They wandered all over the boat, as Jack looked at every tiny detail. He was impressed more than anything by the woodwork, and Maggie could hardly wait to get out on the bay and sail her. They were under way in ten minutes, and Quinn looked every bit as happy as they did. He divided his time equally between his two friends, and was amused when Jack chatted with the stewardess, who was a pretty young girl from England. His attention to her left Quinn time to sit with the captain and Maggie and talk about sailing. The wind was perfect that day for their sail. They went out under the Golden Gate and headed toward the Farallones, and none of them minded when the water got a little choppy. Quinn was relieved to find that Jack didn't get seasick.
“You are a sneaky devil,” Maggie teased Quinn as she sat on the deck next to him, enjoying the wind and sun on her face. And despite a slight chill to the wind, the weather was warm enough. “What a nice thing to do for us,” she said gratefully. If she had dared, she would have thrown her arms around him and hugged him. But even after their many Friday nights together, there was always something a little daunting about him. Even at his warmest, Quinn always kept a slight distance from others. Her eyes told him how happy she was, and that was enough for him. The day had turned out precisely as he wanted.
By the time they got home that afternoon, all three of them were happy and tired. Quinn had been delighted to see that they both loved it, and couldn't stop talking about how wonderful it had been as they drove back to his house. They hated to leave each other, just as they had hated to leave the Molly B. Jack had thanked all of the crew members, and Quinn, profusely. Maggie didn't know how to begin to thank him. She offered to cook dinner for him, but he said he had work to do. He was still struggling through probate. It was taking forever.
Jack left them in time for his date, and Maggie thanked Quinn again before she went back to her own house, looking like a kid in her braid, white jeans, and red sweater and sneakers. Quinn smiled as he had all day, as he watched her. It was obvious to him that she loved sailing as much as she said she did. But who wouldn't, she said to him, on a boat as luxurious as the one he had chartered. She couldn't even imagine how fabulous the boat was going to be that he was building in Holland, and wished she could see it, although he had said he wouldn't be bringing it to San Francisco, except perhaps at some point, on his way to the South Pacific. But before that, he wanted to sail around Africa and Europe.
Quinn was sitting peacefully in his living room with a cup of tea, reading a sailing magazine, when Maggie rang his doorbell. She was still in her sailing clothes, her hair had come loose from its braid, and she looked slightly embarrassed.
“I don't mean to bother you,” she apologized. “I just wanted to thank you.” She was carrying a big covered bowl, with a loaf of French bread tucked under her arm. She had made him his favorite pasta. “I'll just leave this with you. I thought you might be hungry.” He was, in fact, and had been thinking about dinner, but was too lazy and relaxed to do anything about it, so she had done it for him. “I haven't had a day like that since I was a kid,” she said happily. “Thanks, Quinn. It was such a nice thing to do. You didn't have to take me, but I'm glad you did.” They both smiled, remembering how much Jack had loved it. It was quite an introduction to sailing. And he had taken to it like a duck to water. He didn't even mind when it got choppy, or when they tacked or jibbed, and the boat heeled as far as it could over the water. Maggie had just plain loved it, and it had reminded her of the best days of her childhood.
“You're a very efficient sailor,” Quinn praised her, as he set the bowl of pasta down in his kitchen. There were tomatoes and basil and bits of sausage in it, and fresh mushrooms. She had made it for him once at her place, on a rare Friday night at her house, and he said that he loved it.
“I didn't get a chance to do much today,” she said modestly, but he could tell from what she said to the crew that, given the opportunity, she knew what she was doing. And she had that look of pure glee and excitement that came over avid sailors whenever they were on a sailboat.
“We'll have to go out again sometime. My friends left the boat here, but they're in Europe.” The boat belonged to yet another of his business connections. He could smell the pasta by then as he took the cover off, and as he glanced at her gratefully, he invited Maggie to join him.
“I wasn't trying to invite myself to dinner,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I just wanted to thank you for a lovely day. I really enjoyed it.”
“We all did. Why don't you share the pasta with me, and we can play liar's dice afterward? I need the money,” he teased and she laughed. She hesitated for a minute, but he insisted, and she finally agreed to join him. He got out two plates, and they sat down easily at the kitchen table. And while he began eating, she made a salad. They talked about boats and sailing all through dinner. It was easy to see how much it meant to him. He came alive whenever he talked about boats, more than about anything else, business, or friends, or travel. He was always wistful when he spoke of Jane, and tense when he mentioned Alex. But when he talked about sailing, he seemed to relax and glow and become instantly expansive.