by Paige Rion
Andi yawned, wishing she felt more rested, instead of exhausted from a poor night’s sleep. After her argument with Peter and the discovery that her manuscript had been missing, she’d had a long soak in the tub to take the edge off her less than stellar day. But even a bath, dinner with her parents, and a glass of wine hadn’t helped much. She’d gone to bed early, thinking of how, after only two arguments with Peter about her future, she was tired of the subject already. She hated dissension and didn’t want to have to defend her decisions any longer. She simply wanted him to accept them and to move on. She supported him in his endeavors without question. Why couldn’t he do the same? He would have to come around. There was no other way their relationship would work.
She came to a stop in front of the dock, fighting the urge to rub her tired eyes. “Ms. Perry told me you wanted me out here today?”
Ford turned to her and leaned over the railing, his hands gripping the metal bars. “Yeah. We’re taking that sail we missed. The weather’s just right. Hop aboard.”
Andi’s breathing quickened at the news. She moved across the dock and stepped up onto the boat. She hadn’t been sailing since she was a child and her eagerness soared, despite her slightly melancholic mood, as her feet made contact with the scarred wood floors of the deck. They had been stained and polished a deep cherry, a nice contrast to the white body of the boat. She leaned against the railing, content in the silence, while Ford prepared for the sail, glancing out at the water from her perch. The sun danced across the dark, rumpled surface, and she could smell the earthy scent of lake.
“I just have to inspect a few things before we leave. I haven’t touched this one in a while,” Ford said beside her.
She glanced over at him as he inspected the hatches, then moved to the rigging. A few minutes later, once he finished, he stopped in front of her. Pulling a worn gray baseball cap from his back pocket, he placed it on his head, instantly transforming his masculine features so that he appeared younger, boyish almost. “You might want one to keep the hair out of your face. I have another hat below deck, if you’d like.”
“Sure.” Andi bit her lip and watched him turn.
“I’ll be right back,” he yelled over his shoulder.
He moved toward the stern of the boat, to the cabin and returned moments later with a white cap in hand. He wore a jacket and jeans, and, as he drew near, the sun illuminated the side of his face, softening the masculine lines.
Touching the short sleeve of her blouse, he said, “You might get a little cold while we’re out. The sun is warm now, but once we get moving, the wind will pick up quite a bit. Do you have anything warmer?”
Andi glanced down at her outfit—a pair of vintage gray pants and a silk blouse—not exactly the right outfit for a day on the water.
“Not with me,” she said.
“That’s fine. I got it.” He shook his jacket off his arms. His muscles flexed with the movement, and Andi turned her gaze away, trying not to stare.
“Here.” He reached out, the jacket in hand.
“I couldn’t…” She took a step back, as if the jacket were dangerous.
“No, really. Take it. I’m never cold.”
He sighed when she made no move to take the offered jacket. “We won’t go if you don’t. And I was really looking forward to this sail.”
Pursing her lips, Andi grabbed the coat and slipped it on. It was still warm from his body heat, and the arms were way too long, but she rolled them at the sleeves and tried not to inhale the scent of him, which took hold of her immediately. She zipped the jacket up, as the enticing scent of pine, fresh air and something exotic she couldn’t quite place, seized her senses. When she finished and glanced up at him, he was staring at her.
It took him a moment, but he cleared his throat and said, “Uh, let’s get moving.”
Thirty minutes later, they powered through Lake Erie, the boat slicing through the water like a knife. Andi watched on, fascinated, as Ford attended to the sails, adjusted the rigging and changed tack as they went. He moved across the deck with ease, his hands deftly attending to each task, his forehead creased in concentration but his eyes bright. Just by watching, she could tell how much he loved being on the water.
There was a bounce to his step as he moved quickly back and forth, and it wasn’t until he stopped and went to the cabin, reappearing in front of her with two sodas in his hand, that she realized he wore no shoes and had been moving across the deck barefoot. She smiled at that as he handed her a can of soda.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it.
She popped it open and took a sip. For some reason, her mind kept drifting back to the sight of him and Rachel yesterday—Rachel’s lips pressed to his—and she hated herself for feeling sick at the memory.
“What are you thinking? Right now?”
Andi glanced up to see his eyes on her and her face flamed. Lie!
“What kind of sailboat is this?” she asked, glancing around, hoping he didn’t notice the blush in her cheeks.
“It’s a J-boat, a monohull. See how it has the single hull here?” His finger pointed down the length of the boat. “If you want something a little faster, I also have a multihull—a catamaran. They’re pretty fun to play on.”
Andi nodded. “When did you get into sailing?”
“Well, as you probably know,” he said, grinning, “I grew up in Bellingham, Washington, which is one of the best sailing cities there is. You have the steady winds and challenging currents of Bellingham Bay. The snow-capped Mount Baker as a backdrop is just a bonus.” He paused and took a sip of his drink, staring out into the water, looking as though he was trying to decide what to tell her and what to keep to himself.
“When I got out of juvie for the second time, I had a mentor of sorts—Bogart was his name. He took me under his wing and helped me. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to stop me from screwing up my life for the following four years, but he stuck by me and eventually broke through.”
