“Done. I’ve put in the order.” He smiled as he finished typing on that phone of his. Then he put it in his pocket and led the way to the massive docks. She followed along beside him, waiting to see what kind of gorgeous boat he had.
Nothing prepared her for what she saw, as they approached a man in a navy sailing uniform. He greeted Luke, addressing him as Mr. Sullivan, and introduced himself to her as the captain as he stepped aside, ushering them aboard the white luxury boat. The floors were a glossy hardwood, the seats all white leather with accent lighting pulling her eyes in every direction. The normally dark blue water looked like a turquoise stripe through the windows of the ship, matching the coordinating throw pillows. The indoor and outdoor spaces were open to each other, connected by a towering arch. Luke walked her over to the compact mahogany bar where one of the staff was ready to pour a drink from the endless supply of beer and spirits that glistened on the wall behind him. He patted the barstool, indicating for her to take a seat.
“What would you like?” Luke asked her. His demeanor drove home how normal this was for him, making Callie feel very out of place. She took her sunglasses off and set them on the highly lacquered bar to get a better look, as the boat’s engine grumbled below. She kept waiting to wake up in her dusty bedroom, the ocean having lulled her to sleep through the open window, but it was clear as Luke put his hand on her back and leaned forward to take a look at his own choices that this was no dream. When she didn’t answer, he said, “How about a mojito? It’s got white rum, mint, and lime.”
“That sounds amazing,” she said, still somewhat at a loss for words.
“Two mojitos please,” he said to the bartender.
The colossal vessel began to move, its horn blowing as it pulled away from the marina. By the time they’d gotten their drinks—frosty glasses, the concoction as sweet as nectar and surrounded by rounds of lime, mint leaves, and ice—they were already picking up speed in the harbor, heading toward the open water. The breeze blowing in was just the right temperature to cool the sun’s relentless rays, and it seemed to be taking its time to dip below the horizon. She’d been glad to have daylight until around nine o’clock each night so they could work on the bed and breakfast, but the heat could be exhausting. Not on board this boat. With the salty air around her and a cold drink in her hand the temperature was perfect.
“I’ve never been on a boat like this before,” she said, trying to make conversation and suddenly struggling when she thought about those articles. She didn’t want to admit that the only boat she’d ever been on was her grandfather’s little fishing boat. Until now, she hadn’t really spent much time at the beach. She’d been too busy working the nine to five that really ended up being more like eight to seven-thirty. But that was all going to change. Being at the beach house would allow her to be closer to Olivia and Wyatt, and to figure out what she really wanted in her own life.
“Grab your drink,” he said with a grin, standing up. “Let’s go to the stern.” She followed his lead.
They sat down on a long leather bench that extended along the back of the boat, and she ran her fingers down the puckered details where leather buttons were sewn into the seat. Luke plopped down, not seeming to notice her admiring the upholstery. He took a long swig of his mojito, his hair blowing in the breeze.
“Look at that,” he said, as if he’d seen it a hundred times and it was The Thing to show people whenever he had them aboard.
Callie followed his line of sight out to sea where a pod of dolphins was jumping and swimming together. “Oh! That’s amazing,” she said, her excitement not tempered by his delivery. She sipped her drink for a little while before asking, “Where are we going?”
“Just for a ride.” He smiled, his arm stretched along the seat behind her, his ankle resting on the knee of his other leg, as he slipped on a pair of designer sunglasses. His presence, their surroundings, her fancy dress—it all seemed so surreal. She wondered now more than ever if he’d just been trying to make her comfortable by taking her to that casual burger place yesterday.
She took a nervous sip of her drink. “What have you been up to today?” she asked, trying again to make conversation.
“Buying properties,” he said. “A group of waterfront hotels.”
“A group of them?” Was that an average day for him?
“My father’s had his eye on them for quite some time. I thought it would be a good investment and it would be nice to surprise him.”
How kind, she thought. “What does he want to do with them?”
“Sell them. Eventually.” He said it as if the answer were obvious.
Hiding her tension, she took another sip of her drink, the sweet lime flavor crisp on her lips.
“Mr. Sullivan,” a man said, as he appeared out of nowhere. “Your dinner is ready, sir. Will you be dining on deck or in the dining area?”
“We’ll take it at the table here on deck. Thank you, James,” Luke said. He stood and held out his hand to help her up. The boat was considerably large—enough not to be bumpy—but she had a sensation of tilting slightly as she stood up, and the mojito was hitting, so she was glad for his offer. She took his hand.
On the starboard side of the boat, along another expanse of cream-colored leather benches, was a dark wood table, four chairs on each side. Luke pulled out a seat for her and, again, she noticed how the gesture didn’t seem intentional; it was as if he’d been taught to do it from childhood. It was interesting to see how he behaved in his own environment. It was a far cry from oversized burgers eaten while sitting on sandy barstools. She reminded herself that this was how he lived every day, not that. He went around and sat across from her as a member of staff set a glass of water, cloth napkins, and silverware in front of them.
Callie was served first, and then one of the staff set down Luke’s dish.
His plate held a mass of eggs with a tiny pile of lobster on top. “I’d hate to offer you something that you didn’t like,” he said, clearly noticing her curiosity. “This, by the way, is lobster frittata. Hand me your fork. I’ll let you try a bite.” He smiled at her and she fumbled a little as she picked up her utensil. She handed it over and he scooped some onto it, the caviar sitting precariously on top of the bite.
Callie took it from him, peering down at it first before she even thought about putting it into her mouth. She threw a glance over to her mojito to be sure she had enough left to wash it down if she didn’t like it. She was a picky eater, and it didn’t look appetizing, but, as the old saying went: When in Rome…
“What’s the matter?” he asked with a chuckle. It seemed that her deliberation was amusing him. She’d made him curious again. She remembered that look; he was enjoying this.