“Is everything alright?” Lisa asked.

  I had gone from lethargic to warp speed in a matter of seconds. “It will be,” I said to the mirror. More to myself than to Lisa. “I’m taking my boat out. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Miss Bronwyn?” Lisa paused as she wiped the crumbs from my scone off the island. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  It was an odd question, but then again, I was pregnant and heading out onto the lake on my own. “I’ll be fine, Lisa. I’ve been driving boats since I could walk.”

  She nodded. “Don’t forget your earrings, I left them on the ledge in the bathroom.

  I never left home without my Tahitian pearls, and I reached up to feel the emptiness in my ear, surprised that I hadn’t noticed. Was this pregnancy brain? Or, was I just worried about the boat – or could it have something to do with the fact that I hadn’t been able to go more than ten minutes without thinking of Dylan?

  The earrings were exactly where Lisa had placed them. With the thought of potentially running into Dylan, I swiped on my trademark red lipstick. Leaning against the counter I took a deep breath, stared at my reflection for a second, and then took off for the boathouse at a pace that could rival an Olympic speed-walker.

  When I left the dock at the cottage, the mist had hung heavily over the lake, the dampness clinging to my clothes and the humidity wreaking havoc on my ballerina bun, but by the time I got to the marina, the sun had risen above the horizon and burned off the mist. The lake was like a mirror, the treeline reflected perfectly in its surface. There were two reasons that Lake Casper and Laketown were so popular. It was the place to be for the elite from all over the country; but for those who had been there from the beginning, before the arrival of the oyster bars and golf courses, it was the sheer beauty – the contrast of the green pines and the deep clear lakes. That’s what had drawn the Yates family there all those years ago, to escape the heat from the city.

  The young man, Sam from the day before, was awaiting my arrival at the dock. He tied the lines and offered me his hand. “Good morning, Miss Yates.” He smiled, but his lips held a slight tremble. I squeezed his hand and gave him a warm smile. Being a supermodel, I was used to men being flustered around me. This young boy was a lot more composed than some of the grown men who had crossed my path.

  “Do you need your boat fueled up?” His voice cracked as I released his hand.

  “No, Sam. I’m here to see Floyd.”

  The young man pulled the radio from his belt and pointed to the building with its antennae. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” I slipped a hundred from my purse and handed it to him.

  He shook his head. “No ma’am. No need for that. This is my job.”

  He was adorable. I hoped that my son would grow up to be as well-mannered as this dock boy.

  My son.

  Why did that thought come to me? I hadn’t wanted to know whether it was a boy or a girl. Somehow that seemed to make everything all that more real. But a son. I touched my belly and knew, that I was nurturing a son – and it felt right.

  When I reached the marina, I realized that I had been walking with my hand on my stomach. An unconscious and dead giveaway of either a baby or constipation – neither was good for Bronwyn Yates, especially if the paparazzi were around.

  It wasn’t Floyd who greeted me at the garage bay door, it was the white-haired lady, Thelma, who I assumed was either his sister or his wife. “Miss Yates.” Her smile was warm, and she reminded me of Mrs. Claus. Her hands were the softest I’d ever felt and after she shook my hand, my own felt like they’d had their own treatment. The smell of her moisturizer was shea butter and another smell I couldn’t quite place.

  “Floyd will be in shortly,” she smiled. “Would you like a cup of coffee, dear?”

  I almost said yes, the adrenaline from the rush to get to the marina just in case they called the house manager instead of me, had worn off and suddenly I felt exhausted.

  “No, thank you.” I smiled. “But I could go for a bottle of water if you’ve got one.” Thelma handed me a bottle of water and left me waiting in the plastic chair outside Floyd’s dark office. The boat I’d been admiring the day before sat in the bay and as the early morning sunshine poured in through the windows. It was as if Mother Nature had her very own spotlight and was showing off the craftsmanship. I rubbed my hands together and made a mental note to ask Thelma what moisturizer she used on her hands.