Andi listened with rapt attention. She hadn’t heard about him having a mentor. This was new. He was speaking softly and so she shifted in her seat, scooting closer to hear him over the whipping wind.
“Anyway, he taught me how to sail. I loved it the moment I set foot on that old, broken-down sailboat. In those years, sailing became my form of therapy, before the writing, that is. Nothing else mattered out on the water. The world, real life, seemed so tiny from the water—the shore was so far away and insignificant. He didn’t have much, but when he died, he left me that rickety old boat. It was his prized possession. My love of sailing, followed by his death was enough to finally break through to me, and I fled. I left Bellingham on that boat, with nothing but a couple hundred bucks and a dream. And I changed my life.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
Andi remembered back to their conversation at the mill and put the pieces together. It must’ve been on that boat, after he died, that Ford began to write. She wondered if he had ever told anyone this before, since there had been no mention of sailing or Bogart by the press. And, of course, since he was dead, there was no way for them to speak with Ford’s mentor themselves. Andi had a feeling he probably preferred it that way. That tiny piece of his life meant something to him, and it seemed it was one of the only pieces that had remained private.
Still, Andi couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t share it with the world. Instead, he let them paint whatever picture they wanted, with inaccurate information originating from people just looking to make a buck, and as she listened to him talk, that was all she could think about.
“Your success story, the fact that you took yourself from nothing to what you are today is amazing,” Andi said, meaning every word. “It’s an inspiration to most, and you should be really proud of yourself.”
“Nah.” Ford shook his head. “People do it every day. I’m not the only one, and there are so many others who overcome greater things.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Yo
ur story is moving. How are people ever going to get the full story, the truth about your life, if you don’t tell it to them?”
“It’s none of their business.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t write about bits and pieces of your life and then, when people find out the truth, expect them to back off. I understand you wanting privacy, but—”
“People will think what they want, regardless of whether I speak to the public and clear the air.”
“But you could help people in similar situations. You could give people from a disadvantaged background hope. Not talking to the media is just making people want to know more. And since you’re not sharing, they go wherever they can to get the story, true or not. It propels them to buy Star magazine and the latest issue of People to see what they’re saying. And did you see the latest? Talia Ridge did an interview with US Weekly. It comes out next week. With her involved, what other choice do you have?”
Ford clenched his jaw. “Keep running.”
“You can’t do that. Unless you’re hiding something, I don’t see the point. You should do the Oprah exclusive.” The wind flicked Andi’s hair into her eyes. She brushed it away, tucking the strands back under her cap and met his gaze.
He laughed. “Now you sound like Trisha.”
“Oh God,” she said in mock horror, placing a hand to her chest as if she were having a heart attack. “Please don’t compare me to her.”
“Don’t like Trisha, huh? I noticed there’s not a lot of love out in the office.”
“Pfft. It’s Ms. Perry to me. And don’t get me started.” She thought of telling Ford about the warning Ms. Perry had given her the first day and the way she seemed so threatened, but she thought better of it. After all, his PR woman had been employed with him far longer than she had.
“So how are things with Peter?” Ford asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, a nonchalant air about him. “You mentioned he was upset about you taking this job. How are things now?”
Andi said nothing for a moment, eyeing Ford from under the brim of her cap, and wondering if she should say anything at all. But he had been so forthcoming with her that it seemed almost unfair not to open up, at least a little.
Sighing, she wondered where to start. “He’s not crazy about it. He thinks I should go back to school in the fall. He just doesn’t want to see me make a mistake and thinks I need a diploma, a backup plan, in case things don’t work out the way I want them to.”
The corners of Ford’s mouth curled. “A backup plan?”
The way he said it made it sound like a slap in the face, and to Andi it sort of was. But it was also practical, and so she couldn’t entirely blame him. “Yeah, you know … graduate, get a stable job, then pursue writing. That way if it doesn’t work out, I’m not out on the streets or completely devastated.”
Ford lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t he be there if that happened? Since he loves you so much and all… Couldn’t he help you out, lift you up?”
“Yeah, he would, of course. But I refuse to let him support me. He knows this.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh, what?” Andi asked, hearing the defensiveness in her voice.
“Nothing. It’s just interesting. And what is it that Prince Charming does?”
Andi glared at him. “He’s a professor at the university I attend.”
“Nice. Nothing like a little teacher-student action. Aren’t there bylaws or something against that?”
Andi reached out and smacked him on the arm.
“Ow!” Ford rubbed his bicep.
“First of all, I had only one class with him my freshman year, first semester, and we didn’t start dating until the summer. We ran into each other a few times off campus and got to talking. We hit it off, and one day I went to see him at his office. We ended up having coffee afterward. We’ve been together since.” She hated that she felt the need to defend him but did so anyway. “He’s a really good guy, you know.”
“Mm-hmm, I’m sure he is. He doesn’t think you can cut it as a writer, but sure, great guy.”
“I hardly said that. Thinking I should graduate and get a job isn’t unheard of, you know. And getting an agent, a deal and making a good living writing novels is practically as hard as winning the lottery, so his stance is understandable.”
