by Nina Hatch
“Luca, what did you have to do to get the money for this?”
“Nothing. Really, I swear. I mean, Talia was so impressed by how quickly I repaid her that she just…offered me a bonus. I said no, of course, just like you told me to…but then I thought, who turns down free money?” I watch him in silence as he continues incriminating himself. “I mean, when you think about it, really, what’s the harm? Talia said it was okay if I didn’t want to run the drugs anymore, she would still give me the money for my good service, no obligation at all. All I had to do was agree to remember her kindness now in case she needed a favor later on, but I’m sure she’ll forget about that. I laid down the law to say I was out, though, I really did, Jake.”
Luca looks about as capable of laying down the law as a rabbit.
“Leave the nails in the crate, Luca. You’ll be returning these parts, so no sense in unboxing them.”
He looks crestfallen.
Because I can’t stand that whimpery look on his face any longer, I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. Since you brought the crate all the way down here, I’ll put it up on the deck for now. Thanks for thinking of me. I appreciate it, but I’m still returning them.”
After hauling the crate up onto the boat, I step back and stare at it.
It takes up a lot of room in my small kitchen, so I push it toward the living room instead to get it out of the way. I’d been planning on starting Ernesto’s door this afternoon, so I brew a pot of strong coffee, adding just a splash of whiskey to my mug.
I set up my portable workshop in the middle of the floor, clamping in the lumber and pulling out my tools. After pouring myself another cup of coffee — and maybe a little more whiskey this time — I decide it really would be better if I pushed the crate of boat parts into the dining area instead.
Now the crate is blocking the path to my bedroom, though, so I shuffle it back to where it started in the kitchen. An hour has already gone by, but I think I’m finally ready to get to work on the door, so I drop the needle on some gritty blues and roll up my sleeves. Once the record stops, I grab my mug again.
Fuck it. This time I pour the whiskey in first and add just a splash of coffee.
That’s more like it.
Taking a slow sip, I assess my cramped work studio again. Really, it would just make more sense to take the boat parts out of the crate, I tell myself. I’m sure they’d take up less room that way…
By the time the sun makes its lazy way toward the ocean, I’m down in the boat’s engine room, empty bottle of whiskey at my feet and tightening the final bolt on the brand new transmission I just finished installing.
I sit up, wiping the grease off my hands and take a deep breath. The sky is lit up in pinks and corals, seagulls diving and drifting, the first stars twinkling on the horizon, battling the sun for attention. Everything is exactly the same as it is every day on the boat.
Except that it’s not.
A silent plea caught somewhere in my throat, I put the keys in the ignition. The motor purrs to life, humming smooth and clean.
Looks like I don’t have to sit around and wait for Olivia to come back to Schiaro after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia
“You seemed to have a real connection with that go-go dancer last night, Teddy. Did you get his number?” I ask, my voice still croaky from singing at the top of my lungs in the club.
“Nope. I’m never going to see him again, so why bother? But I guess I don’t need to explain myself to you, do I? You know all about the benefits of a quick fling on the ocean, no commitments, no feelings.”
I nod along weakly, but I know that’s not at all how I feel about Jake. I’d been lying to myself if I ever thought this was just about sex. I can’t wait to rush back into his arms in Schiaro, to hear what he’s been up to, to see if he still wants to continue on this adventure with me, the way I’m desperate to with him.
We still have a day and a half before our next charter comes onboard, and Lucy is poring over a map to find the closest farmer’s market. Claire is reading aloud from a guidebook about some bookstore Edith Wharton visited in the 1900a, and Teddy and I are still nursing our hangovers.
Mykonos is stunning in the daylight, a vision in white and blue, but I can’t quite get myself all the way excited for sightseeing.
After telling Francie to fuck off last night, all I want to do is to count down the hours until we’re headed back toward Schiaro and I can hide myself again in Jake’s bed, fulfilling my truth of having the best fucking sex of my life.
