“Ana, please.”
“How’s she shaping up, Mac?” I ask.
“She’s ready to rock and roll, sir,” he says with a huge grin.
“Let’s get under way, then.”
“You going to take her out?” he asks.
“Yep,” I reply. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. “Quick tour, Anastasia?”
We go through the sliding doors. Ana scans the inside, and I know she’s impressed. The interior has been created by a Swedish designer based in Seattle, all clean lines and light oak that give the saloon a bright and airy feel. I’ve adopted the same look throughout The Grace. “This is the main saloon. Galley beside.” I wave in its direction. “Bathrooms on either side.” I point them out, then lead her through the small door to my cabin. Ana gasps at the sight of the bed. “This is the master cabin. You’re the first girl in here, apart from family.” I hold her and kiss her. “They don’t count. Might have to christen this bed,” I whisper against her lips. “But not right now. Come, Mac will be casting off.” I lead Ana back into the main saloon. “Office in there, and at the front here, two more cabins.”
“So how many can sleep on board?”
“It’s a six-berth cat. I’ve only ever had the family on board, though. I like to sail alone. But not when you’re here. I need to keep an eye on you.” From the chest by the sliding door I extract a bright red life jacket.
“Here.” I slip it over her head and tighten the straps.
“You love strapping me in, don’t you?”
“In any form.” I wink at her.
“You are a pervert.”
“I know.”
“My pervert,” she teases.
“Yes, yours.”
Once I’ve fastened the buckles I grab the side of the life jacket and kiss her quickly. “Always,” I say, and release her before she can respond. “Come.” We go outside and up the steps to the top deck and the cockpit.
Below, at the dock, Mac is casting off the bow line. He leaps back on board.
“Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?” Ana is pretending to be naïve.
“Clove hitches have come in handy. Miss Steele, you sound curious. I like you curious. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate what I can do with a rope.”
Ana goes quiet, and I think I’ve upset her.
Damn.
“Gotcha.” She giggles, pleased with herself.
Well, that’s not fair. I narrow my eyes. “I may have to deal with you later, but right now I’ve got to drive my boat.” I sit down at the captain’s chair and fire up the twin fifty-five-horsepower engines. I switch off the blower and Mac scoots along the top deck, grabbing the guardrail, then bounces down to the aft deck to release the stern lines. He waves at me and I radio the Coast Guard to get the all-clear.
I take The Grace out of idle, move the shifter forward, and ease the throttle. And my beautiful boat glides out of her berth.
Ana is waving to the small crowd that has gathered on the dock to witness our departure. I tug her back between my legs.
“See this.” I point to the VHF. “That’s our radio. Our GPS, our AIS, the radar.”
“What’s the AIS?”
“That identifies us to shipping. This is our depth gauge. Grab the wheel.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She salutes me.
I pilot us slowly out of the marina, Ana’s hands beneath mine on the wheel. We turn into open water and we sweep across the Sound in a large arc until we’re heading northwest toward the Olympic Peninsula and Bainbridge Island. The wind is moderate at fifteen knots, but I know once we get the sheets up The Grace will fly. I love this. Challenging myself against the elements in a boat I’ve helped design, using the skills I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting. It’s thrilling.
“Sail time,” I say to Ana, and I cannot contain my excitement. “Here, you take her. Keep her on this course.”
Ana looks freaked out.
“Baby, it’s really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow. You’ll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you’ll feel the drag. Just hold her steady. I’ll signal like this”—I make a slashing motion with my hand across my throat—“and you can cut the engines. This button here.” I point to the engines’ kill button. “Understand?”
“Yes.” But she looks uncertain. I know she’s got this. She always does. I give her a quick kiss and bound onto the top deck to prep and hoist the main sail. Mac and I crank in unison, making light work of it. When the wind catches the sheet we lurch forward, and I glance at Ana, but she’s holding us steady. Mac and I work on the headsail and it flies up the mast, welcoming the wind and harnessing its power.
“Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!” I shout over the roar of the wind and the waves, and I motion to her. Ana presses the button and the roar of the engines ceases as we whip across the sea, flying northwest.