Chaser

by Staci Hart

  I folded my arms on the table. “How do you know where you’re supposed to be?”

  He dragged his finger along the map, stopping at points. “These numbers mark the water depth, and these lines mark the channels. Getting out of the harbor is the hardest part — a lot of traffic and rules to keep everything in order. But once we’re out, we can pretty much go wherever we want.”

  I looked over the maps. “This is a little overwhelming.”

  He smirked. “That’s why we’re using GPS.”

  I laughed. “Wow, Coop. Did you just put all this here for show?”

  “Maybe.”

  I propped my chin in my hand and smiled up at him. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  He stacked up the charts and compasses, taking them around the corner to back them in the small desk built into the wall. “I thought you’d find it interesting. I’m here to show you a good time, which would be complicated by sea charts and math.”

  “Yuck. Nobody wants to do math on a Saturday.”

  “My point exactly.” He smiled. “The bar, pantry, and fridge are stocked, so help yourself. You ready to go?”

  I nodded and slipped out of the bench as he picked up the CB to get clearance from the harbor master, listening to his easy confidence, wondering how many times he’d sailed. He hung up the receiver when he’d gotten word, and we climbed back out into the cockpit.

  “Give me just a minute. Make yourself comfortable.” He smiled as he turned the key and pressed the ignition, and the motor came alive with a rumble.

  I took a seat as he jumped onto the deck and made his way around the boat with purpose, casting off all the boat lines except the ones in the front and back. He pulled in the bumpers and stowed them before casting off the line in the back, then hopped back on the boat and let the final rope loose, rolling it up and putting it away as he did the others. I watched, fascinated.

  I’d found something that Cooper was very serious about.

  He gave me a smile, slipping on his sunglasses as he stood behind the wheel and pulled out of the slip, then out of the marina. He turned on music, and I stretched out on the bench, taking it all in. The city passed by us as he navigated through the harbor, past cruise ships and big party yachts, tug boats and towering shipping boats stacked with cargo crates, talking all the while.

  “How do you know where to go?” I asked, curious.

  “See those buoys? We want to keep the green ones on our starboard — right side — when we’re heading out, just like on the road. When you’re coming in, you keep the red ones on your starboard.”

  “How often do you sail?”

  I watched the wind ruffle his dark hair. “Whenever I can. A couple of times a month, at least. Even in the winter.”

  “Did you have to take classes to learn? Or…”

  He smiled at me before looking back to the water. “I’ve been sailing since I was a kid, first with my dad and then sailing school. I was on a team in high school and college, too. There’s just something infinitely satisfying about earning the freedom of the wind in my hair with burning muscles and salt on my lips. It’s addictive.”

  “You really love it, don’t you?”

  “I really do.”

  My heart was all fluttery, thinking about the countless hours he’d spent sailing, thinking about how he was sharing something he was passionate about with me.

  He kept talking, and I listened, captivated by the deep timbre of his voice. “This ship is easy to sail, in the way of sailboats. It’s big enough that I can bring people with me, small enough that I can handle it on my own. I have an even smaller one with no automation for when I really want to work for it.”

  “So this is your party boat?”

  Cooper laughed. “Yeah, this is my party boat. But I sail it alone most of the time.”

  “Always alone?”

  He smirked at me. “Are you asking if I’ve brought girls onto my boat?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged, pretending to be indifferent.

  “A time or two. But like I said, I’m usually alone.”

  I knew he meant it in more ways than one. I changed the subject. “So, do you have to chart a course or something? I don’t know what you call it.” I chuckled awkwardly. “Or do you know where to go? Or … I don’t know how any of this works.”

  “I’ve sailed to the Hamptons hundreds of times — my dad and I have been making the trip as long as I can remember. But I did chart the course in my GPS. It’s hooked into the autopilot, but otherwise I can watch the screen to stay on track. Just makes it a little easier, less work. So I can enjoy your company.”

  I tried to suppress my smile and looked up at the mast. “When can you put the sails up?”

  “Not until we’re out of the harbor. It’s not really safe with all the traffic, so we’ll use the engine to get us out into open water and move out of the shipping channel to hoist sail. And then the trip really begins.” His smile sent a rush of adrenaline through me.

  I settled back in the seat, hanging my arms on the back of the bench, chin tilted up as we rode past the towering skyscrapers. I watched them all, thinking about the people inside, thinking about who built them, marveling over this city composed of concrete and steel, constructed by millions of men and women over hundreds of years, with sweat and blood and mountains of money. And Cooper and I floated by, just a little speck on the river passing by for a quiet moment in time.

  Cooper turned up the radio, and I watched him inconspicuously behind the shade of my sunglasses. His legs were planted firmly on the deck — he was more solid than I’d ever seen him on dry land. I watched his forearms as he turned the wheel, the flutter of tendons and muscles under his tan skin almost hypnotic. The wind blew through his hair, the black shock that somehow stayed out of his face, his jaw under perfectly neglected stubble, set without looking hard. My eyes rested on his mouth, the bow of his upper lip, the swell of the bottom. I knew those lips.

  A flash of possession washed over me.

