Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel (28 page)

“You must be Nathaniel Ravelle. I’ve heard all about you. Duncan Flynn.”

“Call me Nat. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

Duncan turned his attention to Ash. The eldest Flynn child was Ash’s height, but had to outweigh him by a good thirty pounds of concrete, every pound of which had come courtesy of the US Navy SEAL program, no doubt. Ash braced himself for the intentional name-butchering.

“Ash.” Duncan said this with a nod of his head and a faint smile. “How are you, man?”

“Hey, Duncan. I’m great, thanks. Very glad you could make it home.” They shook hands amicably. And that was it. Not a single “Ashley” was hurled his way.

Annie and Rowan raced to set another place at the table, and the party began.

The food was outstanding. Mona had prepared a fish soup better than anything Ash had tasted outside of Barcelona—clams, mussels, prawns, and flaky hunks of cod, all floating in a perfectly seasoned fish stock. There was homemade bread, roasted potatoes, lamb, salmon, spinach salad, and a hot rice pudding with salted caramel sauce for dessert. The wine and beer flowed. Frasier and Mona got along fine, and Ash watched them exchange more than one glance of relief during the meal. Duncan coming home had changed everything.

After dinner the group moved to the fire pit, and Ash was given the honors to light the bonfire. For at least two more hours, they sat around talking and laughing under a canopy of stars. Duncan regaled everyone with stories of his latest adventures, taking care to gloss over most of the violence and details of geography and operations. And never once did the topic of the Mermaid Island Resort interfere with the family’s time together. For that, Ash was grateful.

Many times that night, Rowan had offered her hand to him and he’d taken it, pleased that she was so comfortable. Once, she even gave him a kiss that pushed the limits of what might be considered an innocent peck. No one seemed to care.

At the end of the evening, they said their good nights and walked back to the Safe Haven, once again hand in hand. Without even discussing it, they ended up in the carriage house together, and after they made sweet and passionate love, Rowan began to fall asleep in his arms.

“Did you set your alarm?”

She grunted. “Ugh. Yes, unfortunately.”

“I promise I’ll make sure you get there on time.”

“Thank you, Ash.” She was asleep almost before the words left her lips.

He wished he could follow her, but his mind was too preoccupied for sleep.

Ash had felt his world expand tonight. He had been welcomed into a family circle, where hurt, love, and laughter coexisted. The Flynns were not a fairy-tale family. They were real. That meant that the warmth he’d felt from them could be trusted as real, too. He couldn’t remember a night when he’d felt so filled up, so complete. And yet . . .

The hurdles he had to clear were huge, and there were no guarantees that everything would be settled by this time tomorrow night.

He’d arranged to take James and the Oceanaire team on a tour of the island immediately after tomorrow’s sail. In his best-outcome fantasy, Rowan would come along, helping him convince the foundation that Bayberry was their new home. And after the tour, everyone would walk into the landowner’s coalition meeting and begin negotiations.

More important, he hoped that by this time tomorrow he and Rowan would have started building something good and solid together, with no secrets between them.

But that was up to her. Rowan had to be willing to forgive him for how he’d misled her in the beginning. She had to be willing to trust him after he’d shown that he wasn’t always trustworthy. And that was an awful lot to ask of anyone, especially a woman whose last encounter with a dishonest man had ended in disaster.

As Ash kissed her hair, inhaling her sweet and spicy scent, he felt his chest tighten with a sense of dread. Now that he’d found Rowan and had come to love her, he couldn’t imagine how painful it would be if she were unable to give him another chance. Though he was old pals with loss, grief, and heartache, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive losing Rowan. Because unlike every other loss in his life, he would have brought this one upon himself.

Ash put his lips against her temple. He whispered, “I love you, Miss Flynn,” and prepared to settle in for a long, restless night.

K
athryn Hilsom hadn’t planned on the ferry. She hadn’t done a ferry since her family took one from the Cape to Martha’s Vineyard when she was a child, and she’d spent the entire ride sharing her fast food lunch with the fish.

She wasn’t faring much better now.

The J-R private jet had arrived on the Vineyard without incident, but the helicopter they’d reserved had inexplicably been rented out to another group, already en route to Bayberry. So here she was, on a smelly, loud, rumbling, nauseating old ferry, her head feeling as if it were a basketball being pummeled into a hard gymnasium floor.

Once again, she grabbed the safety rail and retched.

“Can I get you anything? A snack?”

She held her hand up and back as she dry-heaved, a warning to stay away. She planned to fire whichever idiotic team member had decided this would be the perfect time to review food and beverage options with her. She opened one eye. It was Brenda Paulson. Of course it was. Unbelievable.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” Brenda shrugged as she backed away, and through the narrow slit of one eye, Kathryn watched her join the rest of the J-R team seated inside the passenger cabin.

She managed to raise her head enough to search for the horizon line. Kathryn had read somewhere that if you could keep your focus there, your chances of getting ill were greatly reduced.

Or not.