  I glanced at my phone to check the time and sighing, I flipped through a five-year-old tabloid magazine, and then checked my phone again. Beyond the windows in the small waiting room, I could see activity in the large bays; mechanics milling around and shouting to each other. Dylan was nowhere to be seen, and I racked my brain trying to remember if he ever told me what days of the week he worked. Throughout our time together, we didn’t talk about work. It was nice. He didn’t care what runways I’d walked, and I didn’t care that he fixed boats for a living. The conversations had been a surprise to me – there was a depth to Dylan I’d never experienced with another man. The nauseous feeling from earlier returned and the small white waiting room with the terrible-smelling coffee pot seemed to close in on me.

  One more nonchalant check through the window ensured that the tallest, best-looking mechanic wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so I took the opportunity to step out of the waiting room, and into the somewhat better smelling, but not by much, garage bay. The wooden boat shone, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch it again. Yesterday it had felt like silk, and I wondered if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but today it looked shinier, brighter, smoother. I ran my finger along the side and yes, it was smoother. My reflection shone back at me as I trailed my fingertips along the gunwale. I jerked my hand back when the smoothness gave way to stickiness.

  “Oh no,” I whispered and stepped back. I glanced behind me to see if anyone had seen me touching the boat, but everyone seemed absorbed in their jobs. Crouching down, the very clear smudge with the obvious swirls of my fingerprint was obvious. “Shit,” I muttered. I should’ve known better. Just like touching a tacky manicure twice – I touched it again and ruined everything.

  “Stop!” A voice boomed from behind me, and I jerked my hand to my chest. A tool fell to the ground in a clatter and all of a sudden, every eye in the garage was on me, as I held my Varathane-sticky finger to my chest with my other hand.

  Dylan dropped his hockey bag on the concrete floor with a thud and jogged to the side of the boat. His gaze immediately honed in on the smudge. He inhaled sharply and crouched so his eyes were level with the print. His eyes remained closed for longer than a blink.

  “I’m sorry, Dylan,” I whispered. “I didn’t know it was wet.”

  His eyes flitted open and he turned to face me. “You couldn’t tell it was wet?” His eyes were dark pools and if there was emotion in them, I couldn’t see it. He shook his head. “It’s fine.” He brushed past me and disappeared into Floyd’s office. I slipped back into the waiting room, embarrassed that I’d ruined the boat’s varnish. I didn’t know why Dylan would care, but the disappointment in his eyes was the same as when the hockey team from Montreal won the cup. It had taken one serious blow job to cheer him up on that night. We had watched the game together, curled up on the overstuffed sofa in the bunkie, while rain poured on the steel roof. It was one of my favorite memories of us together. But today, something told me that he needed something more than a BJ to cheer him up.

  Floyd still hadn’t arrived, and I peered through the window to see Dylan on the phone at Floyd’s desk. When he hung up, I knocked on the door and opened it wide enough to stick my head in. “I’m really sorry, Dylan. I’ll pay for the boat to get re-shellacked, or whatever it’s called.

  “Money can’t fix everything, Bronwyn.” I could barely hear his voice, but his comment screamed at me.

  “I know.” I stepped into the office and closed the door behind me. “But I don’t know what else to offer.”

  His eyes softened. “Your Varathaning skills aren’t up to the task?”

  The sparkle in his eye was back and with it, my confidence. “I’m a fast learner. And how different can it be from painting nails?” I wiggled my perfect manicure at him. Since I’d been at the cottage, I’d done the touch-ups myself.

  He rolled his eyes and then looked at me seriously. “What are you doing here so early?”

  I took this as an invitation to stay and perched on one of the chairs opposite Floyd’s desk. “I wanted to talk to Floyd about Calliope.”

  He nodded and the purse of his lips told me he had news – and it wasn’t good. “I just spoke with him.”