  Forget everything from before. Pretend that this is everything there is or ever will be. What do I want?

  In that moment, the answer was simple. If you stripped everything away, I wanted him.

  Emotion washed over me, and I looked away, pushing away the anxiety as questions filled my head, questions I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what any of it meant. And for this weekend, I would accept that as all I needed to know.

  We passed under the Verrazano bridge, and the bay opened up. I spotted Coney Island in the distance, the Wonder Wheel spinning as we rounded out into open water. Cooper smiled and pulled the boat around into the wind.

  He locked the wheel and reached for my hand. “All right. Here we go, Mags.”

  I followed him up to the front of the boat where he silently slipped the rope in the halyard and hooked it into the mast, then hoisted the mainsail, pulling the rope hand over hand, face tilted up to the sun until it hit the end. He wrapped the end in a figure eight around a cleat and we moved to the next. He tied the halyard to the second sail the same way and hooked it into the jib, then he shot me that beautiful smile of his again.

  “Together?” He extended the rope, his eyes shining so brilliantly, I could barely breathe.

  The boat rocked under our feet, and I smiled back before taking the rope. We raised the sail together until it hit the top, and he cleated the rope as the sails snapped and flapped, the ship rocking against the waves as we hurried back to the wheel.

  I knelt on the bench, face turned to the wind, heart hammering against my ribs.

  “Hang on,” he called, and my heart beat faster, adrenaline pumping as he turned off the motor and turned the wheel. The wind caught the sails with a heavy thump of canvas, and we began to move, slowly at first, then faster until we were racing across the waves.

  It was like nothing I could have imagined. I had no idea ships could fly.

  Cooper

  She hung on to the handle on the back of the bench, her
eyes on the horizon, cheeks flushed as a laugh shot out of her. The sound was wild, full of abandon and wonder.

  I knew the feeling. It was why I sailed.

  We rode in silence, the only sounds the rushing wind and crash of the water against the hull, both of us taking the time to appreciate the day, the moment, each other as I tacked toward the shore.

  She shook her head and turned to me after a long while. “This is incredible, Cooper.”

  I gave her a smile with my hands on the wheel and the wind in my hair.

  She looked toward the shore as we passed Coney Island. “Why aren’t we going straight?”

  “You can’t sail directly into the wind … you have to skate across it at an angle, then switch back. It’s called tacking, like a zig-zag.”

  “So, you just turn the other direction?”

  I smiled. “You have to adjust the sail when you tack, catch it from the other direction of the sail. Tacking is when you really do work.”

  “How often do you tack?”

  I shrugged. “Shorter tacks would get us there faster, but they’re more exhausting. We’re not in a hurry, and I’m not trying to expend all my energy sailing. Not when I’ve got you for a whole night to myself.”

  She laughed. “Long tack it is. How long until we reach the Hamptons?”

  “About five hours. I made reservations for dinner, but we should have plenty of time to shower and get settled in at the beach house.”

  “I’m so excited right now!” she bubbled, and I laughed, leaning over to kiss her.

  “Good.”

  The day was perfect — clear skies, steady wind, and Maggie on my boat with a smile that rivaled the sun.

  “Can I walk around?” she asked. “I’m not going to get knocked off the boat or anything, right?”

  “No, you’ll be fine. I’ll let you know before I tack the other direction. This,” I pointed at the bottom of the sail in front of us, “is the boom. It’ll swing around when I jib — turn — but I’ll let you know before that happens, every thirty or forty-five minutes.”

  “Ooh, I’ll wait. I want to watch you do that.”

  I smiled, feeling larger than life.

  “We’re close enough.” I reached over to the jib’s rope and unwound it, hanging on as the boat drifted through the wind in a lurch.

  Maggie sat down, watching me.

  The boom swung over our heads as the sail changed directions and caught with a snap, and the boat turned sharp, angling the deck as I held on, pulling tight to secure the sheet on the opposite side of the boat. Maggie gasped, hanging on with her eyes on the ocean as we straightened out. I grabbed the wheel, adjusting the angle until the wind hit the sail in the sweet spot.

  Her eyes were huge, cheeks flushed as she gaped at me. “That was fucking awesome!”

  I laughed. “Keep an eye on the boom, okay? The wind could shift and move it, but you’re fine once you move up to the mainsail.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said with a smile and climbed out of the cockpit.

  I watched her walk along the deck, hanging onto the rope guardrail until she reached the bow and stood in the wide space made by the angle of the mainsail, hanging onto the rope, hair flying.

  I wished I could see her face.

  She sat after a moment, watching the ocean, and I stood at the helm of my ship with the wind rushing past me, feeling like everything was right. As if everything was exactly what it should be, where it should be. And when she looked back over her shoulder at me, I knew it was true.

  Maggie

  Hours later, I felt wind whipped and sun worn and absolutely amazing. I’d never experienced anything quite like it.

  Cooper Moore — nautical badass. Who knew.

  I sat next to him in the cockpit and watched him, talked to him, laughed with him. I sat on the bow of the ship where the wind was the strongest, feeling free, full of hope. For a little while, I sat in his lap, steering the boat under his direction as he told me what we were looking for — the fullness of the sails, the direction of the wind against them. And the rest of the time, I watched him navigate his ship, the attention to every small detail as deliberate as it was second nature.