“Your defensiveness only confirms I’m right.”
Andi shifted in her seat. “I’m not defensive.”
“Just a little.” Ford squinted and held out his thumb and index finger an inch a part.
“He’s just different than you and I. He’s a realist. And I’m a dreamer. Anyone who wants to be an artist of some sort or do something creative has this burning need non-artist types don’t quite get.” She waved a hand in the air between them. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Let’s change the subject.”
Ford took off his ball cap, raked a hand through his hair, then replaced it. “You’re only twenty-one. How old is Peter?”
Andi rolled her eyes. That wasn’t the change in subject she wanted.
“You sound like either a protective father or jealous boyfriend,” she said, immediately regretting her words. She bit the inside of her cheek but Ford didn’t seem to notice so she continued, “He’s twenty-eight.”
Ford curled his lower lip. “Twenty-eight and he’s a fulltime professor at Ohio State? Pretty impressive. Those jobs aren’t too easy to come by.” He took a drink of his soda, eyeing her over the rim. “He’s, what, seven years older than you? So you don’t have a problem with dating above your age?”
Andi choked on her drink. The telltale heat of blush bloomed in her cheeks. “Uh, not that it’s any of your business but I suppose not. I don’t know … love is love, I guess. And I’m twenty-one. It’s not that much of a difference.”
“And you’re in love with him?” His gaze searched her face.
Andi opened and closed her mouth like a fish. How did they get to this point in the conversation? “I, uh…”
Ford’s burning, golden-brown eyes scorched through her while she floundered, wondering why it was so hard for her to answer the simple question. But he had a way of jumbling her thoughts and confusing her.
“Uh, yes. I do,” she answered. “Love him.”
Ford nodded but said nothing. Then, after a few moments of silence, he asked, “Do you know much about sailing?”
Andi exhaled her pent-up breath and shook her head. “My parents couldn’t afford a sailboat. Rachel’s family was into boating a bit, but they reserved their private yacht for family and business.” Andi rolled her eyes, hating the small delight that came of saying something negative to Ford about Rachel, even if it was in regards to her family.
“Well, you live by the water. It’s about time you learned.” Ford stood and moved to the sails. He pulled on the rigging, changing the direction of the sails and tightening them down. “Right now, we’re sailing at what you would call a close reach. We’ve turned about sixty degrees off the wind, which is why I pulled the sheets tighter. See how the sails are more in line with the boat now?” He squinted into the sun as he nodded toward the sails. “The wind is pulling the boat instead of pushing it. We’re going to change course, haul it in and dock at Ashtabula harbor. I thought we could get some lunch there at the Lakeside Diner. I’ve heard it’s a nice little place.”
Andi nodded. “It is.”
“Good. Do you want to help? I’ll show you.” Ford nodded to the sails, then stepped forward and reached his hand out.
She hesitated before clasping it in hers and standing. Her stomach cartwheeled. From his touch or the thought of sailing, she wasn’t sure.
“What do I do?” she asked, hating the breathless sound of her voice.
“Here.” He gripped her waist and shifted her body. “Stand right here.”
He moved further behind her, took her hands and placed them on the lines of the sails, showing her the motions of changing tack. “You’ll need to prepare the jib sheets. Remember what I told you
about tacking?”
Andi nodded and bit her lip. With his warm body pressed against her back, she couldn’t think. She had no idea what he’d just told her or what she was supposed to do. She was nothing but senses. The perfect way his body felt against her own. The feel of his hands, strong and warm. The brush of his arms, muscles flexing…
She closed her eyes, her palms growing clammy. Stop.
“I’m going to tell you when, but just before I start the turn, this sheet must be released during the tack, and the other sheet quickly brought in as the jib crosses over to the other side. You just pull it in and do it as quickly as you can. Think you can do it?”
No.
Andi opened her eyes. “Yes,” she croaked out. “I watched you before.”
A slow grin spread over Ford’s face before he turned and moved down the length of the boat, leaving Andi alone. A chill shook her, and she suddenly felt naked without him there.
He stopped behind a small glass shield above the cabin and yelled over the whipping wind, “Okay, start. Now!”
She watched as he began turning the wheel on the sailboat, knowing it was her turn. “I can do this,” she whispered into the wind, then yanked on the lines, releasing one sheet and moving the other over.
The boat turned, slowly at first, until the sails caught the air, billowed, then extended. The speed immediately picked up. Andi glanced back at Ford, who stared out into the water until the lines of concentration in his forehead melted away.
Growing up in Callaway Cove, Andi had been out on the water many times—in fishing boats, speedboats and small johnboats—but never before had she actually driven any of them. She understood now why Ford loved sailing so much. Being behind the sails and manipulating them was a heady thing. She loved the feel of the wind against her skin, loved the power it gave the boat. There was something freeing about having only nature and your own hands to guide you. It was easy to imagine how a broken, lost kid could find himself on the deck of a boat and fall in love.
“Not bad,” Ford said from behind her.
Turning, he took a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. She sucked in a sharp breath, trembling slightly at the unexpected shock of his touch.