  “And?” I leaned forward. His hair was wet, and his cheeks were flushed and with the intensity of his gaze, and my cheeks soon matched his. He steepled his fingertips together and pumped his eyebrows twice before his trademark smirk appeared on his full lips, sending my heart racing for two reasons – one, the obvious – this flirtation was turning me on, and two, the suspense of the boat’s fate.

  “Enough with the drama, Moss. What’s going on with the boat? Is my grandmother going to disown me?” I said it with a smile on my face but was only partially joking.

  He eased back in the chair, his hands still steepled like a mafia boss from an eighties’ movie. “How much is it worth to you to keep your little outing a secret?”

  “A secret?”

  “Is there an echo in here?”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me, Dylan Moss?” It had never been about the money with him, and the Cheshire cat smile on his face told me that the threat wasn’t a serious one.

  He picked up the phone and cradled it between his shoulder and ear. “So, I can call your —what is it you call her? — your house manager, and tell her that Calliope needs an engine rebuild because she was stolen by a couple of supermodels?”

  “No.” I shot to my feet and jabbed at the button to ensure the phone wasn’t connected. “That’s why I came in. I don’t want anyone to find out about this. I’ll deal with it. My parents don’t even know that she’s missing… yet.”

  He set the earpiece to the phone back on the main part. “Let me get this straight. You’re hoping to get the boat fixed, on the down-low, and get her back to your Estate without your family finding out.” He sounded dubious.

  “That’s the plan.” I crossed my arms across my chest.

  “Well, then if that’s what you need, I think I can help.”

  Relief washed over me, and I leaned into the backrest of the chair, not worrying about the slouchy posture. “Thank you.”

  He leaned forward and this time it was him who crossed his arms. “Calliope needs a rebuild. Luckily, I have exactly the parts you need.”

  I remembered Dylan talking about his dad’s storage unit filled with antique boat parts. “Your dad’s?”

  “You remember that?”

  “Vaguely.” I tilted my head, trying to act like I hadn’t just recalled an insignificant post-orgasm detail he’d shared with me over a year ago.

  “We can probably get everything done in three or four days if it all goes to plan.”

  Three days. It could work.

  “I will tell your house manager it’s routine maintenance. No one will ever know the difference.”

  “Dylan.” I stood and rushed behind the desk to hug him, but he held out his hand to stop me.

  “As I said, it’s going to cost you.”

  “Anything,” I agreed hoping it wasn’t a number so outrageous that one of the accountants would notice and question it.

  He stood and stepped close to me. Uncomfortably close. Close enough that I could smell the fresh shampoo on his hair. I could feel the heat from his chest on mine, even though we weren’t touching. Then he moved closer. Close enough that if he’d had a hard-on, the front of his mechanic’s pants would’ve brushed the front of my yoga pants. “Was he going to ask for a sexual favor for payment?” My cheeks flushed with the notion. He’d already had me every way possible, but payment for sex? I wasn’t a prostitute.

  He kept his eyes trained on mine then slid something into my hand before stepping away. The intense heat, the energy between us, broke like the humidity after a thunderstorm. Dylan sat in Floyd’s cushy leather chair and leaned back.

  “What’s this?” I turned over the envelope in my hand. It was heavy white card stock.

  He jutted his chin at it. “Open it.”

  I pulled out an embossed cream-colored card and was instantly confused. “It’s a wedding invitation.” I looked a little closer and recognized both of the names of the bride and groom. “Your sister’s getting married?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  I turned the card over to see if I was missing something.

  He took the card from my hand and held up a pen. “And I need a plus one.”

  Eight

  Dylan

  The crisp air inside the arena a

  Always makes me forget about the outside world. It’s as though stepping inside McManus Place, the whole rest of the world, and my problems, don’t exist. The summer practice season was always a bit more laid back than the rest of the year, but we were prepping for the annual exhibition game. This was going to be my fourth as an Otter, and my stomach didn’t have the same jumble of nerves that it has had in the past.

  “Did you hear?” Jasper, one of the rookies was tightening his skates.

