29. Stevens

TWENTY-NINE

Stevens

Bottom line is they can't drive the boat.

They're actors.

~ The Truman Show

I pack the picnic basket in the storage compartment in the middle of my sailboat and look around. The sunlight sparkles across the water and there’s a breeze in the air making this the perfect day for a sail.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. Alana . My face tugs into the smile she always puts there. I’m trying not to overthink our circumstances—especially the fact that she’s a huge celebrity. When we’re together, everything else fades away, including her status and fame. She brings out a playful side in me I had only let loose on the game before this. If my friends saw how I acted around her, I’d be roasted like a pig in a pit. But I couldn’t care less. I’ll take anything for her—even being the target of Ben’s incessant teasing. I know Alana wants to protect me from being in the splash zone of her fame. I’m a realistic man. She can only keep that tide from spilling over for so long. We will be drowning in it eventually. Thankfully, I’m a good swimmer.

I check her text.

Alana : I’m running late. Sorry! I had to take a call from Caroline, my publicist. Apparently she thinks she needs to coordinate publicity before this film releases. Rude. ;)

Stevens : The nerve of some people, trying to do their jobs.

Alana : Right?! Doesn’t she know I have a hot date with a marine biologist this afternoon?

Stevens : Does she know?

Alana : Of course not. Only Brigitte knows.

Stevens : You’re going to be the first person to see what I’m going to show you.

Alana : That sounds way too intriguing. I’ll be there asap. My driver is waiting.

Alana had a break from the madness the past two days, and was home on Marbella. Unfortunately, I wasn’t free. I got called out to consult on a job in El Segundo. We talked at night while I lay in my hotel bed, the window open so the ocean breeze could filter in. I challenged her to a match in Play on Words while we chatted by phone. It’s nowhere near the same as seeing her in person. Now that we’ve been able to actually be together, any time apart feels like a punishment for a crime I didn’t commit.

But, today, we both have a free day before she returns to LA tomorrow for an event. I actually have something I have to attend in LA tomorrow too—a costume party fundraiser for a cause that’s especially close to my heart. The organization funding a good portion of my secret project is hosting it.

Less than a half hour after her text, Alana is walking down the dock to the slip where I keep my sailboat, Sea Ya. She’s in a ball cap and those huge sunglasses, a navy tank top and some white shorts. The tie of her swimsuit shows around the back of her neck. She still looks like a star, even dressed down and climbing on my boat as if she’s any other woman.

I extend my hand to Alana and she climbs aboard.

“So, what’s this grand adventure we’re going on?”

Her face is covered by those huge glasses, but her mouth spreads wide in an excited smile.

“It’s a surprise,” I tell her. “I’ve got a secret project—sort of a passion project—and I want you to see it. We’ll snorkel to it.”

“Oooh. Underwater surprises! I wore my suit. I’m ready.”

“There’s actually a few parts to this date. You told me you didn’t have plans, so I took the liberty of planning.”

Alana walks over to me, setting her sunglasses on the center compartment in my boat. And then she drapes her arms over my shoulders and stares up into my eyes.

“I’m yours for the day. Completely free until the clock strikes midnight and I turn into a pumpkin … Actually, make that ten o’clock, or Brigitte will personally come looking for me. I’ve got a photo shoot tomorrow followed by this event at night.”

“I’ll have you home by nine thirty.” I smile down at her, and then I lean in and kiss her.

It’s been over two days since we kissed and I feel the absence even more acutely when our mouths connect. Her kiss comforts me and fuels my desire for more of her. She’s unattainable, and yet somehow mine. She kisses me like she’s coming home to me. And I lay out the welcome mat. She’s soft and vulnerable, and the way she trusts me translates into our kiss. I take charge, telling her without words that I’m here for her, that what we have runs deep enough to weather separations and all that lies ahead, whatever that entails.

Alana cups my jaw. Her hand drifts slowly down my neck until she’s gripping my T-shirt at the shoulder and humming softly into our kiss .

