casual, nor flippant. In fact, they were everything she’d longed to hear from Patrick and never received, which meant that they fed and soothed an ache inside of her. Patrick had neither needed her, nor trusted her skills as a sailor. But Brooks needed her. Brooks trusted her.
“Okay,” she said, picking up the line attached to her trailer and giving him a quick nod as she headed back down the dock to pick up another Optimist. “I’ll still do it.”
He stared at her for a long second, disbelievingly, before his face broke into a beaming smile. “You will? You’ll do it? You’ll come with me?”
His smile was so joyful and relieved, it was utterly infectious, and she found herself grinning back. “I will.”
“Thank you!” he said, opening his arms and taking a step forward like he was going to wrap her in his arms.
And, oh man, that sounded like heaven, but at the last minute, she thought of Pat and stuck her hand out, firm and straight between them. Brooks looked at her hand, his smile fading, and stepped back. He offered her a small, reserved smile, then reached up and took it, shaking it once before letting go quickly.
“Friends?” he asked, leaning down to pick up the rope attached to his trailer.
Yeah, right , she thought, but she gave him what she hoped was a friend ly smile and nodded.
“Friends,” she agreed, taking a deep breath as he turned away, preceding her back up the dock.
Chapter 8
They ended up taking the Cutter out for a test sail on Wednesday evening after hauling the remaining two Optimists from dock seven to dock ten, their conversation carefully neutral as Brooks explained the stops they needed to make en route to Charleston. He’d chartered his own course a couple of weeks ago, looking at nautical maps, weather patterns and currents, and making reservations for them at various marinas down the coast, but now that he’d turned over command of the Cutter to Skye, it would be up to her to figure out the route she wanted to take. And Brooks would have to fall in line.
As he stepped down the grand staircase at Westerly on Saturday morning, the day before the cruise, the thought chafed a little—letting someone else skipper one of his boats. Then again, he thought, his expression softening, it was Skye. Not only did he trust her completely with his boat, he needed her, and he was relieved she’d given him a second chance. He was determined not to ruin it.
Peeking into the West Salon, he saw Jessica with two of her girlfriends, Valeria Campanile and Kate English, sitting at the small gaming table, staring at a poster board diagram in tense silence.
“Morning, ladies.”
Three pairs of eyes—green, brown, and blue—turned to look at Brooks and offer greetings, and Jessica hopped up to kiss her brother’s cheek.
“Brooks, we could use your help.”
Valeria, the newish girlfriend of Stratton English, whom Brooks knew to be outspoken in a harmless sort of way, rolled her eyes meaningfully. “And this is why I tell Stratton ‘No’ every time he hints about proposing.”
Kate, who had recently become engaged to Brooks’ childhood neighbor, Etienne Rousseau, looked down at her engagement ring and grinned up at him, “And why I’m glad there’s no more bad blood between the Englishes and Rousseaus.”
Valeria cleared her throat.
“Which is great,” said Jessica, grinning at her friends, “because it means I don’t have to separate your men.”
Valeria cleared her throat…again.
“Who do you have to separate?” asked Brooks, glancing over her shoulder at the poster board.
“Well…I can’t have Bree Ambler with Emily and Barrett English.”
“Or J.C. Rousseau,” Kate reminded her.
Jessica sighed, “Right. And Betsy Story still feels awkward about Etienne. Sorry, Kate.”
“She needs to get over that. It was a million years ago!” Kate shrugged. “But now that you mention the Story sisters… Alice Story and Etienne’s brother,
“Okay,” she said, picking up the line attached to her trailer and giving him a quick nod as she headed back down the dock to pick up another Optimist. “I’ll still do it.”
He stared at her for a long second, disbelievingly, before his face broke into a beaming smile. “You will? You’ll do it? You’ll come with me?”
His smile was so joyful and relieved, it was utterly infectious, and she found herself grinning back. “I will.”
“Thank you!” he said, opening his arms and taking a step forward like he was going to wrap her in his arms.
And, oh man, that sounded like heaven, but at the last minute, she thought of Pat and stuck her hand out, firm and straight between them. Brooks looked at her hand, his smile fading, and stepped back. He offered her a small, reserved smile, then reached up and took it, shaking it once before letting go quickly.
“Friends?” he asked, leaning down to pick up the rope attached to his trailer.
Yeah, right , she thought, but she gave him what she hoped was a friend ly smile and nodded.
“Friends,” she agreed, taking a deep breath as he turned away, preceding her back up the dock.
Chapter 8
They ended up taking the Cutter out for a test sail on Wednesday evening after hauling the remaining two Optimists from dock seven to dock ten, their conversation carefully neutral as Brooks explained the stops they needed to make en route to Charleston. He’d chartered his own course a couple of weeks ago, looking at nautical maps, weather patterns and currents, and making reservations for them at various marinas down the coast, but now that he’d turned over command of the Cutter to Skye, it would be up to her to figure out the route she wanted to take. And Brooks would have to fall in line.
As he stepped down the grand staircase at Westerly on Saturday morning, the day before the cruise, the thought chafed a little—letting someone else skipper one of his boats. Then again, he thought, his expression softening, it was Skye. Not only did he trust her completely with his boat, he needed her, and he was relieved she’d given him a second chance. He was determined not to ruin it.
Peeking into the West Salon, he saw Jessica with two of her girlfriends, Valeria Campanile and Kate English, sitting at the small gaming table, staring at a poster board diagram in tense silence.
“Morning, ladies.”
Three pairs of eyes—green, brown, and blue—turned to look at Brooks and offer greetings, and Jessica hopped up to kiss her brother’s cheek.
“Brooks, we could use your help.”
Valeria, the newish girlfriend of Stratton English, whom Brooks knew to be outspoken in a harmless sort of way, rolled her eyes meaningfully. “And this is why I tell Stratton ‘No’ every time he hints about proposing.”
Kate, who had recently become engaged to Brooks’ childhood neighbor, Etienne Rousseau, looked down at her engagement ring and grinned up at him, “And why I’m glad there’s no more bad blood between the Englishes and Rousseaus.”
Valeria cleared her throat.
“Which is great,” said Jessica, grinning at her friends, “because it means I don’t have to separate your men.”
Valeria cleared her throat…again.
“Who do you have to separate?” asked Brooks, glancing over her shoulder at the poster board.
“Well…I can’t have Bree Ambler with Emily and Barrett English.”
“Or J.C. Rousseau,” Kate reminded her.
Jessica sighed, “Right. And Betsy Story still feels awkward about Etienne. Sorry, Kate.”
“She needs to get over that. It was a million years ago!” Kate shrugged. “But now that you mention the Story sisters… Alice Story and Etienne’s brother,
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