  By the time we reached Shinnecock Bay, I wasn’t ready for the ride to end. I took comfort in that we’d do it all again in the morning, and after watching him handle his ship all day, I was ready to have him to myself, with no distractions.

  He pulled into a slip in a marina in the north of the bay that he’d reserved, and he called for his car service before showing me how to close up the boat. We grabbed our things, and I felt so unbelievably good as we walked out of the marina and slipped into the backseat of the car waiting for us. I was tucked into his side, watching out the window as we rose up the coast, past a few subdivisions until the driver turned down a long driveway.

  You wouldn’t have known it was there if you weren’t looking for it — the unimposing entry with a gate just past what you could see from the road. The driver pulled up to the box where Cooper punched in a code, and once the gate opened, we drove over the hill.

  My mouth dropped open when I saw the Hampton house at the bottom.

  It was a beachy Cape Cod with dark wooden slats and white trim, a massive home, but somehow it didn’t feel pretentious at all. It looked homey, sitting there on the beach without another house in sight, the ocean stretched out forever beyond. Like a safe haven, secluded from everything.

  It was a bubble I had a feeling I may never want to leave.

  The driver pulled around the circular driveway, and we climbed out. Cooper picked up our bags, smiling at me over his shoulder as he unlocked the door. And when he pushed it open, I stepped inside, holding my breath.

  The quiet house looked like it came straight out of a design magazine. Everything was crisp and clean, modern and simple, as unassuming as the exterior of the house in whites and grays and dark wood. The furniture looked comfortable and simple, and my eyes followed the exposed beams across the ceiling.

  I’d never seen anything so perfect.

  “I can’t even believe this is real.” I was still looking around in awe as he stepped up behind me and took off his sunglasses.

  “Welcome to the Hampton house.” He kissed my hair, close enough that his chest was against my back.

  “Why would you ever leave this place?”

  I felt him shrug. “This is where we come to get away from life. Everything else is in New York. It’s only a matter of time before it drags you back.”

  I shook my head, looking out the wall of windows at the ocean. “Nope. Never leaving.”

  He laughed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Fine by me.” He pressed a kiss to my temple and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let me show you around.”

  We walked through the house — through the living room, the massive library and media room, the gourmet kitchen — then down the hallway where the bedrooms were. The master bedroom was more than half the width of the house with a bathroom that was bigger than my bedroom in Manhattan. I gaped at the giant soaker tub.

  “I’m getting in that at some point.”

  He chuckled and set our bags down. “Still want to sleep on the boat?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Cooper walked up behind me and slipped his hands around my waist. I leaned back into him, feeling his solid body behind me, and he rested his chin on the top of my head. I caught sight of our reflection in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  We looked carefree and full of life, windblown and young and alive. And in that moment, everything shifted, moving forward in a jolt without having moved at all.

  He looked down at me, and I looked up at him, and when he kissed me, I knew nothing would ever be what it was before.

  STAY

  Cooper

  I ADJUSTED MY TIE IN the mirror over the dresser, smiling at my reflection that evening.

  Maggie. All day, all night, in my dreams and in my arms.

 
I looked at the man in the mirror, barely recognizing who I saw looking back. I was me, the same me I’d always been — same nose, same eyes — but somehow, everything had changed.

  The feeling of certainty, of rightness, overwhelmed me again. I was high off of it, off of her. Off the perfect day and her lips and her laugh.

  I realized that the man I saw in the mirror looked different because I was hers.

  It was a feeling I could get used to.

  Purpose.

  Maggie stepped out of the bathroom but stopped in the threshold, hanging on to the doorframe as she lifted her foot to adjust her heel. Her dress was simple and black, the neck scooped low, her black suede heels dainty and sexy all at once. She stood and looked up at me with eyes bright and blue, scanning my body.

  When she made her way over to me, she laid her hands on my chest, slipping her fingers under my lapels. “I can’t handle you in this suit.”

  My hands trailed down her waist to her hips. “I can’t handle you in this dress.”

  She smiled and kissed me gently.

  “We’ll never leave, Mags.”

  “There’s food here, right?”

  “I’m not letting my ‘no rules night with Maggie’ go to waste. I’m going to feed you, take you on a real date like I can’t in New York.”

  She chuckled. “West would approve.”

  My smile slipped, and I cupped her cheek. “Would he?”

  She didn’t answer, only sighed.

  “I have to believe that if we were honest with him—”

  But she shook her head, her eyes on my lips. “Not tonight. Okay? Today … today’s been one of the most perfect days of my life. I don’t want to think about what happens tomorrow or what happened before. I just want right now. Can you give that to me?” Her eyes met mine.

  My throat was tight — I couldn’t speak. So I nodded.

  “Thank you. Now, let’s go eat shellfish until we can’t move.”

  I laughed, though the tension never left me as I grabbed her hand and took her down to the garage. She shook her head, hand on her hip when I turned on the light.

  “A Porsche? That’s so predictable.”