“You.” She pulls back, looping her arms loosely over my shoulders and looking up at me.

“Me?” My tone is playful as I look to my right and then my left.

“Yes, you. Finding you has been such a pleasant surprise. To think, all this time you were right here.”

“I wouldn’t change it.”

“Why?” Her head rears back. “Wouldn’t you rather we had days like this for the past six months, or even longer?”

“I would. But I don’t think that would have been the way it would have happened. You needed to get to know me. The timing was perfect. We had six months of progressive flirting and banter. Six months of you getting used to me beating you at board games. It all led us here.”

She smirks at my comment about beating her, and then she nods once. “Maybe. I still would have liked being able to kiss you and sit with you over meals, going out in your boat when we could, spending our spare hours together. I would have loved to have all of that a lot sooner than now.”

“The past is behind us. We have one another now.”

“True.” She considers my words. “Well, then take me on an adventure, merman.”

I smile at the quasi-nickname.

“You’re going to learn to sail today.”

“I’m going to sail. Have you seen me drive a motorboat?”

“I saw. And I think you’ll get the hang of this too. It’s a little more complicated, but we’ll be fine.”

“Your faith in me is admirable. And also insane. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity, you know. And I think you just crossed it.”

I chuckle. “I’ll be right there with you.”

“Do I get to lean into you, like on Joel’s boat?”

“If that’s what you want. You can even sit in my lap.”

“Deal.” She smiles at me.

Maybe I am insane. I’d do anything for her. Especially if the reward is a smile like that—one just for me. And it’s not because she’s Alana Graves. That’s the smallest detail to me now. It’s her—her laugh, her thoughtfulness, her dry sense of humor, the way she watches me, this innate connection we’ve had since we started regularly seeking one another out on Play on Words . It’s like we knew, even then. We knew.

“So this is your boat.” She waves her hands around as I lower the engine into the water.

“Yep. One of two. I have this one, Sea Ya. And my trawler, Catching Wishes .”

“Two boats. Impressive. What’s the other one like?”

I pull the cord, the engine revs to life and I back us out of the slip.

“She’s a trawler. And she smells like fish.”

Alana laughs. It’s that musical laughter I love.

“She’s the one I use for tours.”

“She. Why do sailors call their ships women?”

“Because our ships take care of us the way a woman nurtures a boy. And then we care for them the way we care for a woman.”

“That’s utterly romantic. Is that true?”

“It’s one theory—the one I like the best.”

“Hmmm.”

We sail out a little way under motor power until we’re in the open waters. I kill the engine and then we have to set the lines so the sails catch the wind. I’m only going to give her control of the rudder. I’ll manage the sails.

“We’re headed around the north point of the island to a cove on the edge of the back side shore. We’ll anchor there and snorkel. Come over here.”

Alana’s standing at the rail, her glasses stowed in her bag, her eyes closed and the wind hitting her face. She pivots when I call her and walks toward me.

“Take a turn at the tiller. I’ll be right here.”

She raises her brows like she’s questioning me, but she drops into my lap anyway. I place her hand on the tiller with mine on top.

“Relax and I’ll show you how to work this.”

She looks down at me and wags her brows.

I chuckle. “Don’t distract me.” I make an attempt to be serious despite the playful energy bouncing between us. “With a steering wheel, like the one in Joel’s boat, you turn left to go left, right to go right. With a tiller it’s the opposite. Like riding a horse. Have you ever ridden?”

“Yes. I have ridden a horse. I took lessons most summers. When I was fourteen I rode in a mini-series where I played a girl on a ranch.”

I shake my head in wonder at her and then I admit what I know. “ A Slow Ride Home ?”

She turns her head quickly to look straight at me. “You said you weren’t a massive fan.”

“Maybe I understated that a little bit.”

She grips my cheeks with both hands, causing me to hold the tiller alone, and then she plants a kiss on my lips.

“My biggest fan,” she says softly against my mouth.