  I dropped my hockey bag on the floor and sat beside him. “Hear what?”

  “They’re changing the exhibition game.”

  “How?” The annual Otters versus the pros was the highlight of the summer for most of the Laketown residents. It always sold out in minutes and everyone in town was in the stands.

  “I’m not sure. But I think the coach is going to tell us.”

  I shook my head but didn’t go as far as rolling my eyes. Small town gossip – at it again. “Don’t listen to rumors, kid.” I got undressed and pulled on the bottom half of my practice gear and shrugged into my chest and shoulder protector. “Don’t fix what ain’t broke.” It was a saying Floyd used all the time at work – for a reason: it made sense. The exhibition game was the perfect end to the summer and had made more than one Otter a national league player. The scouts were always in the crowd.

  Coach Covington and Leo walked into the room and the silence was deafening as all the players stopped talking and stared at them. “They better not cancel it,” Jasper whispered under his breath.

  I shot a shut the fuck up look at Jasper and noticed three distinct blotches on his neck – hickeys. I couldn’t help myself. Coach and Leo were discussing something by the play board and the room had filled with the din of conversation, but the players were keeping a close eye on the whiteboard. My hockey jersey hung in my cubby, and I grabbed it, but before I put it on, I flicked Jasper’s neck.

  “Ow. Fuck, dude.” He rubbed at his neck.

  I laughed. “Were the vampires out last night?”

  The guy beside me, one of the veterans, Mike Ryan laughed. “I heard that he was attacked by two vamps.”

  “Vamps or tramps?” Tanner snarked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Grow up, Tanner.”

  Mike flicked Jasper’s neck on the other side. “Yeah, grow up, Tanner.”

  The camaraderie of the team was one of the things that drew me back to hockey. There had been a few rough years just after my parents died that I had chosen booze over playing, but Coach Covington had been the one to pick me up before I fell completely to the ground. Hockey saved my life and now my team was my family. And what do you do to your little brother? Torment him.

  “Watch out,” I whispered to Jasper. “The new puck bunnies have got a little bite.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Jasper grinned.

  I wasn’t. I had a date to a wedding with a supermodel. It was a coerced date, perhaps even blackmail, but Bronwyn was something I’d always wanted. A real woman.

  “Be careful, buddy.” I shoved his shoulder and put on my sweater. “Don’t let them get territorial.”

  Jasper shrugged. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Mike, Tanner, and I all burst into laughter. “Rookies.” Mike shook his head. “You’ll have to learn the hard way.”

  Jasper’s face got a little red under the stubble on his chin. “Speaking of weird marks. Dude, what’s that on your back?”

  The back of my sweater had gotten stuck on my chest protector, and I craned my neck to see what he was talking about.

  “You look like you got punched by a bear.” He pointed to my lower back and as I rubbed the spot with my hand, knew what it was. Oil. I had spent twenty minutes after work trying to scrub the oil from my nails – even with the latex mechanics gloves, I still walked out of the marina with filthy hands and had spent the day on my back under the stern of Calliope.

  I tugged my shirt into place. “It’s nothing.” I wasn’t exactly embarrassed, unlike Tanner, there were other guys on the team that had to work. I wasn’t lucky enough to live at my family’s cottage as Tanner did and play hockey all the time. For a lot of those guys, they treated getting into the National League like a full-time job. Me? I just loved playing hockey. Besides, no scout was interested in a player with a reputation for being a wild card. Plus, my hiatus from the game had taken me completely off their radar. Did it bother me? Kind of. As a kid, like every other kid in Laketown, I’d wanted to be a hometown hero, a hockey star, but that dream got lost when my mom and dad died. When I realized it wasn’t the town that I wanted to be proud of me, it was them. At least, my sister had done something for herself. She was heading for the medal podium at the Olympics, and she was marrying one of the best guys I’d ever known.

  Me? I had grease on my back and had to bribe a woman to be my date.

  Coach Covington waved me over to the playboard. “Dylan, we want you to announce your team.”