Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
The moment they got to the docks, her worry was distracted by the blustery winds rushing off the waves. It was too damn cold to think, let alone stress about anything other than delivering Larry the Lobstah to the harbor and getting the hell back on land—preferably some place warm.
The bitter wind cut across the bay in sharp slices, gnawing at their exposed skin and rattling the frost-covered rigging like bones in a barrel. A boat in December waters might be unusual, but the Hawthorne fleet was not for pleasure cruises. These ships were industrial machines, meant for the toughest seas on earth.
“Wait.” He tugged Wren’s jacket tighter, inspecting that she was fully covered, his hands lingering possessively on the zipper. “Ready?”
He was excited to show her this side of his world, the maritime heritage that ran in his blood like saltwater. “Show me how it’s done, my rugged mountain fisherman.”
He kissed her but forced himself to cut it short. The temptation to take her again was real but he had a commitment to meet. “Your ass is mine the second we get home.”
“Silly man, I’m always yours.”
He growled like a caveman and took her gloved hand in his, tugging her toward the docks. His heavy footfalls clunked against the planks as he led the way to the antique ship, Sable Rose.
The ship was named for his mother. Unlike their other state-of-the-art vessels, this one held a special place in the heart of Hideaway Harbor. His father had donated it to the Locke Reserve after its last operational voyage nearly two decades ago. The town liked to bring it out for special events.
They kept a plaque at the Reserve where the boat usually stood on display to honor their family’s history and keep their mother’s memory alive. Every word of that plaque was burned into his memory from countless visits during his youth.
‘Named for Sable Hawthorne—fierce, graceful, and the heart of the Hawthorne family—this vessel carried three generations of fishermen before retiring into local legend. Now restored and preserved by Hideaway Harbor’s Locke Trust & Locke Reserve, The Sable Rose only sails for ceremonial journeys. In her lifetime, Sable never set foot on a boat, but this one still carries her name.’
Boats didn’t remind him of his mother, but they became his escape after she disappeared from his life. His world had shifted so dramatically after her passing that home didn’t carry the same warmth anymore. He traveled to the opposite ends of the earth in search of any place that did. It took him years to realize the love he was searching for was always waiting for him at home.
Glancing at Wren just as her scarf flapped from her collar and whipped in the wind, she smiled, and the wake inside of him settled to a peaceful calm. She was his home, his North Star, his guiding light through any storm.
His breath came out in clouds as he yelled, “Warm enough?”
Nodding, she tried to project confidence, but it would get much colder once they left the dock.
He secured the rigging and readied the ship for her and the others to board. “Almost ready.”
The sea churned out the kind of cold that bit through denim and flannel, and clawed into muscle. The kind of cold that reminded a man he lived and breathed, but also had a way of making him wish he didn’t.
Preferring these little vanity excursions over the long trips he used to take with the fishery, Greyson reflected on those icy winters, long gone and hardly missed, but it was nice to stretch his sea legs every once in a while.
The Sable Rose rocked in its slip, tethered like a patient ghost to her berth. Scrubbed down, polished, and adorned with strands of pine garland and red buoys for her ceremonial voyage. Which reminded him…
Shading his eyes from the setting sun, Greyson scanned the vacant marina. “Where the fuck is Ralph?”
There was no sign of the flaming redhead anywhere along the docks.
Hauling himself back onto the decking with practiced ease, he hugged Wren to offer some shelter from the wind. “Soon as they get here, we can go.”
“I’m fine, Grey. I’ve lived in this weather all my life. Go do what you need to do.”
He kissed her nose, tasting the salt spray already misting her skin, and climbed back on the ship. Every move came as second nature. His hands traveled on instinct, checking lines, flipping levers, testing the throttle. Salt and diesel lived in his blood. He could handle a fishing boat in a blizzard with his eyes shut. But today, he had a co-captain, so he took extra care to make sure nothing went wrong.
“Greyson,” Mayor Locke yelled, his stuffed belly bouncing as he jogged down the dock plank in his red velvet suit. Staggering to a stop when he reached their slip, he shaded his eyes to identify the additional passenger. “Wren? Well, this is a surprise.”