The rest of last night was still pretty blurry, but having friends to look out for me made all the difference. I can barely remember last night, but when I woke up, I knew I had to thank Claire for wrestling my cell phone away from me in the bathroom stall when I tried to call my new bosses at Thadmore, Boyle & Lake to drunkenly turn down my position, as was my new tradition. She calmed my nerves enough to convince me to place that call in the morning instead — sober this time — and I was met with a much more courteous acknowledgment when I called them during actual business hours to politely decline their offer. They told me I could reapply at any time, but I know that’s not what I want. Not after I’ve had this taste of freedom from those obligations.
I fidget in my chair, staring pointedly at Lucy, who’s taking forever to finish her breakfast, cutting her crepes and sausage into increasingly smaller bites and refusing to look at any of us.
“Lucy, seriously,” Claire chides, shielding her face from the mid-morning sun. “We need to get going if we’re going to see everything today. Put the meat in your mouth and let’s go.”
“Hey,” Teddy says, “speaking of sausage, isn’t that —”
“Jake!” I yelp, sending the final bite of my feta and spinach omelet flying off my fork.
His tall, broad body is unmistakeable even though the sun is at his back, shading his features. Wearing dark jeans and a white henley rolled up to show off his thick forearms, he truly does look like he washed up from a myth.
I leap into his arms, shedding every final inhibition. “How did you get here? How did you find us?” I realize I don’t even care about the answers to either of these questions, all that matters is that he’s here right now, so real and so perfect.
He flashes a grin at me, and his smile is reflected in his eyes. It’s pure joy, not just for show or to impress, it’s all just for me. “I fixed the boat so I had to test her out,” he says, his voice deep. “There was something that I wanted to see in Mykonos that just couldn’t wait.” His coy smile warms me to the core and I pull him in close to my kiss, no longer caring what anyone might think.
“And it’s easy to find you,” he continues when I release him. “I just asked where the best coffee in town was and made my way here. Figured you’d show.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Oh, and I also got ahold of Lucy. She still owed me from interrupting us in the shower, so she tipped me off, said she’d keep you here.”
I look over at her, incredulous. “So that explains why you were taking so long to finish your breakfast this morning!”
Lucy just laughs and nods. “Hey, it hasn’t been easy. This coffee is ice cold,” she says, slugging the bitter remains down in one gulp.
I run back to the Venus to pack a quick overnight bag and meet Jake on the dock in under half an hour, letting myself get swept up in his eyes in half the time.
“You really fixed the boat?” I say, gazing up at him.
“I really did. I had some pretty good motivation to come find you, bright eyes.” He leans in for a kiss, catching my hand in his when we have to pull away.
Jake points down the row to where the boat is docked. “Our chariot awaits. Where do you want to go, Princess?”
“Anywhere. I’d go anywhere with you,” I yell, releasing his hand to take off in a sprint down the dock.
The boat looks completely different now than when it was nestled back in the cove. Now, the wood stil
l gleams with warmth and care, the controls still catching the glint of the sun, but the boat looked proud of itself in a way I couldn’t describe, bobbing in a plucky manner on the gentle waves.
Climbing aboard felt like coming come, and when Jake turned the key in the ignition, the boat leapt to the occasion, motor purring beneath my feet.
“Hmm. How about Santorini?” he asks, taking the wheel.
Ahhh. I inhale deep, the dreamy image from the name alone starting to paint images in my mind of tranquil beauty.
Jake’s eyes narrow on the horizon, commanding the direction we set off in.
Once we get out onto the open water, I drag a chair out on the deck and curl up in the warm breeze, turning to a blank page in my sketchbook.
After tying a floaty yellow scarf around my head and wrapping it around my neck, I adjust my sunglasses as though I’m starring in To Catch a Thief. Even though I know that in reality my hair is a complete mess, my unruly waves tangling from the mist coming off the ocean, I still feel glamorous. It must be something in the way Jake looks at me, something about his smile that makes me push my shoulders back with this Grace Kelly elegance.
