“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.