She retched over the railing again, wondering how she was supposed to stand in front of thirty-seven property owners all rainbows and sunshine when she felt like a shit sandwich.

*   *   *

Rowan was a little late, but she knew Ash wouldn’t leave without her. She approached the marine yard in time to see Deacon Sully leaving Ash’s boat.

“Hey, Sully!”

His head snapped up, and he looked terrified to encounter her. Of course, Sully had never been all that comfortable with people, and women in particular, so his reaction wasn’t surprising. How he’d ever been named a deacon in the First Presbyterian Church was something she’d never understood.

“Hello, Rowan.” He looked down at his dirty boat shoes.

She stopped. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s Ash’s boat coming along?”

He glanced up again, a wary expression in his eyes. “Why do you ask? Do you think I took too long on purpose to fix it?”

Rowan tipped her head and studied him. On an island full of odd birds, Sully was one of the oddest bird-brains there was. “I don’t think I understand. Why would I think you would do that?”

“No reason. Have a nice sail. I guess I’ll be seeing you later this afternoon along with everyone else, right?”

“Uh. Sure.” She watched him scamper away to the safety of his office shack, giving herself an extra moment to shake off the crazy before she continued on to the boat slip. She had a feeling Sully didn’t mean he’d see her when she returned from the sail, but Rowan didn’t have time to try to decipher his ramblings.

When she didn’t see Ash on deck, Rowan poked her head across the gangway. “Permission to come aboard?”

She heard Ash clamber up the companionway steps. He poked his head out and smiled. “Of course!”

Rowan stepped onto the deck of the
Provenance
. The last time she’d been here was Sunday, when she and Ash sat on the dock to eat ice cream. Though he’d told her all about his vintage sailboat, he hadn’t invited her on board. He hadn’t been comfortable enough with her at that point, she supposed. Sometimes it amazed her that less than a week had gone by since he’d shown up in her life.

He joined her on deck, grasping her upper arms as he smiled down at her. “Permission to kiss the first mate?”

Rowan giggled. “Of course. Always.”

Oh, how she craved his kisses. It had been a whole three hours since she’d had one, and Rowan had to admit to herself that she’d gotten used to them. One of the things she planned on being brave enough to ask today was whether he still planned to leave now that his boat was repaired. She had a right to know, of course, but she still hadn’t convinced herself she was strong enough to hear his answer.

“Come on. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes.” He scanned her clothes, and she looked down at herself. She’d worn pretty standard sailing attire—a pair of white cotton shorts, a navy blue polo shirt, and a pair of water sandals.

“What?”

He got a sly grin on his face. “Nothing. You’re just so adorable.”

“Oh.” She felt herself blush.

Ash nodded at her duffel. “You brought a sweater though, right? It might get chilly in the wind. If not, I have lots of sweatshirts in the cabin.”

“I think I’ve got it covered.” She rose up to her toes to kiss him again. “You know, I’ve done this a few times.”

“Kissed a captain?”

She laughed. “No. Well, a few, maybe. What I meant was I’ve done my share of day sails.”

“Of course you have.” Ash guided her toward a bench near the helm. “You’re a daughter of the island. I bet you’ve sailed since you were knee-high to a pelican.”

“Something like that.” Rowan took a seat and watched Ash busy himself around the deck. His boat was gorgeous. She’d seen a few of these classic beauties come and go over the years, but this would be her first time aboard one. “Your grandfather had excellent taste in sailboats,” she said.

Ash was bent over a line he’d just neatly coiled and set in place, and he looked over his shoulder and grinned. “He did.”

“And what do you have excellent taste in, Ashton Louis Wallace the third?”

“Women.”

“We have a winner!”

He laughed as he straightened. “Would you like to take the helm or get the fenders?”

She didn’t miss what that question implied. Though she’d never been behind the wheel of this boat and had no idea how his new engine would handle leaving the slip, he still trusted her enough to give her the choice. “I’ll get the fenders.”

Rowan stood and passed through the causeway again, stepping onto the dock. She watched Ash turn the key and wait for the sound of the engine. It started like a dream, and he gave her the thumbs-up. Rowan untied the spring lines from the dock cleat, and with the last dock line in hand, she hopped aboard and shoved the bow away with her foot. Immediately, she retrieved the fenders from where they draped over the edge of the boat and stored them on deck. She went back to the bench.

“Once we get under way, I’d love it if you joined me here.” Ash winked at her and concentrated on taking the boat out into open water. When he cut the engine not five minutes later, he asked if she’d like to help trim the sails. Of course she said yes, and for the next few minutes they worked together to get the sloop in position to take advantage of a pleasant, steady southwesterly wind.

“She’s so smooth,” Rowan said, leaning back on her hands and gazing up at the perfect tension in the main and jib sails. The boat had very clean lines, and she’d noticed right away that the fiberglass deck was in pristine condition, which was really saying a lot for a boat that he’d told her was nearly sixty years old.

“I’m glad you like her, Rowan.”