It strikes me how easy it is to trust my life in Jake’s hands — as easy as breathing.
“How does it feel, being back on your boat, steering again?” I ask. “Is it as good as you remember?”
“It’s…different.”
“Different in a bad way?”
He studies me, eyes narrowed. “Just the opposite. It feels better than it ever did. Knowing you were at the other end of this journey, I felt stronger, more certain. And having you here now, seeing you smile — it makes it feel like we could go anywhere, do anything. Most of my life has been just waiting to crash into whatever is thrown my way next. Now I feel out of control in the most in control way possible.”
I swallow. I wasn’t expecting that kind of honesty. Meeting his eyes, I don’t know what to say.
“Come here, let me show you what it feels like.”
Jake places my hands on the wheel, showing me what all the instruments and levers on the panel do. He brings the speed of the boat down to where we’re barely moving, then wraps his arms around my hips. The only sounds are the distant singing of the seagulls near the beach and the lapping of the waves against the boat as the salty mist clings to our skin. I can feel Jake’s cock start to thicken and rise behind me, and my thighs clench involuntarily.
“Mmmm,” I moan, turning my head. His mouth finds my jawline, and my hands reach back to tangle through his dark hair. Jake takes the unguarded opportunity to run his hands over my body, slipping one hand under the neckline of my dress to find my breasts.
Stepping back, Jake sits down in the captain’s chair and pulls me onto his lap, straddling him, the full weight of his eyes falling on me. With one knee on either side of him, I can feel his bulge underneath me, and I grind my hips to tease him — to tease both of us.
Even though we’re in the middle of the sea, we’re still fully exposed to anyone with a half decent set of binoculars, which is why I’m shocked when Jake slips the straps of my sundress down my shoulders, unhooks my bra and tosses it aside. A warm breeze wafts in from the water, brushing across my newly exposed skin, and my nipples go fully erect.
“Jake, what if someone sees?” I hiss, reaching for my chest.
“Then they’ll know how lucky I am to have you to myself,” he says, not even pausing to look around. He pulls my hands away, replacing them with his lips on one of my nipples, his fingers twisting the other.
I press his head against me as he taunts me, licking and nipping at my skin as an ache mounts between my thighs. “Fuck, I love your mouth on me,” I moan.
His response vibrates into my chest. “Good, because I’m not going to keep it off you.” I grip the back of the chair, circling my hips a little quicker, loving how it feels to be on top. Most of my sexual experience has been in the missionary position, and the rush of being in control is exhilarating.
Jake lifts me up to sneak a condom out of his pocket, unzipping his pants while he’s at it and adjusting them down to free his cock. He doesn’t quite have his full range of movement like this, with his jeans bunched around his knees, but I find myself even more turned on by that, the idea that I’m in charge of the tempo this time, in charge of his pleasure.
“Want to do the honors?” he says, tearing open the foil packet. I roll the latex down his long shaft, feeling how hot he is under my palms. His cock looks even bigger in the daylight, and I have to remind myself to relax as I lift my body up, position his tip at my entrance, and lower myself onto him slowly, my breath catching in my throat as I go.
“Oh my God,” Jake breathes. His eyes are pinched closed, almost pained, but he lifts his hips up to meet me right at the end, and I gasp at how deep I’m able to take him.
I’m so wet for him, and when I slide back up, Jake can’t take his eyes off his cock, coated in my juices. “Fuck, Liv, you’re so tight and perfect, I don’t know how long I can hold out,” he growls, his breathing already ragged. The sound of his voice, so needy, tempts me to rock my hips, squeezing him with my core muscles as I circle around him. I feel his cock pulse once inside me, and his hands go to my hips, his grip on me savage.
