynn stood and leaned against the railing, recalling that day’s unexpected events. “So, the guy’s telling me how he had no choice but to bring the so-called bad dog to the meeting and how he’s going to dump him at the pound as soon as it’s over—”
“That’s awful!” Sage interrupted with adorable outrage. She’d always had a soft spot for animals. Another trait he’d admired.
“Yeah. The guy was a real piece of work. While he droned on and on about how a good dog should behave, Cap figured out how to use my briefcase and a vacant chair as a stepladder onto the conference table.”
“No! He didn’t.” Sage put a hand to her mouth, smothering another laugh.
“Yep. He was quite resourceful. And it gets better.” Flynn’s gaze fell on Cap, his heart warming at the memory. “I reach for my cappuccino, but the cup’s empty. And this thief has a suspicious foam mustache.”
“You drank your dad’s cappuccino?” Sage asked Cap, who wiggled his backside in unabashed admission.
“Every last drop. I was actually kinda impressed. Both that he’d managed to get onto the conference table undetected and that he could handle a double-shot espresso.”
“And that’s what made you decide to keep him?” she asked with an amused smirk. “His caffeine tolerance?”
Flynn hesitated, weighing his response. He could answer her question with another joke. Or he could tell her the truth. “I decided to keep Cap because I understood him. He wasn’t a bad dog. He simply needed someone who would appreciate his mischievous, playful side while helping to redirect some of his rambunctious energy with love and patience.” All the things his parents never offered him.
Sage met his gaze and wordlessly communicated both empathy and understanding in a single glance. She’d witnessed all the times he’d been scolded by his parents. All the times they’d asked, Why can’t you be more like your brother?
Kevin was always focused, orderly, and disciplined. He was going places. Good places. The right places. Kevin was the mega yacht while Flynn was the racing schooner, too difficult for his parents to control.
At least, he used to be, before Kevin died.
“Wait.” Sage sat up straighter, snapping him back to the present. “Cap? As in, Cappuccino?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” She leaned back. “And I thought it was short for Captain, because you sail so often.”
Flynn shifted his body toward the sea, his forearms propped on the railing. The sun sank below the horizon, splashing pinks and yellows across the water as the sky above turned a dusty blue. He owed Sage the truth. But he couldn’t reveal the whole truth. Not without hurting her even more than he already had. He drew in a breath of salty sea air, weighing his words carefully. “I haven’t been sailing in years.”
“Really? Why not?”
He shrugged. “No time.” The knot in his stomach cinched. He hadn’t lied. Not entirely. Sure, he could make time, if he really wanted, but it wouldn’t be easy. Not with how many hours his job required. And once he became VP, his free time would shrink to nonexistent.
“I don’t understand. Why do you want this boat if you don’t even sail anymore?” Her tone carried a hint of exasperation mixed with confusion, and he winced.
Bracing himself, he turned to face her.
She met his gaze with wary, questioning eyes. Her posture, once relaxed, now looked tense and guarded.
She deserved answers. Answers he couldn’t give her.
Once again, for her sake, he opted to respond with partial truths. “The boat isn’t for me.”
Her eyes widened, and he plunged ahead before she got the wrong idea.
“It’s not a gift for a girlfriend or anything like that. I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t date. I—” Heat shot up his neck. Good grief. Get it together, man. You’re babbling like a buffoon. He gathered another breath. “The boat’s for Kevin.”
“Now I really don’t understand.” Although still cautious, her tone softened at the mention of his brother’s name.
“Do you remember Kevin’s bucket list?” he asked. “The one he made our senior year?”
“Of course. His 30 Before 30 list. He’d tried to convince me to make one, too.”
“Did he ever show it to you?”
“No. He shared a few of the things he’d added, but not the whole thing. Why?”
Flynn reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. His fingers shook slightly as he flipped open the buttery leather and slid out a slip of paper. “Here.” He handed the neatly folded square to Sage, studying every inch of her expression as she slowly unfolded the sheet of monogrammed stationery and scanned the list.
At the sight of Kevin’s perfect penmanship, and the thirty even rows detailing his youthful hopes and dreams, tears filled her eyes. When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes sparkled again, but this time, not from blissful, bookish reverie. Her eyes glistened with pain and sadness.
“You’re fulfilling Kevin’s bucket list?”
“I’ve been working on it for the last ten years. I only have the last two items left.”
She glanced down at the page and read them aloud. “Own the Marvelous Mira and become vice president of Cahill Enterprises.”
“That’s why I’m back in town,” he confessed. “My parents are announcing my promotion at the gala tomorrow night. It’s only a coincidence that I discovered Mira on the auction brochure.”
“So all of this—” Her voice caught as her gaze swept the page again. “You’re completing everything on this list in honor of Kevin’s memory?”
“Something like that.” He turned back toward the water. Without the sun’s light, the sea darkened. Silver-tipped waves caressed the boat’s hull, creating a rhythmic sway, lulling him back to the past, to memories as murky as the ocean depths.
He could still hear his mother’s sobs from the day of his brother’s funeral—the day he’d approached his father’s study and forever changed the course of his life.
“Why him?” His mother’s bitter cry had carried through the crack in the door frame.
He should’ve walked away right then, but he’d crept closer, peering through the gap as his pulse hammered inside his eardrums.
“Please, God,” she’d pleaded, weeping against his father’s chest. Her whole body shook with the force of her sobs, despite his father’s arms wrapped tightly around her, his own tears tumbling down his face.
Witnessing his parents in so much anguish, Flynn had felt as though his already broken heart had been ripped from his body.
“Please, God,” his mother repeated, her voice breaking. “Please. Anyone but our Kevin.”
At that moment, time had stopped. All the air fled his lungs, as if they’d been punctured by an ice pick. He couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or even think straight. All he felt was the crushing pain of her words.
And all the words she didn’t say, but he already knew.
Anyone but our Kevin.
Our favorite. The son meant to carry on our legacy and esteemed Cahill name. The son who made us proud.
If he’d been given a choice that day, he would’ve traded places with his brother without hesitation.
But he hadn’t been given a choice.
Which left him with the next best option: to try as hard as possible to fill his brother’s shoes.
Burying the memory as best he could, he faced Sage once more and forced a smile. “Should we eat before the fish gets cold?”
“Sure.”
He reached for the spatula, but not before he caught the look in her eyes. The look he’d seen so many times growing up, when they’d been each other’s best friend. The look that said, I’m here for you if you need to talk.
More than anything, he wanted to invite her into this part of his life. The part he’d had to process all on his own.
But how could he tell the woman he loved—the woman he longed to protect—that she’d played an unwitting role in his brother’s death?