“That, I’m sure I am.”

She kisses me again and I have to pull away so I can keep us on course.

“You’re going to capsize us if you keep that up.”

She giggles and my chest fills with something like laughing gas, only it’s soothing and sweet and I want to inhale her forever.

“Okay, I’ll be serious.” Alana places her hand on the tiller and I cover it with mine.

“Just guide the boat to the left or right, slowly.”

I wrap my arm around her waist and hold her on my lap while she pulls the tiller slightly to the right. We veer to the left and I tug the line just the slightest with my free hand.

“Steady,” I encourage Alana.

She leans back into me and I can feel when she’s needing less of my guidance. But I keep my hand over hers anyway. I explain how to use the compass to guide us.

“We never merely rely on the things we see on the surface—like dark shadowy things, for example.”

She elbows me lightly.

“Our eyes may deceive us,” I explain. “And there are times, if you are sailing between two land masses where all you’ll see is water in every direction. The compass is all you have.”

She pulls her head back so she’s looking straight in my eyes. “I could use a compass in life.”

I tug her toward me, kissing her temple.

I could say so many things in an attempt to assure her I’ll be here to help her navigate any storm, or I could tell her I’ll never let her capsize. Instead, I hold her. She releases the tiller and leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. I hold on to her while I take over steering. We remain like that the rest of the sail to the spot where we anchor.

We’ve played games together, bantered, eaten meals and kissed. Holding her today feels like the most important and intimate time we’ve shared. Ever since I met Alana in person, and even during our conversations on the game once we started chatting more openly, it’s been obvious she needs someone she can truly lean on. Everywhere she turns someone wants a piece of her. She’s told what to do and who to be. She doesn’t truly belong to herself.

With me, she can be anyone she needs to be. All her moods, her struggles, her silliness, her silence—I’m here for it all. I can give her a place to relax, to fall apart, to be held. I will never take for granted the privilege of being that man for her as long as she allows me to be.

I anchor the boat and drop the sails.

We strip to our swimsuits and I grab snorkels, masks, and diving fins. I drop off the edge of the boat first.

My head surfaces and I shout, “Woooo! It feels great!”

Alana dives in right after me. It shouldn’t surprise me how fearless she is, but I’m still blown away by the way she takes on new experiences, literally jumping in with both feet.

Her head pops up and she has a huge smile on her face.

“Are you good to go under with the snorkel? If not, you can stay at the surface.”

“I can go down.”

“I’m not surprised. I thought you’d be up for a snorkel.”

I pop my snorkel in and she follows suit. Then I dive under, giving a few strong kicks of my fins to propel me toward my nursery.

Alana kicks up beside me and I point. She looks in the direction where a kelp forest sways with the current, our native orange Garibaldi fish swim by in a school, darting around us along with silvery anchovy, and blue-silver mackerel.

But that’s not what I want to show her.

We surface and blow the water out of our snorkels. I dive back under and she follows. Then I point to the PVC “trees” scattered and tethered along the reef. Alana nods, her face bunching in confusion. I swim closer. She pops up, then dives back under to rejoin me. When we’re both a few feet from my nursery, I point to the clusters of coral sitting on and dangling from each “branch” of my plastic trees. Then I swim up and Alana joins me above the surface of the water. I take my snorkel out and she does too.

“What are those?” she asks.

“It’s my coral nursery. I’m helping replenish damaged reefs.” I smile over at her with the smile of a proud parent, or probably it’s more like the smile of a kid at parent-teacher night, proudly showing off his science project.

“That’s amazing, Stevens. So, this is your secret project?”

“It is.”

“I want to hear all about it,” she says.

“Later. Let’s enjoy the water while we’re here. I’m dying to see if we can spot some unique marine life while we’re down there.”

Alana smiles at me, pops her snorkel back in and we both dive back underwater, swimming together in my private section of the island for a few hours.