I lean back to rest my elbows on the wheel, giving him a full view of my body, reveling in how every new angle makes him feel even deeper and thicker inside me. Jake reaches between us, holding me in place while his thumb finds my clit, rubbing over and over again as the maddening tension takes me higher.
I don’t know how much longer I can wait either, and I pump my hips, scrambling to hold onto his shoulders as he strums my clit, faster and more beautifully than a Spanish guitar solo.
Jake’s hands go to my ass, gripping me tight, no longer guiding but slamming me into him, rocking fast until the pressure tips him over.
His climax triggers mine, pulling me over with him, pure, perfect pleasure spilling out of me as I ride his throbbing cock.
Since the first moment I saw him, Jake rattled me to my core, scooping out everything I thought I knew about life and filling me with something else. Something braver. I know in my gut that I made the right decision this morning about turning down the analyst job. I don’t know what I’m going to replace it with, but I think the answer might just be found out here on the clear blue water.
Chapter Eighteen
Jake
After I dropped Olivia back off at the Venus last week, there’s nothing I want more than to plan out where I’m taking her next. She couldn’t hide her shy excitement when I found a worn pamphlet for the Milan Academy in her sketchbook, and I bought the train tickets as soon as I sailed back to Schiaro.
I can’t make time speed up, but at least I have enough projects lined up to keep my hands busy in the meantime.
I tip Ernesto’s door upright, standing back to look at it now that the final coat of varnish is dry. I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of the way it turned out — sturdy but playful, solid but light. It suits him. I added just enough ornamentation to it to make him smile, carving in a border of tomatoes ripening on the vine around a small window near the top. Who knows, maybe the window will be enough to make people walking by stop to peek in and stay for a bite to eat, the way no one seems to now.
There’s still enough time to swing by and get the door installed before Olivia is due to come in on the Venus tonight, so I hoist it up on my back and take the fastest route I know to get down to Ernesto’s. When he sees me come through the square, the heavy door lifted above my head, he runs out to greet me, his eyes filled with tears.
“Cut the waterworks, you haven’t even seen it yet,” I laugh.
But it turns out he was being restrained. Once I set it down for him to look at, fat tears spill down his cheeks, and he can barely get his words out. “Jacopo, what did I ever do to deserve you? You make an old man feel young again,” he says, blowing his nose like a wet trumpet in his handkerchief. “This is a true
work of art. You’ve brought beauty back to my view, Jacopo. Grazie.” He rests a thick hand on the wood, shaking his head.
After I pop the old door out of its hinges and get to work drilling into the new door, Ernesto turns to stare out at the town square from the open entry. “It would break my brother’s heart to see the town this way,” he muses, staring out at the tourists strolling by with fast food and bags filled with trinkets from the souvenir kiosks littering the square.
“There’s nothing authentically ours anymore. This beauty, these fancy hotels, it’s all fake. How can we have a shopping mall when we don’t even have a community farmer’s market anymore? We have a Louis Vuitton store, ci, but our own local tanner closed up shop. Tile was once what Schiaro was known for across the Mediterranean — just look at the mosaics in our cathedral — but now every shop sells the same ceramic bowl painted in China. The tourists are good, yes, but we need to be able to talk to each other and support one another when they all go home after their holiday.”
I pause, tools in hand. I’ve heard Ernesto wax poetic about the Schiaro of the past so many times it typically goes in one ear and out the other, but I find myself caring more about what he says this time. Now that I repaired my boat and have the means to go, I find more and more that I’m pulled to stay, and this town has seeped in through the years to become my home.
“What happened? Why did it change?”
He seems surprised I ask, and he pulls up a chair. “Schiaro took off too quickly,” Ernesto says. “We were a rustic town thrust into a gold rush of tourist money, squabbling over change and competing when we should have been collaborating. The DiCicco’s made it worse, of course, playing us against one another.”
“How did the DiCicco’s come to power here in the first place? Why didn’t anyone stop them?”
