“There.” Kane points to one particularly enormous whale, her dorsal fin marked with a distinctive notch. “See that one? She’s been around as long as I can remember. Humpbacks can live up to fifty years or more.”
I lean over the side, watching in fascination. “She’s beautiful.”
Hailey claps her hands in delight as the whale arches and sends another spray into the air.
Kane maneuvers the skiff carefully, ensuring we’re parallel to the pod’s path. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?” he says, keeping his voice low, almost whispering, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell.
I nod, my eyes not leaving the whales. “It’s incredible to see them like this, so close.” I watch as the mother whale guides her calf, teaching it to breach. Now and then, a massive tail slaps the water, sending up a shower that catches the sunlight.
“It’s moments like these,” Kane says, his gaze shifting between Hailey and the whales, “that really make you appreciate how amazing this place is.”
We spend a good while just drifting, the magnificent creatures occasionally surfacing close enough that we can hear their breaths—loud, whooshing exhales that seem to echo across the water.
Kane restarts the motor as the pod moves away. “Let’s head to the cove.”
A lump forms in my throat. The beauty and serenity of the moment leave me both awed and at peace. Hailey keeps glancing back to where the whales had been, as if hoping they might reappear.
I turn to Kane, my voice soft. “That was ... amazing. Thank you for this.”
Kane smiles. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
We finally arrive at Kane's favorite clamming spot, a secluded cove with a strip of sandy beach flanked by rugged, tree-lined cliffs. The tide is low, exposing the wet sand. Kane anchors the skiff and helps Hailey and me onto the shore.
As my feet sink into the cool, wet sand, I take in the serene beauty. The cliffs rise majestically around us, their rugged faces softened by the green of the trees. The cove is like a hidden sanctuary, untouched and pristine. The sea air fills my lungs, invigorating and calming all at once.
I glance at Kane, seeing the pride and contentment in his eyes as he surveys the cove. It’s clear this place holds a special significance for him, a private retreat where he can connect with nature and find peace. The fact that he’s chosen to share it with me fills me with gratitude and something deeper, something more intimate.
Hailey’s laughter rings out as she skips ahead. Her joy is infectious. I watch her with a smile. The sense of belonging washes over me. It’s as if the cove has wrapped us in its embrace, inviting us to share in its secrets and treasures.
Kane’s hand rests gently on my shoulder, and I turn to him, meeting his gaze. The kindness and openness in his eyes speak volumes. This isn’t just about showing me a beautiful spot to dig for clams. It’s about sharing a piece of himself, inviting me into a part of his world that he holds dear.
As we begin our search for clams, I find myself more attuned to the rhythms of the cove—the gentle lapping of the waves, the calls of distant seabirds, the sand between my fingers. Each moment is precious and magical.
“Are you ready for this?” Kane asks.
“I can’t wait. What do I do?”
“Alright, let’s look for air holes—that’s where the clams are,” Kane explains, pointing out the small, round openings scattered across the sandy flat.
I nod, eager to learn but a bit unsure of myself. Kane steps closer. "Here," he says, moving behind me. He wraps his arms around me, his hands covering mine on the shovel handle. The intimacy quickens my pulse.
“You want to skim the top layer of sand gently,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “Just clear enough sand so you don’t smash them when you dig deeper.”
We move together, our bodies in sync as he guides my hands. His chest presses against my back, and I’m acutely aware of the heat radiating from him, the steady rhythm of his breathing. The physical closeness is electric, heightening my senses and adding a layer of tension to the moment.
We work the shovel into the sand, lifting the top layer with care. Kane’s voice is a soothing counterpoint to the rush of emotions swirling inside me. “That’s it,” he encourages, his hands steadying mine. “Now go a little deeper, but gently.”
His words, while meant for the act of clamming, somehow are charged with sexual innuendo. Deeper. Gently.
I follow his lead, and the resistance of the sand gives way to something more solid.
“Do you feel something hard?” he asks, his tone sending my thoughts racing. A rush of excitement hits me, and I instinctively push back against him. Yes, I do. “Just a little deeper,” he says, digging the shovel in another inch.
We uncover a clam. “Got one!” I say, holding it up proudly, trying to shake off the heat climbing up my neck.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “See? You’re a natural. That’s a butter clam. You can tell by the smooth, oval shape and the distinct, concentric rings on the shell.”
Hailey, watching us, squeals in delight and rushes over to join the fun. She mimics our actions, her small hands eager and determined. “Look, another one!” she shouts, triumphantly holding up her find.