After we finish swimming and dry off, we take towels up to the bow of my boat. We’re laying side-by-side, the sun warming us while the gentle breeze keeps us from overheating. My hand seeks Alana’s and she laces our fingers together, rubbing her thumb across my skin. We’re silent, sharing the unique brand of contentment that comes from spending time under the ocean’s surface.

I shared my passion project with her and she asked questions when we first climbed back on board. I answered all of them—about my funding, the purpose of replenishing coral, why the reefs are endangered. I love that she cared enough to ask.

“I love your coral nursery,” she says in a drowsy voice. “It’s so amazing that you dedicated your free time to raise funds to build something that will bless people for generations to come. You’re saving sea turtles and so much more.”

I turn my head and smile over at her. “You make it sound more monumental than it is.”

“You don’t take enough credit for how amazing you are.”

“I guess you’ll just have to keep telling me.”

I prop myself up on my elbow and lean over her and kiss her. Her lips are warm and soft from the sun and she tastes like salt and sea breeze and sunshine and the best dream I ever woke up remembering.

I pull back and stare down at her. We share a smile.

I bend over her and brush my lips against hers. She clutches the back of my neck and holds me to her. I run my fingertips down her arm and she shivers slightly. Then she pulls away, laughing. I kiss the tip of her nose, her forehead, and then I pepper kisses along the small freckles on the top of her shoulders.

She sighs and hums this sound of contentment. Closing my eyes, I rest my cheek on hers and breathe her in. She smells of sunscreen and saltwater, and there’s a scent that’s all her, like honey and ginger—invigorating and sweet .

I lift away from her, running my hand down her wild curls and looking into her eyes. “I’m serious about you, Alana.”

She smiles up at me. “The feeling is extremely mutual, Stevens. I think I found my person.”

I lay back down on my towel, tugging her with me so her head rests on my chest. We lay like that, in contented silence, with only the sound of the waves gently knocking against the side of the boat, the sound of the gulls, and her head just over my heart.

On the boat ride back to the harbor where I dock Sea Ya , Alana surprises me.

“I’ve been thinking.”

I’m at the tiller and she’s sitting with her back against my arm. She’s got her knees bent up and her feet resting out in front of her on the cushioned bench we’re sharing. Her curls are wild from our swim. The wind catches them and blows them around her face at times.

“You’ve been thinking about … ?” I ask.

“Telling your friends about us.”

“Which friends?”

“The guys who were at the barbecue at Summer’s. Those are your closest friends, right?”

“On the island, yeah. They are. And my brother. But I don’t want to tell him yet. That would force him to keep something from Mom. When we decide she can know, you’re going to need a crash helmet and ear plugs.”

She chuckles. “Do you trust those guys who work at watersports for the Alicante?” she asks. “So far I’ve been able to trust them. They’ve never told anyone when I came to a barbecue or hung out on the beach with them.”

“I do trust them.”

“Then I think we should tell them.”

“So, you’re tired of keeping me to yourself?” I lift my free hand and poke just beneath her ribs and she squirms and giggles.

“Stahhhp!” she squeals.

Then she turns and tickles me, making me jiggle the tiller so that the boat swerves and the sails slack. She grasps onto my shoulders as I right the boat and pull the lines to trim the sails.

“Okay. Okay,” she says once we’re stable. “No tickling the captain.” Then she adds. “... while at sea. Tickling on land is fair game.”

“Is it now?” I ask.

“For me. Fair game for me. I still get a chance at you today since you started it.”

“I’m pretty sure you had your chance just now—as evidenced by our near capsize.”

“I love when you talk all science-y.”

“What did I say that was science-y?”

I’d love to make notes so I can keep saying exactly whatever it is she loves so much.

She makes her voice deep like mine and affects a scholarly tone.

Then she says, “As evidenced by …”

She gives me a coy smile. “It’s hot when you talk like a scientist.”

“I always talk like a scientist,” I say. “Technically, since I am one.”

“And …” She kisses my cheek. “You’re always hot.”