She turned to respond and . . .
oh
. The vision took her breath away. This was an extremely happy man. He was set against the blue-green sea and baby blue sky. Ash’s face was gentle and open as the breeze ruffled his hair, and though she couldn’t see his eyes from behind his polarized Oakley sunglasses, she knew they were sparkling.

Rowan took a leisurely inventory of Ash. Every inch of his big body was relaxed. His feet were widely spaced and perfectly balanced. His hands caressed the wheel the way they caressed her body, the long muscles of his forearms rippling as he moved. This was a dance Ash enjoyed immensely and one he knew well. Which struck her as a little strange—how could a man so comfortable and at ease on his beloved sailboat let her run out of gas?

She supposed everyone was entitled to a bad day every now and again.

Ash wiggled his fingers for her to join him at the helm, and she squeezed her body behind the wheel, her bottom pressed into the tops of his thighs. Ash wrapped his arms around her while he steered, dropping his lips to the side of her neck.

“Thank you for coming out today.”

Rowan sighed with pleasure. “Thank you for asking me. Do you bring a lot of people on board?”

“Nope.”

He moved his lips up until she felt his breath on her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe, and Rowan squeezed her thighs together. Well, of
course
she did! It had been nothing but thigh-clenching every day this week! She giggled to herself.

“The only people who were ever on board with me were my Grandfather Louis and Brian. That’s it.”

Rowan leaned the back of her head against his chest and looked out to sea. There were a few sailboats dotting the horizon and the afternoon ferry was chugging its way to the public dock, but for the most part, it felt as if they were alone in the world. “Nanette never asked to come along with you on a sail?”

The rumble of Ash’s laughter vibrated against Rowan’s back. “She asked. I said no. She didn’t know how to sail.”

“And you didn’t want to teach her?”

“Not particularly. Her idea of getting back to nature was driving her convertible Audi with the top down in the summer—”

“Which sounds perfectly lovely.”

“—in heels, with the air-conditioning cranked and a cheetah-print scarf around her head.”

“Ah.”

“So you’re it, sweetheart.”

Rowan felt a tremble move through her body. It was the sound of those words—
you’re it, sweetheart
. Of course she knew what he meant, that she was the only person to come aboard except for his grandfather and his best friend, but she wanted the words to have a deeper meaning. Right then, Rowan realized she wanted to be his woman. She wanted to be
it
for him, the woman he’d always wanted and the one he couldn’t live without.

“Tell me, why did your grandfather decide to call his sloop the
Provenance
? There’s always a story behind a boat’s name.”

“And this is no exception.” Ash made a small adjustment to the wheel and leaned forward to adjust the jib sheet, all while maintaining contact with Rowan’s body. “I told you that he owned an architectural preservation firm, right?”

She nodded, feeling her hair rub against his shirt.

“Well, the term
provenance
refers to a chain of ownership, or custody of a structure. Sometimes the history of a house adds to its value. For example, a house owned by Mark Twain would be more valuable than a house owned by Mabel Twain, his sister.”

“He didn’t have a sister named Mabel, and anyway, her name would have been Mabel Clemens, because Mark Twain’s real name was—”

“I was just making sure you were paying attention.”

Rowan laughed. “You like tweaking me, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “I love tweaking you. I can’t remember what my life was like before I had you to tweak.”

She smiled, snuggling against him. “I’m sure tweaking yourself gets old after a while.”

He laughed harder this time, then leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“So you were telling me about the name.”

“Right.” Ash straightened behind Rowan, pulling her in tighter with one hand. “Grandfather Louis often had to do research to prove provenance on a building. So when he bought this boat in 1986 from an old buddy of his, he chose the name because it had special meaning. It was linked to his friend, his work . . . and to me.”

“You?”

“Yes.” Ash brushed a hand up and down her arm as he steered with the other. “I’d been living with him for only a couple years at that point, and he was my legal guardian. He told me the boat would be mine one day, and that its ‘value’ would be greater because of its provenance within the Wallace family.”

Rowan froze. She had to blink back tears. At that moment she understood why he’d brought her aboard: This was all he had left of his own history. How strange it must be for him on the island. Ash couldn’t swing a dead cat on Bayberry without smacking up against Flynn history. But all he had was a boat. By sharing the
Provenance
, he was sharing his world with her.

“Thank you for showing her to me,” she said, her voice so low she wasn’t sure he could hear. “Do you hope to have children one day? Someone to pass the
Provenance
on to?”

When a full ten seconds went by without an answer, Rowan assumed her voice had been too soft to have been heard above the sea and wind. It was probably for the best.

“I would love to have children someday. How about you?”

“I would.”

They let the subject drop.

About an hour later, a decent gust of wind allowed them to take the boat to a good twenty-degree heel, both of them hooting at the joy of cutting fast through the water, Rowan’s back against the lifeline as she skimmed just above the waves, sea misting her body from head to toe. There were few things more exciting in life, Rowan knew. A little later, on their way back to the island in calm wind, they shared a bottle of wine and a picnic basket Ash admitted Imelda had helped him prepare.